She shook her head. “If there is, I have failed to discover it. And I have been searching for a long, long time.”
Moira’s voice softened, and her arms dropped to her sides. “You have always done what you must, Lavinia. But this—” She paused, her grief palpable. “You deserve more than a noose.”
It was the kindest thing anyone had said to her all week. Lavinia’s composure wavered; she looked down at their entwined hands and, for a moment, allowed herself to feel the depth of the loss. Not just for herself, but for Frances, for the house, for every life that would be flattened by Lord Dawnford’s footfall.
“Perhaps,” she said, “but deserving has nothing to do with it. I have made my decision. It is not what I wish for, but it is what must be. If I do not marry him, he will come for Frances.”
The women stood around her, forming a silent bulwark against despair. They did not argue, not after that. Instead, Nancy released Lavinia’s hands, wiped her own eyes, and squared her shoulders.
“Then we will help you,” she said, voice fierce. “With the dress, the flowers, and everything. We will see to it that he never makes you cry.”
Hester nodded, setting her chin. “I will design the invitations myself. No one will say the wedding was not the event of the year.”
Fiona reached for Lavinia’s hand and squeezed it. “And I will have my cook bake the cake. He will choke on it if he so much as looks at you crosswise.”
Even Moira softened and came closer. “And I will attend you on the day, to see you safe.”
Lavinia blinked rapidly, refusing to let her own tears fall. She had never loved them more, these women who had been her army and her armor. “Thank you,” she said, and the words felt strange, inadequate.
Nancy hugged her tightly and suddenly. “Whatever comes, we are with you.”
Hester, not to be outdone, wrapped her arms around them both. Fiona joined, soft and tentative, and Moira placed a gentle hand on Lavinia’s shoulder.
For a moment, the fortress of their friendship seemed unbreakable. But when they had gone, and Lavinia was left alone again, she stared at the wall, not seeing it. The ache inside her was so large, it crowded out everything else.
She pressed her palm to her chest, feeling the uneven thump of her heart. She tried to picture what might come after, but saw only a blankness, a void.
CHAPTER 33
“Father?”
The voice, hoarse from crying, should not have been able to penetrate the study’s thick oak door. Yet it managed to slip in, echoing around the room and summoning Tristan from the dark realm of his thoughts.
He looked up. The door stood open, and in the gap stood Sophia, her eyes swollen, her cheeks blotched. Whisper squirmed in her arms, periodically letting out a complaint that sounded suspiciously like a human wail.
Tristan’s first instinct was to send them away. His second was to brace for an onslaught of feelings he had no preparation to receive, let alone return.
“Sophia.” He said her name without inflection, but she took it as an invitation and rushed in.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she stammered, tears spilling afresh. “I tried. I really did, but—” She broke off, burying her face in Whisper’s fur.
Tristan steeled himself. “Would it help to sit?”
She nodded, then collapsed into the chair opposite, tucking her legs up as if she might disappear entirely. Whisper, abandoning her, leapt to the floor and began a purring circuit of the room.
“I’m sorry for coming to you like this,” Sophia said at last, not meeting his eyes. “It’s just, when I close my eyes, I can’t stop seeing her. And when I open them, she isn’t there.”
He waited, uncertain how to proceed. “You refer to Lady Lavinia.”
She nodded, the motion nearly lost in the smallness of her frame. “Why did she go, truly?”
He might have lied. Once, he would have. But there seemed no purpose now.
“She is to be married,” Tristan said. “Her responsibilities no longer permit her to remain.” He searched for more words that might matter. “Sometimes, people must do what is required, even if they would prefer otherwise.”
He saw Sophia’s fingers twist the hem of her nightdress, worrying it nearly to shreds. She sniffed and glanced up, face red and wet.
“She didn’t want to leave. I know it. She… she cried, too. I saw her.” She wiped at her cheeks. “Can’t we do something? Couldn’t you—couldn’t you go to her and ask her to come back?”
