“Ah.” Tobias settled back in his chair with the expression of a man who’d just received confirmation of a long-held suspicion. “And was she correct in that assessment?”
“Of course she was correct.” Edmund’s voice carried a bitterness that made several nearby members glance up from their papers with poorly concealed curiosity. “I’ve spent ten years building walls around that girl, telling myself I was protecting her when all I was doing was protecting myself from having to face my own inadequacy as her guardian.”
He moved to the tall windows that looked out over St. James’s Street, where Christmas lights twinkled in shop windows and late evening pedestrians hurried through the December cold. “Do you know what James said to me that morning? Before the duel?”
Tobias remained silent, understanding that this was not a question requiring an answer.
“He said Lillian would need me when she was old enough to face the world. That she would require someone who could help her navigate society’s cruelties while preserving her spirit.” Edmund’s laugh was harsh as winter wind. “Someone like her father—charming, diplomatic, capable of making friends even of his enemies. Instead, she got me.”
“You underestimate yourself, Edmund. You’ve provided for her material needs, protected her from scandal?—”
“I’ve imprisoned her.” The words exploded from him with enough force to rattle the crystal decanters on a nearby table. “Hidden her away like some shameful secret because I was too much of a coward to let her live. And it took my wife—a woman I barely know—to show me what I’ve been doing to that child.”
Tobias was quiet for a long moment, studying his friend’s profile as Edmund continued to stare out at the street below. When he finally spoke, his voice carried the gentle persistence that had always made him impossible to deflect.
“Tell me about this morning’s confrontation. What exactly did your duchess say that has you so thoroughly unsettled?”
Edmund closed his eyes, remembering the way Isadora had stood in that schoolroom, chin lifted in defiance, hazel eyes blazing with righteous fury on behalf of a girl she’d known less than a week.
“She said Lillian deserved more than my fear. That I was keeping her trapped in perpetual childhood because I was terrified of allowing her to develop opinions that might challenge my authority.” He turned from the window to face his friend. “She accused me of crushing everything vital about that girl in the name of protection.”
“And you believe she was right.”
It wasn’t a question. Tobias had known him too long, had seen too much of the guilt that drove Edmund’s every decision regarding Lillian’s welfare.
“I know she was right. That’s what makes it so damnable.” Edmund resumed his pacing, his boots silent on the thick carpet. “Isadora saw through to the heart of it in a matter of days. Saw what I’ve been too blind or too stubborn to acknowledge for months.”
“Which is?”
“That I’ve been failing James’s daughter as surely as I failed James himself.” The admission tasted like poison on his tongue, but speaking it aloud to someone who understood the weight of that old guilt somehow made it more bearable. “I took her in out of obligation, provided for her physical needs, and told myself that was enough. But a bright, spirited girl requires more than room and board and rigid schedules.”
“What does she require?” Tobias asked gently.
Edmund sank back into his chair, suddenly exhausted by the weight of truths he’d been avoiding for months. “Laughter. Questions. The freedom to make mistakes and learn from them. The chance to discover who she might become rather than being molded into what I think she should be.” He lifted his glass, staring into its amber depths. “Everything I’m incapable of providing.”
“Are you incapable? Or simply unpracticed?”
“Does it matter? The result is the same—a girl who flinches when I enter a room, who swallows her thoughts rather than risk my displeasure, who looks at me with James’s eyes and sees only disappointment.”
Tobias leaned forward, his voice dropping to the intimate tone reserved for conversations between old friends who’d survived too many battles together. “And your duchess? What does she see when she looks at you?”
The question caught Edmund off guard, forcing him to examine memories he’d been trying to suppress since that morning’s confrontation. “Challenge,” he said finally. “She looks at me as though I’m a puzzle she intends to solve, whether I cooperate or not.”
“That must be rather refreshing after ten years of being treated like a dangerous animal that might bite if approached too directly.”
Edmund’s laugh was rueful. “Refreshing isn’t the word I’d use. Terrifying, perhaps. She has this way of cutting straight through every defense I’ve built, of seeing exactly what I’m trying to hide.”
“And what are you trying to hide, Edmund?”
Edmund drained his whiskey, using the gesture to buy time while he considered how much truth he was willing to speak aloud.
“That I’m not the man James believed I was,” he said at last. “That I’m not worthy of the trust he placed in me, or the faith his daughter deserves to have in my guardianship.”
“Or perhaps,” Tobias suggested with the sort of gentle persistence that had always made him impossible to dismiss, “you’re afraid that you might actually be capable of becoming that man, if you allowed yourself to try.”
The observation struck home with devastating accuracy, and Edmund felt something shift in his chest—a crack in the armor he’d built around his heart, letting in light he’d been carefully avoiding for years.
“She stood up to me,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a note of wonder that surprised them both. “In front of the governess, in front of Lillian, she looked me in the eye and told me I was wrong. Do you know how long it’s been since anyone dared contradict the Dangerous Duke of Rothwell?”
