Away from him.
Edmund stood in the doorway. Watching lamplight illuminate her face one final time through the carriage window. Watching as she refused to look back. As the driver snapped the reins and wheels began to turn.
He should have run after her. He should have pulled her from the carriage and confessed everything—the fear, the love, the desperate terror that caring for her would somehow destroy them both.
He should have done a thousand things differently.
Instead he stood frozen while the carriage rolled through the gates and disappeared into winter darkness.
Taking with it every possibility of happiness he’d been too much a coward to claim.
Behind him, he heard Mrs. Crawford’s quiet sobbing. Henderson’s disappointed silence. Even Mrs. Pemberton’s careful retreat suggested condemnation.
But none of their judgment compared to his own.
Edmund closed the door, locking it against the cold and empty night. Then he turned and found himself face to face with Lillian.
The girl stood on the stairs. Still in her nightgown. Tears streaming down her face.
“I hate you,” she said. Simple. Devastating. “I hate that you brought her here. Let me love her. And then destroyed everything because you’re too frightened to let yourself be happy.”
“Lillian—”
“No.” She backed away when he moved toward her. “Don’t. Don’t try to explain or justify or tell me you were protecting us. Because all you’ve done is prove that they’re right. That the Dangerous Duke everyone whispers about really is dangerous.”
Her voice broke. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.
“Not because of some duel ten years ago. But because you destroy everything good that comes into your life. Because you’d rather be alone and miserable than risk caring about anyone.”
She fled, footsteps echoing up the stairs. A door slammed in the distance.
It left Edmund alone in the entrance hall, surrounded by Christmas decorations that mocked him with their festive cheer.
He’d lost them both.
Driven them away with cruelty disguised as protection. With fear masquerading as pragmatism. With lies he’d told himself for so long he’d almost believed them.
Edmund returned to his study. Poured more whiskey. Stared at flames while snow began falling outside—soft flakes that would cover the world’s sharp edges by morning.
But no amount of snow could cover what he’d done. No amount of whiskey could drown the memory of Isadora’s face when he’d called her nothing more than convenience.
The biggest lie he’d ever told.
And quite possibly the one that would destroy him.
Because sitting alone in his study with nothing but whiskey and regret for company, Edmund finally understood what he’d lost.
Not just a wife. Not just Lillian’s respect. Not just the warmth Isadora had brought to Rothwell Abbey.
He’d lost his last chance at happiness. His final opportunity to prove he was capable of being more than the cold, damaged man society believed him to be.
He’d lost love. Real, honest, devastating love that he’d been too frightened to claim.
And the worst part—the part that made him want to hurl his glass at the wall and scream until his voice gave out—was that he’d chosen this.
Had looked at everything Isadora offered and consciously, deliberately destroyed it. Because loving her required courage he didn’t possess. Required believing he deserved happiness he’d convinced himself was forever beyond his reach.
Edmund drained his glass. Poured another. Watched flames while his mind replayed every moment he’d pushed her away.
