“Yes,” she said at once. “Of course.”
She hesitated, then added in a rush, “You are not … you are not dismissing me, are you?”
The question struck him unprepared.
“I promised Julian,” she continued, voice tight. “I told him I would not leave. And I do not wish to. I want to stay—for him. And for—”
She stopped.
Edward’s breath caught.
For me, he thought.
He did not allow himself to look at her too closely.
“We will not decide that now,” he said instead. His tone was neutral, final without being cruel. “There is too much unsettled.”
The tension did not vanish—but it loosened.
Charlotte’s shoulders sagged with relief she could not fully conceal. She nodded once, pressing the handkerchief to her lips. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Edward inclined his head, already withdrawing. He leaned back against the edge of the desk, one hand braced there, as though grounding himself. The library felt suddenly too close, the silence too full.
“You should rest,” he said. “This day has been … more than enough.”
She rose at once, obedience instinctive, though her gaze lingered on him for a heartbeat longer than necessary. “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”
“Good afternoon.”
She left quietly, the door closing behind her with careful restraint.
Only then did Edward allow his composure to slip.
He turned toward the mantel, jaw tightening, thoughts colliding—William’s words, Charlotte’s fear, the letter still folded in his desk drawer like a coiled threat.
He crossed the room and pulled the bell cord sharply.
When the footman appeared, Edward did not hesitate.
“Send word to Lord Barrow,” he said. “Tell him I require his presence at once.”
The footman bowed and withdrew.
Edward remained standing in the center of the library, the fire crackling softly behind him, his reflection staring back from the darkened window.
Too much had come to light.
And whatever game had begun, he intended to see it ended—on his terms.
***
The light was already thinning when Edward heard the crunch of carriage wheels on gravel.
He rose from the desk at once, restless energy driving him toward the window. The western sky burned low and amber beyond the bare trees, the last of the sun caught in the branches like embers refusing to die.
He had not realized how tightly coiled he was until the sight of the carriage brought a sharp, irrational relief.
Christopher had come.
