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“I did what had to be done, Edward,” she said, her voice soft. “Just like I always do.”

He swallowed thickly, his gaze darting between the blade and his stepmother’s strangely blank, impassive face.

“What have you done?” he whispered. “Clarissa, what have you done?”

CHAPTER 23

Daphne woke up in her childhood bedroom and promptly burst into tears.

And here I was, hoping it was all a dream.

At once, there was a shuffling of fabric in the corner, in what had appeared to be a pile of clothes tossed carelessly on a chair. Emily surfaced from the pile, disheveled and sleepy-eyed.

“You’re awake,” she gasped.

Daphne sat up in bed, wiping her tears on the corner of the quilt. “Emily, have you been here all night?”

Emily smothered a yawn. “Of course. I intended to stay until you’d fallen asleep, remember? But then I think I might have fallen asleep first.”

She disentangled herself from the fabric, revealing that she still wore last night’s gown, crumpled and creased.

Daphne pulled herself up into a sitting position, falling easily into the divot in the mattress worn out by many years of sleeping in the middle of the bed. A few weeks away from home hadn’t smoothed out the divot.

Emily settled herself on the edge of the bed, hugging her knees to her chest.

“Mama said I should let you sleep,” she said. “She’s gone out early to fetch Anna and tell her everything. She’s afraid that the Duke of Thornbridge will come storming back and fetch you. You’re his wife, so I suppose he could drag you back if he wanted to.”

Daphne shook her head. “He won’t do that.”

“How do you know?”

She hesitated, just for a moment. “I don’t know, I just do. He’s cold, but not cruel. He’ll leave me alone.”

Emily eyed her for a long moment. “You say he’s cold. What do you mean by that?”

Daphne considered for a while before she answered. Of course, she was not going to tell her sister about the events in the pond,or their wedding night, or any of those times that had left her feeling as though Edward did care.

No, there was more than that. There were a hundred little things he’d said, looks he’d thrown her way, and more that made her believe that perhaps he cared more for her than he claimed.

Or perhaps I was just seeing what I wanted to see.

“He’s fair,” she said. “He said I could live as a spinster if I wanted to. So, I will.”

Emily tilted her head, eyeing her sister thoughtfully. “But you don’t want to live as a spinster.”

Daphne closed her eyes. “No. No, I don’t. But it doesn’t matter what I want, does it? Life doesn’t work out perfectly. It’s not like in the novels, where all the threads are tied together at the end. Besides, Edward is obsessed with that curse nonsense.”

Emily’s eyebrows shot up. “Curse?”

“Yes, you know the story. His mother died giving birth to him, his wife died giving birth to his child. He claims not to believe it wholly, but it’s clear that he does. Part of me wonders whether that’s why he keeps me at arm’s length, but could it not be possible that he simply doesn’t… doesn’t…” Daphne swallowed hard and forced herself to continue. “Doesn’t care about me?”

Emily stared at her, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“No,” she said. “I don’t think that’s possible. I saw him look at you, Daphne. I sawthe wayhe looked at you. I believe he’s fond of you, at the very least.”

Suddenly feeling restless, Daphne threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. Cold air immediately assailed her, cutting through the flimsy material of her nightgown with ease. She strode over to her case, still not unpacked, and began rifling through it, looking for a gown for the day.

“I don’t wantfondness,” she answered abruptly, not turning around. “You are fond of me. Mama is fond of me, as is Anna, Beatrice, Theo, and all the rest of them. Plenty of people arefondof me. I wanted more from my husband, Emily.”