Christopher began gathering the papers. “I will depart ahead of you and continue inquiries while you endure polite society.”
Edward nodded. Christopher paused beside Charlotte. “We will not let this disappear.”
“Do not,” she replied steadily.
When he left, the door closed with quiet finality. Edward and Charlotte remained on opposite sides of the desk, distance stretching between them like something deliberate and necessary.
“You need not attend if you do not wish to,” he said.
Her chin lifted. “I will attend.”
“This will not be simple.”
“Nothing has been simple,” she replied.
He studied her. The anger did not diminish her. It made her formidable.
“We require proof,” he said. “If we move too quickly, he will vanish. And we will be left with nothing.”
After a long moment, she nodded. “I understand.”
“You will not confront him alone,” Edward added quietly.
“I was not planning to.”
“Good.”
Silence lingered again, thick with everything unsaid.
“Do you believe he killed them?” she asked finally, her voice lower now.
Edward did not answer immediately. “I believe he is capable of destroying lives to protect himself.”
That was enough.
She turned toward the door. “I will be ready shortly.”
“Charlotte.”
She paused but did not turn.
“I will find the truth,” he said. “Whatever it costs.”
She faced him then. “And if the truth condemns your family?”
The question struck deep, but he did not waver. “Then it condemns them.”
Something shifted in her expression—not softened, but steadied.
“Very well.”
She left without another word.
Edward remained where he stood, the study suddenly too still. He had promised protection, but protection was no longer sufficient. This was not merely about guarding her from scandal or danger.
It was about justice.
And if William had engineered the death of the Westbrooks, Edward would not rest until he buried him in truth.
