Mr. Colborne nodded. He did not press for details, did not ask questions she could not answer. He simply waited, patient and attentive.
“There are moments when I think…” She hesitated. “When I believe there could be something more between us. Something real. But then he retreats, and I am left wondering if I imagined it all.”
“Ah.” Mr. Colborne steepled his fingers. “The dance of two people who want more than they are willing to admit.”
Sophia looked up. “You speak as though you have experience with such things.”
“I was married once.” His eyes grew distant. “A long time ago. To a woman who drove me half mad with frustration before she finally allowed me to love her.”
“What happened?”
“She died.” The words were simple, worn smooth by years of grief. “But before she did, she taught me that the things most worth having rarely come easily. That trust must be earned, not demanded. That some people need time to learn how to open their hearts.”
Sophia absorbed this. “And if time is not enough?”
“Then you must decide whether to keep waiting or to take the risk of reaching for what you want.” Mr. Colborne smiled gently. “But in my experience, the ones who build walls the highest are often the ones who most need someone to climb over them.”
Sophia thought of Edward. Of his confession in her chambers, raw and vulnerable. Of the way he had pulled back, fleeing from the very connection he claimed to desire.
He had built his walls high indeed. But she had seen the cracks. Had glimpsed the man beneath the armor.
Perhaps it was time to start climbing.
“Thank you.” She reached across the desk and squeezed Mr. Colborne’s hand. “For the gift. For the advice. For everything.”
“It is what I am here for.” He patted her hand with fatherly affection. “Now go home to that husband of yours. Andremember, the best matches are not the ones that come easily. They are the ones worth fighting for.”
Sophia gathered her things and slipped out into the night. The hackney waited in the shadows, the duke’s driver standing ready to escort her home.
Home. To Heatherwell House. To Edward.
She climbed into the carriage and leaned back against the seat, Mr. Colborne’s words echoing in her mind.
The ones who build walls the highest are often the ones who most need someone to climb over them.
CHAPTER 29
“One more.”
Edward poured himself another measure of brandy and settled back into his chair. The study lay dark around him, lit only by the dying embers in the hearth and the single candle on his desk. The door stood open to the corridor beyond, allowing the sounds of the sleeping house to drift in.
He was not reading, not working, and not doing anything productive at all.
He was waiting.
The clock on the mantel marked the hour. Late. Too late for a duchess to be wandering the streets, even with a trusted driver. Too late for anything but trouble and scandal and the sort of danger that made his chest tight with worry.
He took a long swallow of brandy and told himself he was being ridiculous. Sophia had managed perfectly well before she became his wife. She had navigated the city alone, conducted her business in secret, and evaded discovery for three years. She did not need him hovering like an anxious nursemaid.
And yet here he sat, ears straining for the sound of the servants’ door.
The house settled around him. Floorboards creaked. The wind whispered against the windows. And then, finally, the soft click of a door opening at the back of the house.
Edward set down his glass and rose. He crossed to the study door and stepped into the corridor, his footsteps silent on the carpet.
Sophia emerged from the shadows near the servants’ staircase. She wore a dark cloak, the hood pulled up to obscure her face. When she saw him standing there, she halted, one hand flying to her chest.
She lowered her hood. Her hair had come loose from its pins, tendrils curling around her face. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold night air.
