Yes. It was.
She stepped back fully now, composure gathering around her in careful layers. “I should retire,” she said, eyes avoiding his.
Edward stood frozen where she had left him. “Yes,” he managed. “Of course.”
She paused at the door, fingers tightening briefly on the handle. “Goodnight,” she said softly.
Then she was gone.
The study felt cavernous in her absence. Edward remained where he stood, the echo of her warmth still lingering in his palm. He lifted his hand slowly, as though surprised to find it empty.
His chest felt exposed—raw in a way battlefields and scandals had never managed to accomplish. He was not merely protecting her. He was not merely moved by gratitude.
He was in love.
The realization settled into him with terrifying clarity, and for the first time since Eleanor’s death, it did not feel like betrayal. It felt inevitable.
Edward closed his eyes briefly and exhaled. Outside, the wind continued to batter the glass. Inside, he stood alone in the quiet, entirely undone.
Chapter 25
Charlotte woke with sunlight on her face and something lighter in her chest than she had felt in months.
For one suspended, fragile moment, she did not remember William. She did not remember accusations, or secrets, or the near-kiss that had left her pulse racing long after she had closed her door.
She remembered only Edward’s voice in the study.Until you came.
Heat crept into her cheeks at the memory.
She pressed her fingers briefly to her lips, as though she might still feel the ghost of what had nearly happened, then pushed the covers aside and rose. If she allowed herself to linger in it, she would unravel entirely. There were lessons to be had. A boy to find.
Julian was already awake when she reached the nursery, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a wooden horse in hand, humming under his breath.
“You look pleased,” he observed at once, squinting at her suspiciously.
“Do I?” she asked, smoothing her skirt.
“Yes,” he said gravely. “Like when Cook makes honey cakes.”
She laughed despite herself. “Then perhaps today shall be a good day.”
They began their lessons as usual. Julian stumbled through his reading with more enthusiasm than accuracy, then insisted on practicing the pianoforte piece they had prepared. His confidence had grown so much these past weeks that it still startled her.
She was adjusting his hand position when Clara Bennet appeared in the doorway.
“Miss Fenton,” she said, tone quiet but bright. “His Grace requests your presence in the drawing room. Lady Victoria has arrived—with her son.”
Charlotte’s fingers stilled on the keys.
Lady Victoria.
Clara’s eyes flicked to hers in a way that held too much meaning to be accidental. A question. A warning. Perhaps even sympathy.
Charlotte felt something cold settle just beneath her ribs.
“Of course,” she said evenly. “We shall come at once.”
Julian leaped to his feet. “Arthur is here?” he asked eagerly.
