Seven days of understanding—too late, always too late—exactly what he’d destroyed.
“I don’t need a lecture,” Edmund said flatly.
“No. You need someone to tell you what a complete fool you’ve been.” Tobias leaned forward. “Do you know what they’re saying? The scandal sheets are having a field day. The Dangerous Duke has driven away his bride. Questions about the duel are resurfacing. And Lillian?—”
He stopped. Something in his expression made Edmund’s chest tighten.
“What about Lillian?”
“They’re targeting her now. Calling her tainted. Suggesting she’s somehow connected to James’s death through illegitimacy and scandal.” Tobias’s voice hardened. “Her debut is over before it’s begun. Invitations are being quietly withdrawn. Mothers are steering their daughters away from any association with Rothwell Abbey.”
Edmund set down his glass. Carefully. Because throwing it would require energy he didn’t possess.
“I’ll speak to?—”
“To whom, exactly?” Tobias cut in. “You’ve spent ten years refusing to defend yourself. Letting society believe the worst because you were too consumed by guilt to fight back. And now that silence is destroying the people you claim to protect.”
The accusation struck deep. True. Devastating.
“I thought—” Edmund stopped. Started again. “I thought silence was safer. That engaging with gossip would only make things worse.”
“You thought wrong.” Tobias rose. Moved to the window overlooking St. James’s Street. “Your silence isn’t protection. It’s cowardice. And it’s given your enemies exactly the weapon they need to destroy everything you care about.”
Edmund followed his friend’s gaze. Outside, London continued its restless evening dance. Carriages passing. Gentlemen entering clubs. Life continuing as though his world hadn’t shattered.
“What would you have me do?”
“Fight.” Simple. Absolute. “Tell the truth about the duel. Defend Lillian publicly. And for the love of everything holy, go after your wife before she disappears to France and you lose her forever.”
The mention of France struck like a fist. Edmund had received Isadora’s letter three days ago. Read it until the words blurred. Understood with devastating clarity that she was leaving not just London but England entirely.
Fleeing from him. From their marriage. From everything he’d destroyed through fear and pride.
“She doesn’t want?—”
“She doesn’t want a husband who pushes her away every time things become real.” Tobias turned from the window. “But she might want a man who finally finds the courage to fight for what he loves.”
“I called her nothing more than convenience,” Edmund said quietly. The confession scraped his throat raw. “Looked her in the eyes and told her she meant nothing. Why would she give me another chance after that?”
“Because she loves you, you fool.” Tobias’s voice carried something between pity and frustration. “Despite everything—the walls, the coldness, the cruelty—she loves you. I’ve seen it in the way she looked at you. The way she defended you to society even after you’d driven her away.”
He moved closer. Put a hand on Edmund’s shoulder.
“But love has limits. And if you don’t act now—if you don’t prove you’re worth her forgiveness—she’ll be on a ship to France within days. And you’ll spend the rest of your life regretting that you were too much a coward to stop her.”
Edmund sat there in silence. Tobias’s words echoing in his mind alongside Mrs. Crawford’s letters describing Lillian’s tears, alongside Mrs. Pemberton’s disappointment, alongside the memory of Isadora’s face when he’d rejected her.
You let the duel own you.
The truth struck with the force of revelation.
He’d spent ten years letting James’s death define him. Letting guilt consume him. Using the tragedy as excuse to avoid living, to push away anyone who dared to care, to hide behind walls built from shame and fear.
And now that shame—not the duel itself, but his response to it—had doomed them all.
Lillian’s future destroyed by association with a man too proud to defend himself. Isadora driven away by cruelty disguised as protection. His own life reduced to prowling empty corridors and drinking until oblivion claimed him.
This wasn’t honor. Wasn’t protection.
