The following afternoon, Eden perched at the edge of a chaise, her fingers twisting the lace handkerchief in her lap as if it might hold the answer to the storm in her chest. Her thoughts churned with questions, each one heavier than the last. What would they say when they knew? Would she lose their trust, or worse, their affection? Across from her, Clara and Alice exchanged knowing glances, sensing that Eden’s agitation was not merely the product of a careless whisper or an intercepted note.
Clara set down her embroidery with deliberate care and leaned forward, a flicker of concern passing through her gaze. “Eden, you have scarcely spoken a word all morning. You must tell us what burdens you.”
Alice, ever more direct, crossed her arms and said, “Out with it, Eden. If you do not, I shall be forced to guess, and you know my imagination can be terribly dramatic.”
Eden let out a laugh as her heart pounded beneath the effort to remain composed. She looked down at her hands, then up at her dear friends’ faces, so familiar and beloved. If she could not trust them, she could trust no one.
She hesitated, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and joy. What if they judged her? What if speaking it aloud made it all too real? But the truth pressed against her ribs, insistent and urgent.
Eden’s fingers tightened around the lace handkerchief in her lap. Her eyes darted to the hearth, then returned to her friends, their gazes fixed on her in quiet anticipation. Taking a deep breath, she said in a low voice, “I am in love.”
Clara’s eyes widened slightly. Alice’s mouth dropped open in a delighted gasp.
“Well,” Alice exclaimed, “that explains a great deal.”
Clara’s voice was quieter, more cautious. “And who, pray, has captured your heart so completely?”
Eden swallowed hard. “Gabriel. The Marquess of Blackstone. But you must not speak of it.”
For a moment, neither Clara nor Alice spoke. The only sound was the gentle ticking of the mantel clock and the distant chirping of birds in the garden.
Finally, Clara reached across the small table and squeezed Eden’s hand. “Oh, Eden,” she murmured. “I suspected... but to hear you say it...”
Alice, never one to hold back, leaned closer. “And he? Does he love you in return?”
Eden smiled shyly, the memory of Gabriel’s whispered confessions warming her from within. “He does.”
“And what of your family? What of Mr. Price?” Alice asked.
“I have made no promises to Mr. Price and cannot ignore that my heart is engaged elsewhere. My family knows nothing about this. Thomas, I fear, will be furious when he learns of it. Still, my course is set and I have no regrets.”
Clara and Alice exchanged another glance—Clara’s features creased with quiet worry, while Alice’s eyes flared with fierce protectiveness.
“Then,” Clara said gently, “you must proceed with caution, dearest.”
Eden’s brow furrowed. “Caution? Because of the secrecy... or the consequences if we are discovered?”
Clara nodded, her blue eyes earnest. “You are the daughter of an earl, Eden. Your family’s reputation, your future…they all hang in the balance. To love a marquess is no crime, but the secrecy...” She trailed off, worry etched into her features.
Alice, more pragmatic, added, “Society would delight in scandal, Eden. They would not care about the depth of your love, only the impropriety of how it came to be.”
Eden pressed a hand to her heart. “We have done our best to be discreet,” she said, her voice softer now, more uncertain. “But sometimes I wonder if we would be wiser to have out with it.”
Clara’s smile was tinged with sadness. “Even the most careful lovers can be discovered.”
Alice leaned forward, her tone conspiratorial. “But if you truly love him, Eden, and he loves you... then fight for it. Fight with all your heart.”
Eden’s throat tightened with emotion. “I intend to.”
Clara and Alice embraced her tightly, each offering quiet words of encouragement. In their arms, Eden found strength, but also the cold, sobering reality of the risks she was taking.
* * *
Gabriel stood in the study, his gaze unfocused on the heavy oak desk, as guilt warred with longing. The silence pressed in on him like a judgment. His mind fixated on Eden and the secret he still bore. It was not the desk that held his attention, but the weight of what he had yet to say, and the fear of what it might cost him. His jaw was tight, arms crossed over his chest, every muscle strung taut with the weight of indecision. The ticking of the clock grated on his nerves, a hollow rhythm that mirrored the unrest twisting in his gut. The estate documents blurred before his eyes, eclipsed by thoughts of Eden. His mind was far from ledgers and obligations—utterly consumed by her.
Every stolen kiss, every whispered promise, every lingering glance weighed upon him. And yet, he could not move forward without reckoning with the bond he shared with Thomas Thornton.
He could not propose to Eden without at least attempting to secure some semblance of approval.
