He remained quiet for a moment, staring into the empty cup before him. Then he drew a long breath and smoothed his cravat with a steady hand. “I was engaged once.”
Nell went still, her fingers tightening on her cup. He’d never mentioned a fiancée, and she had only heard about her from Mrs. Pemberton’s gossip.
“Jasmine.” He spoke the name as if it still carried a physical weight, his gaze dropping to the scarred wood of the table. “We were engaged for four years. I thought we were happy. I thought we would finally marry once I had established my practice and could give her the life she deserved.” He paused, his jaw tightening into a hard, pained line. “I thought wrong.”
“What happened?” Nell leaned closer, her cup forgotten between her palms.
“She left.” His expression remained a carefully maintained mask. “It’s been almost eight months. She went with a French count who promised her Paris. Adventure. A life more exciting than the one I could provide.”
“I am sorry.” Nell reached out like to touch his hand, then hesitated, her fingers fluttering before coming to rest on the table instead. “The words feel inadequate.”
“She said I was too dull for her.” A ghost of a bitter smile flickered across his face as he looked up. “Too steady. Too predictable. She wanted passion and romance, and I gave hersecurity and routine. Four years of waiting, and in the end, I was not enough.”
Nell’s throat tightened. She recognized this wound; it was the pain of being made to feel insufficient, of giving everything only to be told it was not what was desired. “You are not dull.” She squared her shoulders, meeting his eyes without blinking. “You are kind and steady. Those are not flaws, Dr. Hartley.”
He looked up at her, his features softening with surprised gratitude.
“Some people don’t know how to value what they have until it’s gone.” Nell smoothed a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
“No.” Something shifted in his expression, a sudden gravity settling over him. “They don’t.”
The kettle began to whistle, breaking the silence. Nell rose to tend to it, pouring the steaming water over the tea leaves, grateful for the task.
She poured the tea in the cups and settled. “Here you go, Mr. Hartley.”
“Edmund.” He traced the grain of the wood with a thumb, his posture relaxing into a new kind of intimacy. “Please. Call me Edmund.”
“Edmund.” Nell tested the name, her fingers tightening around the handle of her cup the way to steady herself. It felt strange and dangerously intimate. “Then you must call me Nell.”
His smile reached his eyes this time, softening the weary lines of his face. “Nell.” He reached across the table, his hand covering hers. His palm was warm and entirely undemanding.
She didn’t pull away. Instead, she let herself lean into the comfort of the gesture, exhaling a breath she’d held for three days. It was simple. It was safe.
The front door opened, the bell clattering against the glass. Heavy, purposeful footsteps crossed the shop floor, eating up thedistance between the entrance and the kitchen doorway. Nell’s blood went cold. She knew those footsteps.
Lord Westmore filled the doorframe, his broad shoulders blocking the light from the shop. His misty eyes swept the scene, taking in the tea, the quiet intimacy, and Edmund’s hand still covering hers. A shadow cut across his face, dark and dangerous.
Nell snatched her hand back, her pulse spiking. She felt a hot flush of guilt, which immediately turned to fury, though she had nothing to be ashamed of.
“Lord Westmore.” Edmund rose smoothly, offering a polite, professional nod. “Good morning to you.”
Dominic didn’t look at him. His eyes remained fixed on Nell, tracing the colour in her cheeks and the teacups that spoke of a shared morning. “I appear to be interrupting.”
“Not at all.” Edmund’s expression remained unruffled as he gathered his gloves. “I was just checking on Mrs. Ashford after her ordeal at the lake.”
“How… Thorough of you.” Dominic’s attention finally shifted to Edmund, assessing and overtly hostile.
The two men regarded each other across the small kitchen. Hartley stood calm, his hands relaxed at his sides, while Westmore remained coiled, a spring of tension in every line of his body.
Edmund turned back to Nell, his expression warming despite the crackling atmosphere. “I should be going. I have patients to see.”
“Of course.” Nell rose, grateful for his presence even as her heart hammered against her ribs. “Thank you for checking on me, Edmund.”
“It was my pleasure.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a brief, proper kiss to her knuckles. “Nell.”
He said her name deliberately, his eyes sliding to Westmore to ensure the familiarity was noted. A stubborn tension pulled at Dominic’s face, his gloved hands curling into fists.
“Edmund,” Nell managed, offering a small dip of a curtsy with a composure that belied the frantic thrum of her pulse.
