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“You misunderstand him,” she said firmly. “And you misunderstand me, if you believe I would allow any man to convince me of anything I did not choose for myself.”

“Then convince me otherwise,” Cornelius suggested. “Convince me that you are not simply resigned to a fate you never wanted, because you see no way free of it.”

Anna considered her words carefully before she spoke again, aware of the weight they carried, aware too that she was, in this moment, admitting something to herself as much as to them.

“Hudson can be cold,” she allowed slowly. “He can be controlling, and stubborn, and entirely too certain of his own judgment for anyone’s comfort, yours included. I will not pretend otherwise, nor will I pretend that the manner in which our marriage began was anything but a grave wrong done to me.”

She paused, glancing between their expectant faces, gathering her thoughts further before continuing.

“But I have also watched him change, these past weeks, in ways I did not think possible when I first arrived at his estate as a bride he barely knew. I have watched him try, clumsily and imperfectly, to become a man worth trusting. That does not erase what came before it. But it matters, Cornelius. It matters a great deal to me.”

She drew a steadying breath before continuing. “He is not a monster. He did not know I carried his children when he left me – we were living entirely separate lives by then, as we had agreed, and neither of us intended otherwise. The moment he learned of them, he returned. He has spent every day since trying, however imperfectly, to be a good father to them. And he has been trying, in his own careful way, to be a good husband to me as well.”

“He held our son yesterday morning until his arm went entirely numb, rather than wake him and undo an hour’s worth of careful, patient rocking,” Anna continued, some fierce and unexpected tenderness rising in her at the memory. “He has sat through wet-nurse interviews he had no obligation to attend, simply because I asked it of him. He remembers which of Lucy’s cries mean hunger and which mean simple mischief, though he has known her only a matter of weeks. That is not the behavior of a man who married me merely to satisfy some cold notion of propriety. Whatever his failings – and I do not deny he has many – he has been trying, in every way he knows how, to earn something he was never owed to begin with.”

“Anna,” Edith started softly, wonder creeping into her voice, “You speak of him as though you care for him.”

Anna opened her mouth to deny it, the old instinct rising automatically to protect herself from the vulnerability of such an admission. But she found, when it came to it, that she could not quite make herself say the denial aloud – not here, not to the two people who had witnessed the very beginning of her marriage’s troubles, not when she had spent these past weeks slowly, quietly, coming to understand that her feelings for Hudson had grown into something she could no longer pretend was merely tolerance.

“I do not know what I feel, precisely,” she admitted instead, which was, she realized even as she said it, its own sort of answer. “But I know it is not so simple as wishing to be free of him. And I know that whatever anger you carry toward your brother, Cornelius, it does not give either of you the right to decide my future on my behalf, however well-intentioned your efforts.”

Cornelius looked at her for a long moment, something in his expression shifting – not quite chastened, but no longer so certain of his righteousness either.

“We only wished to help,” he pointed out, quieter now.

“I know,” Anna nodded, her words gentle and understanding. “And I am grateful for the sentiment, truly, even if I cannot accept what you offer. But you must return me home, and you must face Hudson yourselves, and tell him plainly of your engagement. He loves you, Cornelius, despite whatever else stands between you presently. Given how you had it in good faith to hide your intentions from him last time and how things had turned out then, I think it is in your best interest to be as transparent as possible. I believe, in his heart, he will accept your choice if you would only give him the chance to prove it.”

“He does not know how to accept anything he has not first ordained or allowed to happen,” Cornelius snapped, some of his earlier bitterness resurfacing.

“Then perhaps it is time someone showed him how,” Anna suggested s steadily. “But it will not be through fear, or flight, or another scandal born of secrecy. You have both suffered enough for that particular lesson already, have you not?”

Edith and Cornelius exchanged a long look, some silent conversation passing between them that Anna could not fully read, though she recognized, in the softening of both their expressions, that her words had found their mark.

“Very well,” Cornelius sighed finally, though there was evident reluctance in it. “We will return you home. And we will speak with him ourselves, whatever comes of it.”

“Thank you,” Anna stated, relief loosening something tight in her chest.

“For what it is worth,” Cornelius added, more quietly, “I am glad you have found some happiness in all this, whatever shape it has taken. You deserved rather better than the beginning we gave you.”

Edith reached for her hand once more as they waited for the carriage to be brought round, her expression softer now, some of the old ease between them beginning to reassert itself despite everything that had transpired.

“I am glad, to be honest,” Edith spoke quietly. “Whatever else may come of tonight, I am glad that you have found something worth defending in him. You deserve happiness, Anna, whatever shape it takes. I only feared, for so long, that I had cost you the chance of it entirely.”

“You did not cost me anything I was not always going to have to find for myself.” Anna shook her head, squeezing her friend’s hand in return. “Perhaps it simply took a rather more unconventional road to arrive at than either of us expected.”

Edith laughed, a small, watery sound. “That is one way of describing a kidnapping and a marriage of convenience, I suppose.”

“I have always had a talent for understatement,” Anna teased, and was rewarded with a real smile at last, the tension of the evening easing between them for the first time since Anna had been dragged from her own home.

Cornelius, watching the exchange from near the door, cleared his throat.

“The carriage is ready,” he announced. “Whenever you are prepared, Anna.”

She nodded, allowing herself to be helped up into the carriage once more, though this time the fear that had accompanied the ride out had given way to something more like resolve. Edith settled beside her, and Cornelius took the seat opposite, his expression growing graver with every passing moment as the carriage rattled back toward the Wolvesley estate.

“He will not be pleased,” Cornelius eventually concluded after some internal deliberation on his side, breaking the silence.

“No,” Anna agreed. “He will not be. But I do not believe he will refuse to hear you, Cornelius, whatever you fear. Not tonight.”