Footsteps pounded toward them. Edward appeared around the curve of the path, his face ashen, his breathing ragged. He skidded to a halt at the sight of them.
“Oliver.” The name emerged broken.
The boy lifted his head from Sophia’s shoulder. “Uncle Edward!”
He scrambled out of Sophia’s arms and launched himself at his uncle. Edward caught him, lifting him off the ground, holding him with a desperation that made Sophia’s throat tighten.
“I am sorry.” Oliver sobbed against Edward’s neck. “I am sorry I ran away. I did not mean to get lost.”
“It is all right.” Edward’s voice was rough. “You are safe. That is all that matters.”
But Sophia saw the way his jaw clenched. The way his eyes squeezed shut. The way his arms trembled around the boy.
Something was wrong. Something beyond the fear and relief of the moment.
They made their way back to Mrs. Palmer, who wept with relief at the sight of Oliver. The carriage was summoned. They rode home in silence, Oliver wedged between Edward and Sophia, his small hand clutching each of theirs.
Edward did not look at her. Did not speak. His face had shuttered into the stony mask she had not seen in weeks.
Sophia’s stomach knotted with dread.
That night, Sophia found Edward in his study.
He sat behind his desk, a glass of untouched brandy before him, staring at nothing. The fire had burned low, casting long shadows across his rigid features.
“Oliver is asleep.” She closed the door behind her. “His knees are cleaned and bandaged. Mrs. Palmer is sitting with him.”
Edward said nothing.
Sophia crossed to the desk. “Edward. Talk to me.”
“About what?” His voice came out flat, devoid of emotion. “About how I nearly lost my nephew because I was too busy kissing you to watch him?”
The words struck her like a slap. “That is not fair. We both?—”
“We both what?” He looked up at her, and his eyes were cold. Distant. The eyes of the man she had married, not the man she had grown to love. “We both allowed ourselves to be distracted? We both forgot our responsibilities? We both put our own desires ahead of a child’s safety?”
“I feel guilty, too.” Sophia’s voice shook. “Do you think I have not been replaying it in my mind? Wondering what might have happened if I had not found him?”
Edward pushed back from his desk and rose. He moved to the window, his back to her, his shoulders rigid.
“This is exactly what I was afraid of.” The words emerged low and bitter. “This is why I wanted a marriage without passion. Without this… this consuming need that makes me forget everything else.”
Sophia felt the blood drain from her face. “Edward…”
“My father was right.” He spat the words like poison. “Desire clouds judgment. Emotion makes you weak. I knew this. I have always known this. And yet I allowed myself to forget.”
“You are not your father.” She crossed to him, reaching for his arm. “We talked about this. You are not?—”
He pulled away from her touch. “Today proved otherwise.”
The rejection cut deep. Sophia wrapped her arms around herself, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall.
“So, what are you saying?” Her voice was small. “That these past weeks meant nothing? That everything between us was a mistake?”
Edward was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was hollow.
“Yes.”
