The first pale light of dawn crept through the slender windows of Blackstone Manor, casting slender bands of gold across the floor like cautious promises of the day ahead. Gabriel stirred in his wide mahogany bed, loath to leave the lingering warmth of the sheets. He reached for the other side of the mattress, his hand brushing cool linen. For a moment, he stared at his fingers, flexing them slowly as the emptiness beside him echoed deeper than silence. Memories of Eden’s soft whisper and the fire-lit glow of her presence clung to him like a second skin. Then he turned away from the window, unwilling to face the light that only reminded him of the choices and the ache he could no longer outrun.
His muscles ached with the strain of the previous day’s ride, and a lingering heat pulsed low in his chest. A soft, aching reminder of her nearness. It had taken all of his resolve to return her home after the rain stopped. An irresistible pull had urged him to bring her to his bed. To keep her at his side, come what may.
The hours after the storm in the hunting lodge lingered in his mind. Eden’s whispered confession of love, the support in her eyes, the softness of her lips pressed against his. He had felt a fierce joy then. A hope that perhaps they could be together. There was something about Eden, the quiet courage in her gaze, the way she met the world with both grace and defiance, that made him believe in impossible things. In her presence, the weight of expectation seemed lighter. She saw through his layers, not to the title or his past, but to the man beneath. And for that, he believed he would risk everything.
Yet now, as morning sunlight crept across the room, joy was replaced by guilt. The memory of his promise to Thomas weighed on him more heavily than any desire. Love, he told himself, was a luxury he could not afford—not when he had the responsibilities of friendship, not when his friend’s sister would find herself at the center of scandalous gossip in every drawing room of the countryside.
He rose silently, pulling on his dark morning coat. Below, the manor was awakening, servants hurried through corridors, voices soft and urgent as they prepared for the day. Gabriel paused atop the landing, watching as a scullery maid struggled to balance a stack of linens and nearly collided with a footman bearing a tray of silver. They muttered apologies, bowed quickly, and moved on without noticing him. The scene was familiar, orderly—and yet, it felt strangely distant. He no longer felt part of the rhythms that had once grounded him. Instead, he stood like a ghost in his own home, disconnected and haunted by the warmth he had held and let go. Gabriel paused at the door to the corridor, drawing in a deep breath, as if gathering the courage to face the echoes of decisions not yet made, before stepping into the halls.
He passed Mrs. Mayhew, the housekeeper, who gave him a knowing look before turning away. Gabriel’s guilt only deepened. He longed to speak with someone—to unburden himself—but he knew the promise he had made must stand. He could still see Thomas’s face the day he had asked it of him. Haunted, fearful for Eden’s future, his voice rough with worry. Gabriel had sworn to protect her honor, to never take advantage of her affection. That vow, forged in loyalty and regret, now bound his heart in silence.
* * *
By midmorning, Gabriel was seated at the breakfast table in the gilded dining room alongside his steward, Mr. Wexley, reviewing accounts and estate matters. The dining room gleamed with restrained elegance. Tall velvet drapes framed the windows, and portraits of ancestors hung in gilded frames along the walls. A long polished walnut table stretched the length of the room, set with bone china and silver flatware. Yet, to Gabriel, it all felt cold and lifeless. The stillness of the room, broken only by the faint tick of the mantel clock, clashed with the unrest inside him. The gold leaf in the crown molding caught the light, faintly reminiscent of the glow in the fire-lit lodge, but where that warmth had wrapped around him, this shimmer felt cold and ornamental.
The morning meal was a muted affair of poached eggs and fresh toast, the silence between them punctuated only by the scratch of quill on the ledger and the muted clink of fine china. Gabriel stared at his plate without seeing it, the memory of Eden’s voice still echoing in his mind. He could hear her whispers from the night before, soft and trembling in the quiet stillness of the lodge. “I have never wanted anything more than this moment with you.” The words had wrapped around his heart like a balm and a brand, stirring the longing he had tried so hard to silence. Now, in the cold light of morning, they resurfaced with aching clarity, a reminder of what he could have if only he dared reach for it. A sting rose behind his eyes as he fought to remain composed. The contrast between their shared intimacy and the stiff formality of the table pressed against him like a locked door, unyielding and final, deepening the chasm between desire and duty.
“My lord,” Wexley began cautiously, “the work on the tenant cottages proceeds apace. We should have the final plans ready for your approval by week’s end.”
Gabriel nodded absently, running a hand through his hair. “Very good, Wexley. Ensure the masons are scheduled, and the materials arrive on time.” He forced his mind back to the mundane tasks of estate management, desperate for distraction from thoughts of Eden.
Later, a courier arrived with letters from Leeds and Manchester concerning rents and land disputes. Gabriel received the small stack of correspondence with a nod, dismissing the footman with a weary wave. Alone in the study, he cracked the red wax seals with methodical precision. But as he skimmed the contents, the words blurred before his eyes. A line about tenant boundaries caught his attention, but instead of analyzing the figures, his mind conjured the memory of Eden’s lips forming the word “yours” in the flickering firelight.
He exhaled sharply and dropped the letter onto the desk, pressing his fingertips to his temple. The estate was his responsibility. His heritage. But at that moment, it felt like a heavy mantle he no longer wished to carry alone. He closed his eyes, then, reluctantly, turned back to the papers, forcing himself to read each word aloud, as if speaking them might pin his mind back to the present. Gabriel read them with the practiced gaze of a seasoned landowner, but inwardly fought against the ache in his chest. Business seemed easier on the surface, but beneath, his mind churned with memories of moonlit confessions and stolen kisses.
By late afternoon, Gabriel prepared to travel to London on an urgent matter regarding the Blackstone family’s interests. As he descended the staircase, he encountered young Timothy, the stable boy, lugging a bucket across the tiled foyer.
“Careful there, lad,” Gabriel said, catching the handle before it tipped.
Timothy blinked up at him, wide-eyed. “Thank you, my lord. Sorry, my lord.”
Gabriel gave a faint smile. “No harm done. Is my mare ready?”
“Yes, sir. Saddled and waiting.”
Gabriel nodded, pausing before continuing. “Timothy... has the rain unsettled the horses?”
The boy nodded. “Some of them have been jumpy, my lord.”
A flicker passed through Gabriel’s eyes, but he said only, “Take care of them.”
“I will, my lord. I promise.”
Gabriel clapped him gently on the shoulder and turned to the front hall, where Mrs. Mayhew saw him from the hallway.
“My lord,” she said softly, “you seem…troubled.”
Gabriel managed a weary smile. “Just the weight of duty, Mrs. Mayhew.”
Her compassionate eyes lingered on him. “Your heart carries its own burdens, too, I think.”
He paused, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you,” he whispered. Then he bowed his head and hurried from the room.
He mounted his horse outside the manor, the morning chill biting through his coat. He spurred the mare westward, seeking the solace of the winding lanes and open moors. Each mile carried him farther from Eden—and yet closer in his heart.
* * *
Across the countryside at Thornton Hall, Eden’s morning began with a far lighter spirit. Sunlight streamed through gauzy curtains, casting patterns on the floral rug at her feet. A light breeze stirred the lace at the window, carrying with it the scent of lavender and freshly turned earth from the gardens below. The air was crisp but not cold, kissed by the remnants of last night’s storm. Yet as she rose and dressed, she realized a hollow ache accompanied her. The winds of promise that had wrapped her heart in tenderness the night before had shifted, leaving her chilled once more.
