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Her mouth tightened before she answered. “He does. He can be… cruel. When he found the letters, he read them back to me, reminding me of every word I’d written, as though I meant it all in that moment. He confessed that, before we… consummated our marriage, he… doubted my virtue.”

“He what?” Isaac sat up, his eyes blazing.

“There’s no reason to be angry, Isaac,” she said, dejected. “You said yourself, the ton talks about me.”

Isaac leaned forward, closing the distance between them. “Helena, I didn’t mean for that to hurt you.”

She offered a faint smile. “I know. You’re a good brother. I just should’ve listened to you right then and there.”

A smirk crept onto his face. “Shouldn’t everyone?”

Despite herself, she laughed. “I don’t know if that would make the world any better, but it certainly would be more interesting.”

“This will pass, Helena.” He assured her, gently.

“I know. I only wish…” she stopped, swallowing hard. “I only wish I was more than just my reputation.”

Isaac reached out, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Helena, you are . You’re so much more than what people think they know about you.”

She blinked, touched by the sincerity in his voice. “And how is that?”

“Whether you believe it or not, you’re a good woman. A good sister, and a good friend. One angry man can’t take that away from you.”

Helena gave a wry shrug. “That angry man is my husband.”

“And believe me, he’ll come to his senses.”

Has any man ever truly come to his senses?

She wanted to ask, but her brother was putting in such a valiant effort to comfort her that she kept her doubts to herself.

Helena’s only confidence now was that this would pass, somehow.

Maybe Lowen would happily leave her be in Lancashire, only to join her in London during the season, maintaining a respectable distance like every other married aristocratic couple.

It wasn’t the life she wanted, but perhaps it was the best either of them could hope for.

“Helena left,” Thomasin said the moment Lowen stepped through the front door of Carrivick House after Parliament.

It was late in the evening, and his mood was surlier than ever. Like with every distressing piece of news he’d received throughout his life, he responded with his usual blank-faced stoicism.

“She said she’ll come to Cornwall later,” his sister continued, watching as Lowen stiffly nodded his head and passed her by. “I asked her why she was leaving,” she added, more quietly now. “But she wouldn’t say.”

“…Lowen?”

He turned to her, remembering just how young she was. How much she didn’t know.

“We’ll see her again soon,” he replied, more to himself than her, and gently poked her nose.

Thomasin nodded, offering a small, wobbly smile. “I hope so. I liked spending time with her.”

Blood rushed to his head in anger.

Not only had Helena left him behind, she’d also left Thomasin behind. His sister didn’t deserve it. Whatever lay between him and Helena would’ve resolved itself. He would have forgiven her…eventually.

She didn’t need to leave him—them.

As he walked up the stairs to his chambers, his body moved without its usual purpose. The shock of her absence struck immediately—like a fevered dream, too unreal to believe. Absentmindedly, he found himself entering her room, somehow expecting her to be there.

Of course, the room was empty and dark, save for the faint trace of her sweet fragrance, lingering like a ghost.

In the days since her departure, Lowen wandered through his routines like a man moving through a fog.

By daylight, he was functional, but every action was detached, like he was operating in a body that no longer belonged to him.

He would sit at the breakfast table, discussing trivial matters with Thomasin, but his mind was elsewhere, replaying memories with Helena.

He attended to his duties as if he could outrun the ache in his chest, but the moments of silence between each task seemed to stretch endlessly, a reminder of the emptiness she had left behind.

At night, though, he could not escape her.

He wandered into her room every evening, falling asleep in her bed but waking before his valet could stir him.

He couldn’t bear anyone—least of all the servants—to know he slept in his wife’s empty bed each evening.

Though how could they not notice when they smoothed out the rumpled blankets?

They would mistake it for fondness, or longing, but it was more desperate than that.

Still, Lowen’s fury simmered beneath the surface, tangled with betrayal, regret, and melancholy—each demanding dominance over him.

He lay among her sheets for hours before sleep finally overtook him, devising punishments, pleas, bargains, threats.

He cursed her, cried out for her, wanted her back—even if she no longer wanted him.

Yet, he did not chase after her. The idea was tempting, but he refused to give her the satisfaction. She had left him; therefore, she was the one who needed to return, begging on her knees.

On the last day in London, before he and Thomasin journeyed home to Penhollow, Lowen searched Helena’s room for one small reminder of her.

The gloves he’d taken from the garden—the night at Lady Crockwell’s party—had long since lost their scent.

It was pathetic, but he needed something.

Something to help him endure the nights he would spend alone in Cornwall.

She’ll come back, he told himself. She’ll come back humbled. Because if she expected him to chase after her, she was sorely mistaken.

He rifled through a drawer beside her bed and found a folded handkerchief. As he lifted it to his face, the fabric slipped open, revealing his initials delicately embroidered in one corner, encircled by small purple flowers.

Heather. A gift for him, she had intended it to be. When had she planned to give it to him?

"Damn her," he muttered, feeling a bitter mix of love and betrayal. How could she leave him, after all that had passed between them? He knew he hadn’t been the perfect husband—he knew he had hurt her deeply—but hadn’t he been trying to make up for it? The effort, it seemed, had been in vain.

He was unlovable, after all.

Lowen shoved the handkerchief in his waistcoat pocket with a silent prayer that she’d come back to him.