And yet—
He pushed back from the desk and reached blindly for a scrap of parchment. His fingers found the charcoal without conscious intent.
He had not meant to draw.
It simply happened.
The lines came easily. A turn of the shoulder. The fall of hair. Motion caught mid-spin, skirts lifted by air and laughter alike. Snow took shape around her in soft, instinctive strokes.
Edward froze.
The figure on the page stared back at him—not a perfect likeness, but unmistakable. Miss Fenton, rendered in motionand light, joy traced into the lines with an intimacy that tightened his chest.
“This is madness,” he muttered.
The war had taught him discipline. Eleanor had taught him devotion. And yet here he stood, alone in the dead of night, committing an act that felt perilously close to betrayal—if not of her, then of himself.
He snatched the parchment from the desk and crossed to the fire.
The embers flared briefly as he thrust the sketch into them, the charcoal lines darkening, curling, vanishing as flame consumed the image. He stood over it until nothing remained but ash.
Only then did he straighten, breath measured, pulse forced into steadiness.
A sharp knock cut through the silence.
Edward stiffened. “Enter.”
The door opened without ceremony.
“Still awake?”
Edward turned.
Lord Christopher Barrow—Viscount of Vexley—stepped inside with the easy confidence of a man who had never learned to fear displeasure. His coat bore the marks of travel, boots scuffed, expression alert and unapologetically curious.
“You look like hell,” Christopher added, shutting the door.
Edward snorted softly. “You always had a talent for tact.”
“And you,” Christopher said, surveying the ledgers, “for pretending exhaustion is a moral failing.”
Edward gestured toward the chair. “If you’ve come for a reason other than mockery, sit.”
Christopher did, exhaling. “Mrs. Channing informed me you were still buried under accounts at an hour no sane man should be awake.”
“She exaggerates.”
“Rarely.”
“The estate does not manage itself.”
“No,” Christopher agreed. “But it does have a habit of surviving. Even under less-than-perfect stewardship.”
Edward’s jaw tightened.
“I wasn’t referring to you,” Christopher added lightly. “Though you seem determined to take it that way.”
Silence settled between them, familiar and unstrained.
