“She would not have allowed it,” Beatrice replied gently. “But you may still reach her. I will show you,” Beatrice added quickly, already reaching for her shawl.
They rode without speaking. The village gave way to open land, then to the quiet stretch of water framed by trees beginning to pale with morning light.
Edward saw her before Beatrice spoke.
Charlotte stood near the water’s edge, her back to them, her hair unbound and stirring in the wind. The lake lay wide and gray beyond her, the sky stretching cold and endless above. She looked impossibly small against it, as though the world had already begun to swallow her.
He dismounted before the horse had fully stilled.
“Charlotte.”
She turned at the sound of his voice. Shock flared first, then something softer—relief, unguarded and fleeting. It vanished almost at once. Her spine straightened. Her expression closed.
“You should not be here,” she said, stepping back from him. “You should not have followed me.”
“I had no choice.”
He crossed the ground between them quickly, but she retreated just as fast, boots slipping slightly in the frost.
“You must go back,” she insisted. “Before anyone sees you here. Before this becomes worse than it already is.”
“Julian is distraught,” Edward said, his voice firm despite the way his pulse pounded. “He woke me in tears. He believes you have abandoned him.”
Her composure fractured at once. “I would never abandon him.”
“Then come home.”
She shook her head and went to pass him. “Do not call it that. It is Ashford. It is your home. I was only ever passing through.”
He stepped into her path.
“Move,” she whispered.
“No.”
She tried to circle around him. He shifted again, blocking her retreat without touching her. Frustration flashed in her eyes.
“You are not listening,” she said, voice trembling now. “If I return, I bring scandal with me. You and Julian have endured enough.”
“Enough?” he echoed sharply. “Do you believe this is easier? That waking to find you gone is protection?”
She turned away from him as though the sight of his face might weaken her resolve. “I love you,” she said suddenly, the words torn from her rather than offered. “That is precisely why I must leave.”
The confession landed between them like a crack in ice.
She tried to move past him again, but this time he caught her hand. Not roughly, but firmly enough that she could not slip free.
“Charlotte, look at me.”
“Let me go,” she whispered.
“I will not.”
She tugged once more, and when he did not release her, she looked up at him with something resembling anger. “Do not make me choose between loving you and protecting you.”
“You are not protecting me,” he said quietly. “You are breaking us.”
She stilled. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
