Silence fell.
Christopher’s voice was guarded when he spoke. “That is not something one says lightly.”
“It is not,” Edward agreed. “Which is why I am no longer inclined to dismiss it.” He paced once, restless. “I received an anonymous letter making the same accusation. It arrived the very day Charlotte entered my household.”
Christopher’s eyes narrowed. “You think someone knew she was coming.”
“I think nothing about this is coincidence,” Edward said flatly. “Not where Armitage is concerned.”
Christopher pushed off the door, all trace of humor gone. “What do you want from me?”
“I want information,” Edward said. “Quietly obtained. I want to know where Liam has been, who he has spoken to, and what debts he carries. And I want everything there is to know about that accident at Hawthorne Hollow.”
Christopher nodded without hesitation. “I can do that.”
“Use a false name,” Edward added. “Do not connect the inquiries to me, to Ashford, or to her. If you uncover anything, you will write to me under that name. The village is close. The correspondence will be swift.”
Christopher studied him for a moment. “You’re taking this personally.”
Edward did not deny it. “I intend to protect her.”
Something warm and sober settled into Christopher’s expression. “You care for her.”
“That is immaterial,” Edward said.
“Is it?” Christopher asked gently. “Because from where I stand, you are standing precisely where you swore you never would again.”
Edward’s jaw tightened. “Do not.”
Christopher stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Edward. Eleanor would have wanted you to live. She would have wanted Julian to see his father whole—not merely present.”
The name struck low and unexpected.
Edward met his gaze, gratitude and pain threading together. “I will not act recklessly,” he said. “Not with her. Not with my son.”
“I know,” Christopher replied. “That is why I will help you.”
They stood in silence for a moment, the fire snapping softly between them.
When Christopher turned to leave, Edward spoke once more. “Be careful.”
Christopher smiled faintly. “When am I ever?”
The door closed behind him.
Edward returned to the window, the night settling thick beyond the glass. Somewhere in the house, Charlotte moved through the corridors—close enough to matter, distant enough to remain forbidden.
First, the truth.
Then—only then—would he decide what he was willing to risk.
And what he was no longer willing to lose.
Chapter 21
That night, the house had settled into a hush that felt heavier than usual.
Charlotte sat on the edge of her bed, hands folded tightly in her lap, staring at the candle as though it might offer guidance if she watched it long enough. Her thoughts refused to still.
