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For a moment, he could imagine his first wife sitting at his desk, an amused smile on her face.

“You’re a fool, my friend,” she would say. “Here you are, pretending you don’t love the woman. Here you are, wasting time lying on the ground like a child. What on earth are you waiting for? Not for my sake, I should hope.Itold you to go off and be happy, did I not? Heavens, you are infuriating at times.”

He groaned aloud. “Stop making fun of me, Jane.”

Her voice echoed in his head this time.She loves you. And Heaven knows you love her.

“She doesn’t love me,” he said bitterly. “How could she?”

The door creaked open, and he tilted his head back to see who was there. An upside-down version of Clarissa stood there.

“Who are you talking to?” she asked, baffled.

“Nobody. Myself. What is it?”

She stepped inside, closing the door behind her, and folded her hands demurely in front of herself.

“I heard the news, of course. The new Duchess has taken herself to her mother’s house, like a sulking child. It’s rather shocking, I must say.”

“It’s my fault,” he responded, hauling himself up into a sitting position. “I drove her away with my coldness and my unkindness. It’s my fault.”

The words echoed blankly in his head. The realization was beginning to sink in. A man whose wife had abandoned him with something of a pitiable spectacle, somebody who would hear whispers spring up as he went by, the recipient of meaningful stares and sympathetic smiles.

I should be used to that already.How could I have made such a mess of my life already?

She wanted me. I know she did. And yet I drove her off.

He gave his head a tight shake, pushing himself to his feet. His back ached from lying motionless for so long, and pins and needles shot down on his limbs.

Clarissa watched him, anxiety written all over her face.

“You haven’t had breakfast,” she noted. As if that mattered.

“I’m not hungry. Does Alex know? Everyone else seems to, and I’d hate for him to find out from somebody else.”

She sighed. “He asked about Daphne this morning. Mrs. Trench knows, as well as the servants, but we thought it was best to keep it from him, for now. Mrs. Trench is keeping an eye on him, andnobody will tell him without our permission. But he must be told soon, Edward. Sooner rather than later.”

“It’ll hurt him badly, knowing that she left without saying goodbye.”

He saw the annoyance flash across his stepmother’s face, hastily swept away.

“He’s a child,” she responded firmly. “He’ll get over it quickly. Don’t I always know what’s best for you?”

Edward swallowed hard, leaning against the edge of his desk. At some point, Peter had come in and placed a stack of correspondence on his desk, probably in the hope of distracting him. It hadn’t worked. The jade-handled letter opener rested on top of the stack.

“You’re good to us, Clarissa,” Edward murmured, avoiding her gaze. “And I’m not always grateful.”

Clarissa shuffled closer, smiling. “I don’t take care of you both forgratitude, Edward. I care about you, you know that.”

Somewhat hesitantly, she lifted her hand to his face, patting his cheek. He closed his eyes, leaning into the touch.

“You… you told her about the baby you had. The one you lost. You never talk to me about that, Clarissa.”

The words came out almost unbidden, and he sensed her stiffening.

“It was so long ago,” she answered shortly. “I never had my own child, but I hadyou, Edward. It doesn’t matter.”

“But—”