It was coming from the library—a soft glow that suggested someone had lit a lamp within. At this hour, it could only be one person.
Serena.
He should turn back. Should return to his room and leave her to whatever solitary contemplation had drawn her to the library in the middle of the night. They had agreed to maintain distance, to give Elspeth no ammunition. Being found alone together at this hour would be exactly the kind of evidence she was looking for.
But his feet carried him forward anyway, drawn by a force stronger than caution.
He pushed open the library door—and stopped.
Serena was standing by the writing desk, her back to him, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. On the desk before her lay a sheet of paper, and even from across the room, Nathaniel recognised it for what it was.
A letter.
A resignation letter.
“No.”
The word escaped him before he could stop it—a raw denial torn from somewhere deep in his chest. Serena spun around, her face streaked with tears, her eyes wide with shock.
“Nathaniel. I didn’t—you should not be here—”
“Neither should you.” He crossed the room in three long strides and snatched the letter from the desk, his eyes scanning the words she had written. “You cannot do this. You cannot leave.”
“I have to.” Her voice was broken, barely above a whisper. “Don’t you see? I am the problem. I am the evidence Lady Crane needs. If I go, if I disappear, she has nothing. She cannot accuse you of impropriety with a governess who is no longer here.”
“And what of you?” Nathaniel’s voice was harsh with pain. “What becomes of you, Serena? You disappear into the night, alone, with no references, no prospects, no—”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me!” He crumpled the letter in his fist, his whole body shaking with the force of his emotion. “You matter to me. Do you think I could live with myself, knowing I let you sacrifice yourself for my sake? Do you think I could look at the children every day, knowing they lost you because I was too cowardly to fight for what I want?”
“This is not about what you want. It is about what they need.” Serena’s voice cracked. “They need a guardian who is above reproach. They need a home that is not tainted by scandal. They need—”
“They needyou.” Nathaniel reached out and grasped her shoulders, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Rosie needs you. Samuel needs you. Ella needs you. And I—” His voice broke. “Ineed you, Serena. I cannot do this without you. I do not want to do this without you.”
“Nathaniel—”
“I love you.” The words came out fierce, desperate. “I love you, and I will not let you walk away. Not like this. Not because some vindictive woman has decided to make our lives miserable.”
Serena was crying openly now, tears streaming down her face. “What choice do we have? She is determined to take action. To destroy your reputation, your guardianship, everything—”
“Then let her try.” Nathaniel’s jaw set with sudden determination. “Let her write her letters and make her accusations. I am done hiding. I am done pretending. If Elspeth wants a fight, I shall give her one.”
“What do you mean?”
Nathaniel stepped back, his mind suddenly clear. He knew what he had to do. Had known, perhaps, since the moment he saw Serena’s resignation letter. He had simply been too afraid to admit it.
But he was not afraid anymore.
“On the morrow,” he said, “I shall announce our betrothal.”
Serena’s eyes went wide. “What?”
“I will stand in front of Elspeth, in front of Sir Harold, in front of the entire household, and I will announce that I intend to marry you. That you are not merely my governess—but my future wife. That our connection is not scandalous; not inappropriate; not evidence of unfitness. It is simply love.”
“Nathaniel, you cannot—the scandal—”
“There will be scandal regardless. Elspeth will see to that.” Nathaniel’s voice was steady now, certain. “But a man who marries the woman he loves is not the same as a man who carries on an illicit affair with his governess. One is romantic. The other is sordid. If we are courting—if we are planning to marry—then everything changes.”
