He watched her, his face unreadable.
“And understand this—” Maribel stepped closer, her voice dropping. “—I am not returning as your convenient solution. Not as a governess with a title. I am returning as your equal, or I am not returning at all. Which means my voice matters. My opinions matter. When we disagree, we discuss rather than you dictating. When I need something from you, you do not withdraw. And when you are afraid—because you will be afraid again, we both will—you tell me instead of pushing me away.”
She held his gaze. “Can you do that? Can you give me genuine partnership, or will you revert to the man you were the moment you feel threatened?”
The silence stretched between them. Servants hovered in doorways, watching. From inside the house came the faint sound of Oliver’s voice asking Mrs. Allen something.
Finally, Thaddeus spoke.
“I have already instructed my solicitor to draw up the papers for joint guardianship. They should arrive within the week.” His voice was steady. “And yes. I can give you partnership. Not perfectly—I will fail, I will retreat into old patterns when I am afraid, I will make mistakes—but I will try. And when I fail, I will admit it and learn from it rather than defending my failures as strength.”
Maribel felt something loosen in her chest. “And if I stay, I need your word that I will never again be made to feel temporary. That I will not wake one morning to discover you have decided I am an inconvenience and sent me away.”
“You have my word.” Thaddeus lifted his hand, then stopped, as though uncertain he had the right to touch her. “More than that. You have my commitment, witnessed and binding, that your place in this household—in this family—is permanent. Legal, emotional, and absolute. You may leave if you choose. But I will never again ask you to go.”
Maribel searched his face, looking for any sign of dissemblance. Any hint that these were merely words calculated to achieve a desired result.
She found none.
What she saw instead was exhaustion. Hope. Fear. And beneath it all, something that looked desperately like love attempting to learn how to express itself.
It was not enough. Not yet. Words were cheap, and promises easily broken.
But it was a beginning.
She took his hand.
His fingers closed around hers with careful pressure, as though she were something precious that might shatter if held too tightly.
“I choose you,” she said quietly. “I choose this. I choose to believe that you can become the man you claim to want to be.”She tightened her grip. “But understand—I will not survive being broken again. So don’t make me regret this choice.”
Thaddeus’s eyes glistened. “I won’t. I swear it on everything I have. On everything I am. On Oliver’s future and our marriage and whatever gods might be listening—I will not fail you again.”
“You will,” Maribel said. “Because no one is perfect. But when you do, you will admit it. You will apologise. And you will try again. That is what partnership means.”
“Then I swear that instead.” His voice was rough. “I swear I will try. Every day. For as long as you will let me.”
From inside the house, Oliver’s voice rang out. “Maribel? Are you coming?”
She looked toward the door, then back at Thaddeus. “We should go inside. He’s waited long enough.”
But she did not release his hand.
And when they walked through the door together, fingers intertwined, she felt something she had not allowed herself to feel in weeks.
Hope.
CHAPTER 22
“If you draw the reins any tighter, the mare will think you’re trying to throttle her.”
Maribel paused at the paddock fence, one hand shading her eyes against the autumn sun. Thaddeus stood beside the small grey mare, his posture rigid with the particular tension of a man attempting patience he did not naturally possess. Oliver sat atop Clover with all the confidence of someone convinced they were seconds from death.
She had not meant to observe. Had been returning from the garden with wildflowers for the morning room when the sound of Thaddeus’s voice carried across the grounds—sharp, then deliberately moderated, then sharp again despite obvious effort.
“Heels down,” he was saying now. “No—Oliver, not like that. You look as though you’re about to leap from the saddle.”
“I might be,” Oliver said, his knuckles white where they gripped the leather.
