A single word—yet it had lodged beneath his ribs like something unfinished.
The conversation shifted soon enough.
“Lady Victoria is remaining with us another day,” Lady Pennington said brightly, pouring tea. “Such a comfort to have her company. She has been through so much herself.”
Edward inclined his head. “So I understand.”
“She mentioned enjoying your conversation last evening,” Lord Pennington added with a knowing look. “And the boys seemed to take to one another at once.”
Julian brightened at that. “Henry showed me how to make boats from paper,” he said. “He says they float better if you fold the corners twice.”
Edward felt a flicker of relief at the sound of his son’s enthusiasm. “I am glad,” he said quietly.
“We thought,” Lady Pennington continued smoothly, “that perhaps she might join us for tea. Give you further opportunity to become acquainted.”
The implication was not subtle.
Edward accepted his cup with care. “She is … very kind,” he said.
“She is sensible,” Lady Pennington corrected. “And well-suited to family life. A widow, yes, but with youth still very much on her side. And she understands children.”
Julian nodded vigorously, as though this settled the matter entirely.
Edward felt the familiar tightening at his ribs. Under different circumstances—under any circumstances that did not involve a pale governess with too-knowing eyes and a voice that lingeredin his thoughts long after she left the room—he might have welcomed such considerations.
Lady Victoria was warm. Intelligent. Unassuming in her manner yet possessed of quiet confidence. She asked questions rather than commanding attention. She listened.
She was, by all reasonable standards, exactly the sort of woman a dukeoughtto marry.
When she arrived shortly thereafter, accompanied by her young son, the house seemed to brighten. The boys were ushered together without ceremony and promptly disappeared into animated discussion over toy soldiers and improvised games. Edward watched them with something like wonder.
Julian laughed—freely, without restraint.
Edward turned back to Victoria, drawn into conversation almost against his will. They spoke of the estate, of travel, of the peculiarities of raising children who had known loss too early. There was ease there. Understanding.
And for a brief, worrisome moment, he allowed himself to imagine what it might be like to choose the simple, sensible path.
Then he saw her.
Charlotte stood in the doorway with one hand braced against the frame as though steadying herself. She looked pale—too pale. Her eyes were shadowed, her posture rigid with effort.
Edward stepped back from Victoria at once.
The movement was instinctive. Unconsidered.
Too revealing.
He realized it the moment he did it, the sharp awareness of how exposed the gesture must appear. Charlotte’s gaze flicked to him, something unreadable passing across her face before she lowered her eyes.
“I beg your pardon,” she said quietly. “I did not mean to intrude.”
Her voice was steady. Her hands were not.
Victoria smiled kindly. “You are most welcome,” she said. “We were about to take a walk. Perhaps you would join us? The boys could use supervision.”
Charlotte hesitated—just long enough for Edward to see the effort it took her to compose herself.
“If it pleases you,” she said at last.
