“You have been a good friend to me,” he said. “I wish you well.”
And Imogen had given him that sad, beautiful smile he’d adored as a boy.
“You love her, don’t you?” she asked.
“With everything that I am,” he said simply.
“But we will still be friends, won’t we?” She put a hand on his arm. “You will still be my knight?”
Seeing the desperation in Imogen’s eyes, Severin had felt a tug of pity and fondness. The concern he would have for a friend. Yet he did not think her fantasy was doing her any favors—and, out of respect for Fancy, he could not let it stand.
“My protection belongs to my wife.” Gently and firmly, he removed Imogen’s hand. “She will always come first. If you wish for us to remain friends, then you must honor that.”
Imogen’s eyes shimmered. “Then this is…goodbye?”
He nodded. “If your brother needs help dealing with Cardiff, he knows how to contact me. Take care, Imogen.”
He had left and spent the early morning hours wandering through the streets. He passed the tenements where he and hismamanhad lived, the alleyways where she’d sacrificed herself for their survival, the gin palaces where she’d obliterated her sorrows and lost herself. He walked the streets that had birthed him, where he had bled while his mother had been torn away, where he had known loneliness and hunger and despair. When he emerged at his own house, he finally left all of it behind.
Or, rather, the past was a part of him, but it no longer drove him. He was no longer running like a terrified, powerless guttersnipe. Because, as a man, he’d found what he needed: Fate had bestowed a gift upon him, giving him the love of a lifetime.
He let himself in, walking past his startled butler.
“Is Her Grace up yet, Harvey?” he asked.
“No, Your Grace.” The butler’s gaze flicked to the poesy Severin had bought from a flower girl. “When Her Grace returned last night, she asked not to be disturbed.”
Severin continued heading up the stairs. It had been a late night, and Fancy had looked tired when she left the soiree. His chest expanded with tenderness and pride as he thought of how entrancing she’d been last night. How she’d won over even a stickler like Princess Adelaide. His only regret was that he hadn’t been a husband worthy of her…but that was going to change.
Now that he understood his own heart, he would tell Fancy everything, bare his past and his soul. He would beg her forgiveness. Give her anything and everything she desired if she would let him.
Reaching the next floor, he ran into Eleanor, Toby, and Aunt Esther.
Disapproval glinted in his aunt’s eyes. “Are you just arriving home, Knighton?”
“I had business to attend to. Have you seen Fancy?” He tried but failed to keep the eagerness out of his voice.
“Francesca is still abed. She wasn’t feeling well after the party.” Aunt Esther sniffed. “Likely she overexerted herself doing her duty to this family.”
Remorse constricted his chest. “I’ll check in on her.”
“Are the flowers for Fancy?” Toby beamed at him.
“Yes.” And because his wife had helped him build a bridge to his kin, he thought to ask, “Do you think she will like the violets?”
“She will.” Although Eleanor’s tone was serious as usual, her new white frock with pink ribbons made her appear more her age. “All ladies like flowers…except me.”
“You do not like flowers?” he asked.
“I prefer books. Flowers last a moment, books forever.”
“I shall remember your advice the next time I get Fancy a gift,” he said, amused.
“You don’t have to worry,” Toby reassured him. “Fancy isn’t hard to please. She even liked the picture I drew of Bertrand, and I’m not a very good artist. I could only fit three of his four legs onto the paper.”
Talking about Fancy, seeing the changes she had sown with her warmth and love, made Severin all the more impatient to get to her.
“Come along, children,” his aunt said briskly “Your brother has matters to attend to.”
