She took his hands in both of hers.
“Please believe me,” she said, her voice low but urgent, thumbs brushing over his knuckles in frantic emphasis. “It was a plot. Hewas waiting for me. He said things—about you. He wanted you to see it.”
Edward closed his fingers around hers without hesitation.
“I believe you,” he said at once. There was no question in his voice. “There was never a doubt.”
Her breath hitched, relief and anguish colliding in her expression.
“He said you were involved,” she continued, tears threatening again. “In the carriage accident. That your family—he wanted me to doubt you.”
Fury surged hot and immediate.
“I had never heard your father’s name before you came to Ashford,” Edward said fiercely. “I swear to you, Charlotte, I knew nothing of your family. Whatever happened in Hawthorne Hollow had nothing to do with me.”
She searched his face, as though weighing every word.
Then she nodded.
“I know,” she whispered.
The trust in those two words struck deeper than any accusation could have.
“He thrives on ruin,” Edward went on, his anger sharpening into clarity. “If he can discredit you while casting suspicion upon me, he gains leverage over us both.”
He hesitated only a moment before continuing, “There was a letter. Anonymous. It accused my family of involvement in the crash. I dismissed it at first as a cruel prank. Then I learned who you were, and I began to investigate. I did not wish to alarm you without proof.”
Her eyes widened.
“You were searching.”
“Yes.”
“For me?”
“For the truth,” he replied. After a beat, more quietly, “And for you.”
Her grip tightened.
“If William—or anyone—is responsible,” she said, steel threading through the grief now, “I will see them answer for it.”
He had expected her to crumble.
Instead, she hardened.
Her thumbs continued tracing small, unconscious patterns over his knuckles. Edward became acutely aware of the warmth of her skin, the fragile intimacy of the moment. She was steadying him as much as herself.
Slowly, reluctantly, he withdrew his hands.
This was the entrance hall. Servants could appear at any moment. Emotion could not overtake reason.
But the instant her hands slipped from his, the absence felt sharp.
He wanted to take them back. He wanted to tell her that protection was no longer sufficient. That he did not merely intend to defend her reputation. That he wanted her beside him—openly. Permanently.
Now was not the moment.
“Go and rest,” he said quietly. “We will face what comes tomorrow.”
