He imagined knocking, stepping inside and explaining everything.
Then he imagined her face when she understood the danger, the anxiety that would follow, and thought better of it. It was better that she believed him distant.
The thought left a bitter taste.
In the morning, he rode out again before dawn. At the small house beyond the trees, his sister met him with quiet news.
“He slept through the night,” she said.
Nathaniel nodded, relief threading through his exhaustion.
“You look worse,” she added.
“I am well.”
She studied him.
“Does she know that you care for her?”
“She knows I respect her.”
He looked toward the boy, not answering. His sister stepped closer.
“Protection is not the same as silence.”
“It must be,” he said.
“For how long?”
“Until this is finished.”
“And when will that be?”
He did not know. On the ride back to Ravensmere, the wind cut sharp against his face. He told himself again that his marriage had to remain practical, that he could not afford to want what he might lose.
Yet when he reached the estate and saw Margaret in the garden speaking with the head gardener, her hands folded loosely at her waist, sunlight catching along the curve of her cheek, his breath stalled.
She turned at the sound of hooves. For a brief second, their eyes met. Something passed between them. Not accusation, not even hurt.
It was distance.
He nodded his head, and she did the same.
And he felt, with quiet certainty, that the silence he had chosen was beginning to cost more than he had calculated.
CHAPTER 24
Margaret had not expected the carriage wheels to sound so loud in the drive.
She stood at the drawing room window, hands folded loosely before her, watching as her friends stepped down one by one. Laughter carried faintly through the open air. For a moment, she allowed herself to feel something uncomplicated.
Then the footman opened the door, and they swept inside like color returning to a faded canvas.
“Margaret,” Eleanor exclaimed first, arms already outstretched. “Why on earth are we here?”
“That is a curious greeting,” Margaret replied, though she embraced her tightly.
Beatrice followed, more measured but equally warm.
