Sebastian’s eyes darkened. He pressed the papers tighter in his hand, feeling an ache that ran deeper than mere irritation.
“Sold it?” he said, low, as though the act itself was a personal affront. “Her mother?—”
“Didn’t even think about asking Phoebe before taking it,” Genevieve continued. “Phoebe was furious, but she had nopower to stop them. And then… they bundled her off into a carriage the first chance they got. This manuscript… she sent it to me as a parting gift.”
“How?” Sebastian demanded. “If the Earl and Countess stole Phoebe’s necklace and packed her off to the countryside, how did she manage to tell you what happened? When did she find the time to send you these papers?”
What he really wanted to know was why Phoebe had reached out to her cousin and forsaken him, but he could not let those thoughts crowd his head.
“Phoebe’s lady’s maid, Clara, she helped.” Lady Genevieve lifted her handkerchief and swiped the cloth over her cheeks, partially banishing some of her tears. “She came to see me… Said she was there on Phoebe’s behalf. It was Clara who recounted what happened at Tripleton House this morning and in the early hours of the afternoon and it was Clara who served as Phoebe’s messenger.”
She paused and exhaled.
“Before Phoebe was forced from her house, and taken away, she entrusted Clara with these parts of her journal. She tore the pages from her diary herself and begged Clara to see that they found their way to me. To you.”
“Phoebe wanted me to read her work?”
Lady Genevieve gulped heavily. “I think Phoebe wanted you to know how much you mean to her.”
Sebastian stared at the packet of papers.
Not even a full second passed before he lifted his gaze once more and saw Lady Genevieve turning on her heel and preparing to leave.
Sebastian watched her go, wanting to make sure she got off safely. Then he retreated into the hush of his house, the soft lamplight casting long shadows across the room.
He walked slowly down the hall to his study, simply holding the packet of pages in his hands, feeling its weight, its warmth, and the intimacy of the gesture.
Then, carefully, he untied the ribbon and opened it.
The pages smelled faintly of parchment and ink, a delicate perfume of thought and care. The handwriting was meticulous yet fluid, graceful in a way that reflected Phoebe herself. He began to read, and immediately, the world outside seemed to fade.
“…He wore the mask of the charmer, the polished, commanding man that the world demanded. But beneath it, beneath the laughter, the easy smile, the charm so perfectly rehearsed, there was gentleness, a light that could not be contained. He was the man who would stand silently beside you in the dark,who would see you when no one else could, and in his presence, the world seemed smaller, safer, brighter. That man, the one beneath the mask, was the one I wanted to know. And in a single glance, beneath the flicker of candlelight, I saw him. I saw him as he truly was.”
Sebastian’s hands trembled slightly as he read, the words sinking deep. His chest tightened, not with pride, but with something heavier, something entirely unfamiliar.
The feeling that he was seen.
To have the walls, the pretense, the careful masking of his life dismantled by the perception of someone who knew him, truly, and dared to care anyway, it was a freedom he had never imagined.
He turned the page, reading another passage:
“…And though the night passed, and masks were lifted, and the world resumed its ordinary demands, I carried him in my heart. Not the man the world would praise, not the lord whose name echoed in grand halls, but the man I had glimpsed: the golden soul hidden beneath the veil of titles and expectation. He was mine, in the quiet way that no one else could claim him, and in that knowledge, I felt courageous for the first time.”
Sebastian’s throat tightened. His fingers closed around the manuscript, holding it to his chest for a long moment, absorbing the weight of her words.
She had written about him. Not the Duke of Talwyn, not the masked serpent, not the man the world demanded, buthim. The man he dared not fully reveal, the man he thought no one could see.
For the first time, he understood what it meant to be truly, wholly witnessed, wholly accepted. Phoebe loved him and honored him with her words.
He pressed the small manuscript to his lips briefly, a silent vow passing through him, before tucking it carefully into his coat pocket.
He moved swiftly to the small table in his study where his own mask from the masquerade lay. His fingers brushed it once, then, with deliberate finality, he threw it across the room. It clattered against the floorboards and rolled beneath a chair, forgotten.
The mask, a symbol of everything performed, everything hidden, was discarded, no longer needed tonight.
For a long moment, Sebastian stood there in the quiet glow of his house, the manuscript safe in his pocket, the images of Phoebe and her fox mask alive in his mind. He allowed himself a slow, deep exhale, the tension in his shoulders unwinding, and for the first time in years. He felt the raw, liberating clarity of being known, and seen, without pretense.
And in that quiet, he whispered a promise to the girl who had dared to write truthfully, to show him his own soul without restraint.
