Christopher crossed his arms. “The Winter Solstice Ball is approaching.”
“I will not attend.”
“You should make an appearance,” Christopher said. “The difference matters to people who count such things.”
Edward shook his head. “I have no interest in society.”
Christopher smiled faintly. “Society has a habit of not caring what we prefer.”
“The event is not mine.”
“No,” Christopher agreed. “But it is tradition. And the county will expect the Duke of Averleigh to be seen.”
Edward’s fingers tapped once against the desk. “They will manage without me.”
Christopher was quiet for a moment before leaning forward. “You can’t raise a child in a mausoleum and expect him not to learn how to grieve before he learns how to live.”
Edward stood abruptly and turned away, crossing to the window. Outside, the grounds lay pale beneath winter light, bare branches etched against a sky the color of old pewter.
“You speak as though I do this by choice,” Edward said.
Christopher’s voice softened. “You do. Every day.”
Edward’s shoulders rose and fell once.
“I am not prepared to remarry,” Edward said, flat and final—as though saying it aloud might keep the thought from taking shape.
Christopher did not contradict him. “I know.”
Edward frowned slightly.
“But Julian will grow,” Christopher continued. “And one day he will notice what is missing. Children always do.”
Edward said nothing.
“I’m not asking you to replace Eleanor,” Christopher added quietly. “Only to consider whether Julian deserves more than silence in his home.”
Edward’s reflection in the glass looked older than he felt. Or perhaps younger. He was no longer certain.
Before Christopher could speak again, a knock sounded.
Edward turned at once. “Enter.”
Mrs. Channing stepped inside, posture straight, expression composed. In her hand was a single envelope—plain, unadorned, the paper rough beneath her fingers.
“A letter, Your Grace,” she said. “Delivered by courier.”
Edward accepted it. “Thank you.”
Mrs. Channing’s gaze flicked briefly to Christopher, then back to Edward. Whatever she read in Edward’s face was enough; she inclined her head without comment and withdrew, closing the door behind her with accustomed quiet.
The stillness that followed felt heavier than before.
Christopher’s expression shifted as his attention settled on the envelope left behind. “That doesn’t look official,” he remarked, nodding toward it.
Edward broke the seal without responding. He read the letter once, his eyes scanning quickly. Then he read it again, slower this time, as though some hidden meaning might emerge if he allowed the words to settle.
The room seemed to narrow imperceptibly, the air thickening as though the walls themselves had leaned in to listen.
