“I know,” Edward said, voice rough. “So do I.”
When he finally looked up, Charlotte’s eyes were bright, her expression unreadable—relief, anger, pride, all tangled together. Edward met her gaze and inclined his head, acknowledging the truth she had forced him to face.
“You were right,” he said simply.
Her chin lifted a fraction. She did not smile—but she did not look away.
“We will mark the day,” Edward said then, standing. “Properly. Together.”
Julian gasped. “Really?”
“Yes,” Edward replied.
The word alone set Julian alight.
Edward gave swift, quiet instructions to the servants—flowers brought in, the small dining room prepared, music arranged. Nothing ostentatious. Nothing performative. Just remembrance shaped with intention.
Soon, the three of them were walking beyond the grounds, into the nearby forest where winter still clung in quiet patches of frost.
Julian ran ahead, laughter ringing through the trees, darting behind trunks and reappearing with gleeful shouts. Edwardfound himself laughing too—unselfconscious, unguarded, the sound startling in its ease.
They played hide and seek among the trees. Julian shrieked with delight when Edward pretended not to see him. Charlotte laughed openly now, color bright in her cheeks, hair loosened by the breeze.
Edward watched her when she did not notice.
The way she listened to Julian. The way she knelt to his height. The way she brought light into spaces long dimmed by absence.
Julian chattered endlessly—about the piano, about lessons, about how Charlotte said the forest was full of stories if one knew how to look. Edward listened, heart full and unsteady.
At one point, Charlotte slipped on damp leaves.
Edward caught her without thinking.
Her body stilled instantly in his arms.
For one breathless moment, neither moved.
He became acutely aware of her warmth, the faint scent of lavender and woodsmoke, the soft hitch of her breath. Their eyesmet—and something unspoken passed between them, electric and terrifying in its clarity.
Did she feel it too?
Before he could find the courage to answer his own question, Julian shouted in triumph, having spotted a rabbit darting through the undergrowth. He tore off after it, laughter echoing through the trees.
Edward released Charlotte at once, stepping back as though scorched.
She smoothed her skirts, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with something alarmingly close to hope.
Later, as the house filled with flowers and the soft undercurrent of music, Edward found himself standing before Eleanor’s portrait.
The familiar weight settled in his chest—love, grief, devotion braided so tightly together they had long felt inseparable. He traced her face with his eyes, the gentle strength in her expression, the warmth she had carried so effortlessly.
“I have not forgotten you,” he thought, the words steady, unbroken. “I never will.”
For so long, remembrance had been his penance. His way of proving that love did not fade simply because life demanded forward motion. He had clung to the past as though remaining there were the only form of loyalty left to him.
But loyalty, he was beginning to understand, did not require stagnation.
“I cannot remain here forever,” he admitted silently.
