When he finally lifted his gaze, he was acutely aware once more of her appearance: the way the candlelight caught in her hair, the faint shadows beneath her eyes, the vulnerability she had not tried to disguise. It unsettled him more than anger ever could.
He straightened abruptly, as though the quiet had become threatening. “I have been considering remarriage.”
The words seemed to hang in the air between them, too large for the room, too intimate for the hour.
Charlotte blinked, caught off guard. For a moment, she said nothing at all. The candlelight wavered, casting brief shadows across her face as she searched for the right response.
Edward felt suddenly exposed by his own admission. He had not meant to say it so plainly—had not meant to invite her opinion at all. And yet, once spoken, the thought demanded completion.
“How do you think Julian would take it?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral. “If I were to … pursue such a course.”
Her gaze lifted to his then, steady and considering. Whatever surprise she had felt was quickly mastered, replaced by the thoughtful composure he was coming to recognize.
“I believe,” she said slowly, “that he would resist at first.” She offered a small, apologetic smile, as though anticipating the difficulty rather than condemning it. “Change unsettles him. Especially when it touches what he has already lost.”
Edward absorbed this in silence.
“But he is a good boy,” she continued, more firmly now. “He loves deeply. And he wants to be understood.” She hesitated, then added, “In time, if he felt secure—if he believed the choice was made with care—I think he would come to accept it.”
For you, she did not say.
Not for himself.
The distinction struck Edward with unexpected force.
Edward studied her, struck by the generosity of the answer—and by the restraint beneath it.
“Thank you,” he said, though he was no longer certain for what.
She rose then, clearly sensing the moment had gone far enough. As she did, the shawl slipped, revealing a pale scar along her forearm. It was long. Clean-edged. Old enough to have healed, but not to have faded.
She noticed his gaze and drew the fabric back into place at once.
“Marks remain,” he said quietly. “Even when the past is finished with us.”
She met his eyes, something unreadable flickering there. “Yes,” she agreed. But her voice was less steady now.
“I should go,” she said. “Goodnight, Your Grace.”
“Goodnight.”
He watched her leave, the door closing softly behind her.
Edward remained seated long after, the fire burning low.
A carriage accident is a coincidence, he told himself.
It must be.
And yet—for the first time in years—he was not certain the past was content to remain buried.
Chapter 14
Charlotte did not return to her room at once.
She moved through the corridor slowly, the carpet muffling her steps, her thoughts louder than her breathing. The house had settled into its nightly hush, lamps turned low, doors closed, the sort of silence that encouraged memory rather than rest.
She should not have stayed.
