When they pulled apart, tears streamed down the older woman's cheeks. June felt her own eyes burning, but she refused to let the tears fall. If she began crying now, she feared she might never stop.
"Until we meet again, Louisa," she said, dropping into a formal curtsy that felt absurdly at odds with the emotional moment they had just shared.
"June—" Louisa began, but June shook her head slightly, needing to maintain what little composure remained to her.
She turned and walked from the drawing room, then from the castle.
Her heart had not simply broken. It had shattered into a million jagged pieces, each one bearing the name of the Duke of Ice who had, against all odds, thawed her carefully guarded heart only to freeze it once again.
Thirty-Two
"More tea, June?" April asked, her voice gentle as she lifted the silver pot.
June sat perfectly still in Stone Manor's drawing room. The journey from Yorkshire had mercifully numbed her somewhat, and now, surrounded by her sisters' concerned faces, she found herself explaining a situation so absurd she might have laughed if it hadn't torn her world asunder.
"Yes, thank you." June extended her cup, noting how steady her hand remained despite everything. A sennight since she'd left Icemere. A sennight of carefully reconstructing her armor, piece by piece.
Little Leonardo, April's four-year-old son, tumbled across the carpet at her feet, chasing a wooden hoop with single-minded determination. His two-year-old sister Annabelle sat nearby, arranging dolls in a solemn circle as if conducting some important parliament of toys.
"So he truly believes he's dying?" May leaned forward, her spectacles sliding down her nose. "And that's why he sent you away?"
"He didn't precisely send me away," June corrected, taking a measured sip of her tea. "He offered to leave Icemere Castle himself. I chose to go instead."
"But why?" May persisted. "Why would either of you leave? I don't understand."
June set her cup down, arranging the saucer just so. "Dominic believes he carries a family illness—the same that took his father and grandfather before their time. He calls it the 'Blake curse.'"
"And you believe this curse exists?" April asked, rescuing a biscuit from Leonardo's eager grasp before he could stuff it entirely into his mouth.
"I believe he believes it," June replied carefully. "His father did die young, as did his grandfather. But whether this represents an inheritable condition or merely unfortunate coincidence, I cannot say."
What I believe is that he's a coward,she thought, the bitterness rising like bile.A coward who would rather push me away than risk my pain.
"But surely a physician could—" May began.
"Dominic has consulted physicians," June interrupted. "None has offered him much hope. Though I suspect his mother knows more than she has revealed."
"The dowager duchess? What makes you say that?" April shifted Annabelle onto her lap, smoothing the child's dark curls absently.
"She speaks of the future as though it stretches decades ahead. She mentions grandchildren. These are not the words of a woman expecting to lose her son imminently."
May made an impatient sound. "So he pushed you away to protect you from future grief? As if you're some delicate flower incapable of making your own choices?"
"Precisely." June's smile held no warmth. "He believes he's protecting me from future grief, as if I'm incapable of deciding what pain I can bear."
"Men," May muttered, reaching for a biscuit. "They think themselves so logical, yet make the most irrational decisions."
"Do you think," April asked carefully, "that perhaps he simply doesn't love you enough to risk it? That perhaps this 'protection' is merely an excuse?"
June looked up sharply, meeting her sister's concerned gaze. For a moment, the carefully constructed walls around her heart threatened to crumble. She drew a steadying breath.
"No," she said finally. "That's not it at all. He cares enough to push me away, which makes his decision all the more infuriating."
In her mind's eye, she saw him again—standing by the window in their bedchamber, rigid with self-control, refusing to meet her gaze as he spoke those devastating words. The memory made her fingers tighten around her teacup.
"Well, I think it's unutterably foolish," May declared. "To waste what time one has because one fears its end? What sense is there in that?"
"None whatsoever," June agreed, her voice steadier than she felt. "I told him as much."
