Only then did he realize that he had been holding his breath.
Edward walked the remaining distance to Heatherwell House with her voice echoing in his head. Her scent lingering in his memory. The shape of her lips beneath that damnable hood.
He did not know her name. Did not know her face and would probably never see her again.
So why couldn’t he stop thinking about her?
He mounted the steps to his townhouse and found the door already open. His butler, Hartley, stood in the entrance, his usually impassive face drawn with concern.
“Your Grace.” Hartley’s voice was strained. “I have been waiting for your return.”
Edward paused, removing his coat. “What is it?”
“An urgent message arrived two hours ago.” The butler held out a folded letter, the seal already broken. “I took the liberty of reading it, given the demeanor of the messenger. I thought you would want to know immediately.”
Edward took the letter. The paper felt wrong in his hands, but he didn’t know why.
He read the first line. The world tilted beneath his feet.
It is with deepest sorrow that I must inform you of the deaths of Lord Leonard Gray and his wife, Lady Jane Gray, following a carriage accident on the northern road.
The words blurred. Edward read them again. They did not change.
Leonard. His brother. His little brother, who had hugged him goodbye five years ago and promised to write every week. Who had kept that promise, letter after letter, filling pages with stories of Jane and the countryside and the life he had built far from London and their father’s shadow.
Gone.
He forced himself to keep reading.
Their son, Oliver, was not in the carriage at the time and remains unharmed. He is currently in my care at the house. I await your instructions.
Oliver—Leonard’s boy. Four years old and suddenly alone in the world.
Edward’s hand trembled. He crushed it into a fist, crumpling the edge of the paper. The grief surged up his throat, hot and choking, and he forced it back down. Later. He would feel this later. Now, there was only duty. Only the child who needed him.
He looked up at Hartley. His voice emerged flat, stripped of everything but command.
“Wake my valet. Have him pack my things.”
Hartley nodded, his eyes glistening. “Of course, Your Grace. May I ask where you are going?”
Edward folded the letter and tucked it into his coat, close to his heart.
“To bring my nephew home.”
CHAPTER 3
“They are engaged.” Alice, Viscountess Guildthorpe, pressed Sophia’s hand, her eyes bright with excitement. “Lord Collingsworth proposed to Lady Kirby yesterday evening. The whole ton is buzzing about it. It’s another triumph for Lady Fairhart.”
Sophia nodded. The parlor of Brimsey House felt too warm, and the afternoon light too bright. “That is good to know. I am pleased they found happiness together.”
The words emerged flat and hollow. Alice’s smile faltered. She exchanged a glance with her husband, Thomas, who sat across from them, his spectacles perched on his nose, his expression gentle with concern.
“Sophia.” Alice squeezed her fingers. “You have not been yourself all week. Please talk to us.”
Sophia stared at their joined hands. Alice’s fingers were warm, steady, alive. Jane’s fingers would never hold hers again.
“I should have been there.” The confession scraped from her throat. “The funeral. I should have gone. Jane was my dearest friend, and I could not even say goodbye.”
