Thaddeus Blackwood had built his to last. Under his influence, she feared that she might do the same.
CHAPTER 16
“Thomas is leaving.”
Oliver spoke the words into his porridge whilst rain streaked the breakfast room windows. Maribel set down her teacup with deliberate care, though her hand trembled slightly against the china.
“Leaving?” She kept her voice gentle, reaching across the table to cover his small hand with hers. “When did you hear this, sweetheart?”
“Yesterday. By the stables.” His dark eyes—Nicholas’s eyes, she thought with the familiar ache—swam with tears he was desperately trying not to shed. “His papa found work in Berkshire. They depart Saturday next.”
Three days. Maribel looked at the boy sympathetically. He had lost so much already. This was why she had not yet told him about his new school.
“I see. That must be very difficult for you.”
“He’s my friend.” Oliver’s voice cracked on the word. “My only friend. And now he’s going away and I shall never see him again, and His Grace says I mustn’t cry about it because gentlemen don’t weep over temporary attachments.”
She could hardly believe the cruelty of the words. Maribel felt fury and heartbreak war within her chest with equal violence.
Of course Thaddeus would say such things. Of course he would take a grieving child’s legitimate sorrow and reshape it into another lesson on emotional restraint.
“His Grace says Thomas was never truly my forever friend,” Oliver continued, staring at his porridge. “That our stations differ too greatly for genuine friendship. That I must learn not to become attached to people who cannot stay.”
This is what it looks like when someone you count on disappears.
The realisation arrived with sickening clarity. This devastation currently etched across Oliver’s small face—this was precisely what she would inflict upon him if she left.
And yet remaining had become untenable.
“Oliver.” Maribel waited until he met her eyes. “His Grace is wrong. Caring for someone is never a mistake, even ifcircumstances separate you. The love you bear Thomas is real and valuable, regardless of what happens next. Do you understand?”
He nodded slowly, though doubt lingered in his expression.
She pressed a kiss to his hair, breathing in the scent of childhood—soap and sleep and something indefinably sweet. “Finish your breakfast, sweetheart. I shall return shortly.”
But she knew she was lying. Knew that after she spoke with Thaddeus, nothing would be the same.
The walk to his study felt simultaneously too long and far too short. Maribel’s heart hammered against her ribs whilst her mind catalogued every slight, every avoidance, every small wound accumulated over three weeks of careful distance.
Thaddeus cancelling tea. Again and again, until Oliver stopped asking.
Thaddeus leaving rooms when she entered them, as though her presence carried contagion.
Thaddeus addressing her with scrupulous formality even in private, that careful “Lady Blackwood” that erected walls more effectively than any physical barrier.
And most damning—Thaddeus refusing to acknowledge the kiss they’d shared. Refusing to speak of it, refusing to explainhis retreat, refusing everything except the safety of emotional isolation.
She was tired. So desperately, achingly tired of pretending she didn’t care.
She reached his study and opened the door without knocking.
Thaddeus sat at his desk, surrounded by ledgers and correspondence, using work as both weapon and shield. He did not look up when she entered, though she saw tension enter his shoulders.
“Your Grace.” Her voice was colder than she’d intended. “I require a moment of your time.”
“I am occupied presently.” He did not lift his gaze. “If this concerns household matters, Mrs. Ashby can?—”
“It concerns your ward,” she interrupted, “and the cruel instruction you saw fit to provide him.”
