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Abigail’s smile faltered. “Are you alright?”

The walls were up again. Lately, she’d caught glimpses of the man behind them—but today, all she saw was the fortress.

His expression shuttered completely. “Of course.” He checked his pocket watch. “The girls will be arriving at Eyron Manor within the hour. We should depart if we wish to be there to greet them.”

He offered his arm with formal correctness, but Abigail didn’t take it. Instead, she studied his face—the shadows beneath his eyes, the tight line of his jaw, the careful blankness of his expression.

“You’re not telling me something,” she said.

Pain—perhaps anger—flashed in his eyes before he mastered it. “There will be time for conversation later. For now, we’re expected elsewhere.”

Abigail hesitated, then nodded. Whatever troubled him, the middle of Reedley Manor’s drive was not the place to press. She took his arm, feeling the tension in him.

“Of course,” she said. “Let me just inform my family we’re leaving.”

They returned to the house. Graham’s posture grew impossibly stiffer as they approached the door.

“Perhaps I should wait here,” he suggested.

“Verity won’t hear of it,” Abigail replied, squeezing his arm gently. “They’ll want to wish you well. You may as well get it over with.”

The parlor fell silent as they entered, four pairs of eyes turning to regard them with varying degrees of interest. Verity recovered first, dropping her fabric swatches to rush forward.

“Your Grace! How perfectly timed. We were just discussing the merits of silver versus gold for the table settings.”

Graham inclined his head stiffly. “I’m certain whatever you choose will be appropriate.”

Verity blinked at his formal tone. Marjory and Bridget exchanged glances.

“We’ve come to say goodbye,” Abigail interjected smoothly. “Graham’s nieces are arriving at Eyron Manor shortly, and we must be there to greet them.”

“Give them our warmest welcome,”her mother said, rising to take Abigail’s hands.

“And bring them to tea tomorrow,” Bridget added. “Charlotte and Henry would love to meet their new cousins.”

Graham remained silent, his gaze fixed on some point above their heads.

“We’ll see,” Abigail said, acutely aware of his discomfort. “They may need time to settle in.”

After a flurry of kisses and promises to return soon, they finally escaped to the waiting carriage. Graham handed her in with perfect courtesy, then took the seat opposite rather than beside her.

The carriage lurched forward, and silence fell between them like a curtain. Abigail watched London slip past the window, the fashionable streets giving way to busier thoroughfares.

“Graham,” she said finally, when the silence became unbearable. “Whatever is troubling you, I would rather know it now than wonder.”

He looked at her then, truly looked at her, for the first time since his arrival. Something in his expression made her heart constrict.

“It’s nothing that need concern you,” he said, his voice gentler now but no less distant. “A minor legal matter regarding the estate. Nothing more.”

Abigail held her silence. Was this to be her future? Fighting shadows with no name and walls with no door.

Trust takes time.

She knew all too well that trust often started in silence—in simply staying. She would give him the time he needed, but that did not stop her mind from racing with possibilities, each more dire than the last. By the time the carriage turned through the imposing iron gates, her nerves were strung tight as violin strings.

Eyron Manor rose before them, grand and austere against the spring sky. Three stories of pale stone with tall windows and a classical portico, it spoke of old wealth and older traditions. Formal gardens stretched on either side, beautiful but not welcoming.

“It’s beautiful,” Abigail said as the carriage drew to a halt.