They stepped around each other like dancers who had forgotten the steps, bodies angling to avoid contact, gazes sliding away. She continued up the stairs.
He continued down the corridor. And did not look back.
The next day, he entered the library to find her curled in the window seat, a book in her lap. She looked up. He looked away. He murmured an apology for disturbing her and retreated, leaving behind the volume he had come to retrieve.
The day after that, they reached the same doorway at the same moment. He gestured for her to proceed. She gestured for him to proceed. They stood in absurd stalemate until Oliver came barreling down the corridor and broke the spell, demanding that Sophia come see the frog he had discovered in the garden.
Dinners were the worst.
They sat at opposite ends of the long table, Oliver between them, a buffer and a bridge. The boy chattered endlessly, filling the silence with stories of his adventures, his paintings, his elaborate plans for the frog’s new habitat. Sophia responded with warmth and patience. Edward responded when addressed, his answers brief, his eyes fixed on his plate.
He could feel her watching him sometimes. Could feel the weight of her gaze across the candlelit table.
He never looked up. Never met her eyes. Because if he did, he would see the question there, the confusion, the hurt he had caused with his confession and his retreat.
And he had no answers to give her.
On the fourth day, she came to his study.
Edward heard the knock and assumed it was Hartley with correspondence. He called out permission to enter without looking up from his ledger.
“I hope I am not disturbing you.”
His pen stilled. He raised his head to find Sophia standing just inside the doorway, her hands clasped before her, her expression composed but uncertain.
“Not at all.” He set down his pen and rose. “Please. Sit.”
She crossed to the chair before his desk and lowered herself into it. The afternoon light caught the auburn threads in her hair, the green of her eyes. Edward gripped the edge of his desk and reminded himself to breathe.
“There is something I wish to discuss with you.” Her voice was steady, though her fingers twisted in her lap. “About my work. As Lady Fairhart.”
Edward waited.
“Despite everything that has happened, I would like to continue.” She met his gaze. “The matchmaking. The correspondence. All of it.”
“You do not need the money.” The words came out before he could soften them. “Whatever you require, I can provide.”
“I know.” Sophia’s chin lifted. “But I could give the earnings to my family. My mother. My sister.”
“I can provide for them as well. They are my family now. You needn’t worry about their income.”
“Yes.” Something flickered in her eyes. “But this is mine, Edward. Lady Fairhart is something I built. Something that belongs to me, even if it was born from necessity. It is the one thing in my life that is truly my own.”
He heard the edge beneath her words. The quiet assertion of independence in a world that had stripped her of so much. She had married him out of desperation, had traded her freedom for her family’s safety. And now she was asking to keep this one piece of herself intact.
How could he refuse her?
“Very well.” He settled back into his chair. “You may continue your work as Lady Fairhart.”
Relief washed across her features. “Thank you.”
“But there are conditions.” He held up a hand. “You will use my driver whenever you travel to meet your associate. I will not have you wandering the streets alone at night. Not after what happened with Drakeston.”
Sophia frowned. “A ducal carriage coming and going at odd hours will rouse suspicion. People will talk.”
“My driver will use a hackney.” Edward had already considered this. “He will collect you in an unmarked carriage, deposit you near your destination, and wait to bring you home. He can help you enter the house through the servants’ entrance, undetected.”
She studied him for a long moment. “You have given this a great deal of thought.”
