Edward’s jaw tightened.
Amelia excused herself soon after, gliding away with the promise of calling again before the ball. When she was out of earshot, Christopher exhaled.
“She wastes no time,” he remarked.
Edward said nothing.
“She would make an excellent match,” Christopher continued. “Respectable. Educated. Sensible. Exactly what Julian needs.”
“And what of you?” Edward countered, seizing the distraction. “You nearly toppled a maid on the stairs and looked pleased about it. Perhaps you should consider seriousness before advising me on it.”
Christopher laughed. “Oh, I am serious.”
Edward arched a brow.
“About changing,” Christopher clarified. “I’m tired of the game. And I think you are too—whether you admit it or not.”
Edward hesitated. “Eleanor has only been gone two years.”
Christopher’s voice softened. “And Julian has been without a mother for both of them.”
Silence fell.
“There are many women who would gladly take on that role,” Christopher added. “Even if none of them possess the … enthusiasm of your pretty young governess.”
Edward stiffened. “She is too young.”
Christopher burst out laughing. “Ah. There it is.”
Edward flushed. “Do not be absurd.”
“You’re already absurd,” Christopher said lightly. “At least be honest about it.”
Edward looked away, gaze drifting toward the path Julian and Miss Fenton had taken. Even at a distance, he could hear the boy’s laughter—free, unguarded. A sound he had not heard often enough.
“She makes him happy,” Edward admitted quietly.
Christopher’s tone gentled. “That matters.”
Edward nodded once. “It does.”
That evening, he summoned Mrs. Channing.
“Inform Miss Fenton,” he said evenly, “that I will dine with Julian tonight. She is to be present.”
Mrs. Channing blinked but inclined her head. “Yes, Your Grace.”
As she left, Edward stood alone, the garden stretching before him—orderly, controlled, safe.
A practical match, he told himself. Someone like Amelia. Duty, not desire. Stability for Julian. Distance from temptation.
And yet, unbidden, his thoughts returned to a governess with wind-tangled hair and a laugh that had awakened the house.
Perhaps Christopher was right.
Or perhaps Edward was simply very tired of silence.
Either way, he resolved, he would begin—with his son.
