The words hurt, though she had anticipated them from the moment she entered the room.
“You want me to pretend nothing has passed between us.”
“I want you to help me protect the children,” he said, his voice breaking. “I know what I am asking of you. I know how cruel it is, given what I said to you. But I cannot lose them. I will not.”
She looked at him—at the fear he did not bother to conceal, the desperation of a man who had already lost too much—and she understood.
“I will do what is required,” she said quietly. “Their welfare must come before everything else.”
Something softened in his expression—relief, gratitude, regret, all intermingled.
“Thank you,” he said. “I wish—”
“I know.” She rose before either of them said more than could safely be borne. “When do they arrive?”
“Thursday next. Five days.”
Five days to restore distance. Five days to bury hope.
“I should return to the children,” she said.
“Yes. Of course.”
They stood facing one another—near enough to feel the space between them, too far to bridge it.
“Miss Collard.”
“Yes, my lord?”
He seemed on the brink of saying more—something personal, something honest—but the moment passed.
“Thank you,” he said instead. “For understanding.”
Serena nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and left the study without looking back.
She made it halfway down the corridor before the tears began to fall.
***
Nathaniel remained standing in his study for a long while after Serena left, staring at the door through which she had disappeared.
He had done the right thing. He knew he had done the right thing. The children’s welfare must come first—must always come first—and if that required the sacrifice of his own happiness, his own wishes, his own heart…
Then so be it.
But goodness, it hurt.
The look on her face when he asked her to maintain distance. The way her voice had gone careful and restrained, concealing the pain he knew she felt. The way she had agreed without protest, accepting the necessity of it all with a composure that only made him love her more.
She was remarkable. Extraordinary. And he had asked her to become, once more, nothing more than a governess—to veil what existed between them, to deny a feeling that had scarcely been allowed to breathe.
It was cruel. It was unjust. And it was unavoidable.
Nathaniel crossed to his desk and picked up Elspeth’s letter again, reading it now with colder eyes. The phrasing was polite,even cordial, but the threat lay plainly beneath the civility. This was no family visit. It was the opening move in a contest he had long feared and hoped never to face.
He needed to prepare. Needed to ensure that every aspect of the household was in perfect order, that every servant knew to be on their best behaviour, that every room Elspeth might inspect was clean and well-maintained and reflective of a prosperous, well-run estate.
And he needed to prepare the children.
