Then he turned to face her fully.
Let the scar catch firelight. Let her see it properly, see what ten years of guilt had carved into more than flesh.
“The duel,” he said at last. The word tasted of blood and winter mornings. “I fought for honor, for friendship, and losteverything. My best friend died. And the world has never forgiven me for surviving.”
Silence.
Isadora’s expression didn’t change. No shock, no horror, none of the reactions Edmund had braced himself against. She merely stood there, eyes fixed on his face.
“James Gray,” she said quietly. “Lillian’s father.”
“James.” His throat felt raw. Edmund returned to the sideboard, poured fresh whiskey because his hands needed occupation and his mouth needed something other than confession. “We grew up together. Estate boundaries meant nothing when we were boys climbing trees and stealing Cook’s pies. Brothers in everything but blood, our fathers used to say.”
He took a long swallow. Fire burned down his throat.
“When some drunken fool accused him of cheating at cards—in front of half theton, mind you—I challenged Lord Markham to meet me at dawn.”
“You wanted to defend your friend.” Not a question. Statement delivered with approval that made his chest constrict.
“I did what honor demanded.” He moved restlessly, unable to remain still under memory’s weight. “James was my brother ineverything but blood. When Markham called him a cheat and a liar, there was no question what I would do.”
Thunder shook the windows. The Christmas garland trembled, sending dried berries scattering across the hearth like drops of blood.
“But something went wrong,” Isadora said softly.
“Everything went wrong.” Edmund’s hand tightened around his glass. “James insisted on standing as my second. Said he wouldn’t let me fight alone for his honor. I tried to refuse—told him it was my duel, my right to defend him. But he was stubborn. Always so damned stubborn. Never a great swordsman either.”
He paused. Gathered courage for the part that still woke him before dawn, sweating and gasping.
“We met in a field outside London three days before Christmas. Markham and his second. James and Tobias standing for me. The morning was cold. Frost covering everything. Our breath misted in the air like souls departing bodies.”
Lightning illuminated the library again. Isadora had moved closer during his recitation, drawn by the story or by him—he couldn’t determine which and didn’t dare examine the question too closely.
“I was overconfident,” Edmund continued. His hand moved unconsciously to the scar, tracing the length of it. “But Markham was skilled. His blade caught me here—sliced across my jaw. Should have been worse.”
Thunder rolled and for a second, the sound brought Edmund back to himself, to the library and the warmth and the woman watching him with eyes that held no judgment.
“And then?” Barely audible over the storm.
“Then I pressed forward.” Edmund opened his eyes, met her gaze directly. Let her see everything—the guilt, the grief, the ten years of isolation wrapped around him like chains. “Blood was streaming down my face. He started mocking me, taunting me… I was angry—angrier than I’d ever been. I lunged. Markham stepped back. And James?—”
His voice cracked.
“James had moved closer. Too close. Trying to see if my wound was serious, trying to help. He was right behind Markham when I thrust forward.”
The words lodged in his throat like broken glass.
“My blade scraped Markham’s shoulder. Should have stopped there. Would have, if Markham hadn’t twisted away. But he did, and my blade?—”
Isadora’s breath caught audibly.
“It caught James in the chest.” Edmund’s fingers clenched around the tumbler. “He fell. Just—fell. And I dropped my sword. Caught him. Held him while blood soaked through my coat, while Tobias screamed for a surgeon, while Markham and his second stood there in horror.”
The fire crackled. Logs shifted with a sound like breaking bones.
“He died in my arms.” Flat. Final. “Took maybe five minutes. Long enough to know it was over. Long enough to speak.”
Silence stretched between them. Isadora’s face had gone pale, one hand pressed to her mouth.
