Alice moved to the window, needing distance, needing something to focus on that was not his face. The gardens sprawled before her, green and grey and beautiful, indifferent to the chaos within her.
"My mother believes in forever," she said flatly. "She believed in her marriage, in her husband's devotion, in the promises made at the altar. She believed so thoroughly that she remade herself to fit them, trimmed away everything that did not suit, until there was nothing left but accommodation." Her fingers gripped the windowsillas if it were the only solid thing in a world gone liquid. "I watched her disappear, Lord Crewe. Day by day, piece by piece. And I promised myself I would never believe in anything that required such sacrifice."
She felt him move closer, his presence at her shoulder like warmth from a fire she could not quite approach.
"Is that why you resist marriage?" His voice came from just behind her, quiet and serious. "Because you fear becoming her?"
"I fear promises that break." Alice turned to face him, surprised by how close he was, close enough to see the variations of grey in his eyes, the tension in his jaw, the way his hands clenched at his sides. "I fear giving myself to something that will not last, building a life on foundations that will crumble. I fear." She hesitated, swallowed hard, then pressed on. "I fear believing in love when love has proven itself capable of destruction."
Samuel was silent for a long moment. The afternoon light spilled over them, casting shifting shadows as clouds drifted past the window. Alice watched emotions flicker across his face, recognition, pain, and a hint of something resembling longing.
"I want something more permanent thanpleasure," he finally said, his voice heavy with a long-held confession. "I want a partnership that endures, a connection that deepens rather than fades. I want." He faltered, his jaw tightening. "I just don't know if I deserve it."
Her heart tightened at his admission, a pang in a place she had spent years learning to shield. He looked at her with an openness that stripped away formality and judgment, exposing a vulnerability that mirrored her own.
"Why would you not deserve it?" The question slipped from her lips, barely more than a whisper.
"Because wanting is dangerous." His grey eyes locked onto hers, steady and unwavering. "Because I have spent my life guarding against the very thing I now find myself." He paused. His hand inched toward hers on the windowsill, slow and deliberate, as if she could stop him at any moment.
She did not stop him.
His fingers hovered beside hers, not quite touching, a tiny space between them, charged with unspoken words. Alice felt the warmth radiating from his hand, the tremor in her own, the moment hanging, waiting for someone to shatter the stillness.
Then he withdrew.
The movement was sudden and almost violent;his hand recoiling as if burned, his posture snapping to attention, and his expression rearranging into something formal and distant. He stepped back, once, twice, three times, until a respectable distance stretched between them.
"Forgive me." His voice was rough, raw with contained emotion. "I should not have—I should go."
Alice stood frozen, unable to speak or move, watching him retreat, this man who had kissed her in the moonlight, defended her at dinner, and just confessed to wanting the same permanence that terrified her.
He bowed, that formal gesture she recognized as his refuge when feelings overwhelmed, and walked toward the door without a glance back.
"Samuel."
He halted at the threshold, his hand on the frame, shoulders tight with restraint.
"Thank you," she said. "For returning the book."
He lingered for a heartbeat, two, three. Then he nodded once, sharply, and was gone.
Alice remained at the window long after his footsteps faded. Torn letter fragments littered the carpet, remnants of a conversation that hung in the air. The afternoon light streamed through the glass, warming her skin. Somewhere in her chest, a shift occurred, awall cracked, a door creaked open to a possibility she had not realized she was waiting for.
She pressed her palm flat against the windowsill, where his hand had nearly brushed against hers, and pondered whether forever was a belief or something crafted, piece by careful piece, from the wreckage of broken expectations.
CHAPTER 13
The morning arrived with a brightness that country estates seemed to produce to mock men trying to maintain emotional equilibrium. A light that illuminated the rolling hills above Oakford Hall, made every blade of grass appear strikingly vivid, and rendered Samuel’s careful composure unnecessary. He stood at the crest of the hill, hands clasped behind his back, watching the organized chaos below.
Crispin moved among the servants with the authority of a man born to command picnics, directing the placement of checkered blankets with gestures that were genuinely helpful as well as commanding. Clara followed him, adjusting arrangements with the quiet competence that made her an effective countess. Her rose-colored dresscaught the sunlight as she supervised the unpacking of wicker baskets filled with bread, cheese, and fruit. The domesticity of the scene struck Samuel—the way they moved around each other with coordination, the small touches that passed between them as naturally as breathing.
He looked away.
A group of older gentlemen had gathered near a stand of oak trees, their conversation drifting upward in fragments—drainage systems and crop rotation—practical discourse Samuel normally found grounding. He made his way toward them, grateful for the excuse to focus on matters requiring calculation rather than feeling.
“Lord Crewe!” The baron—a florid gentleman whose name Samuel had filed away but could not quite recall—waved him into their circle with evident pleasure. “We were just discussing the improvements Lord Oakford has made to his tenant cottages. Revolutionary drainage, they say.”
“Indeed.” Samuel positioned himself with his back to the main gathering, a strategic choice to avoid distractions. “The clay soil in this region presents particular challenges. One must consider the water table carefully.”
