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“ G ood God, man, you look positively ghoulish.”

The days that followed their last meeting in the conservatory blurred together in a haze of carefully maintained normalcy.

Henry continued his daily routines: estate business, correspondence, and the endless social obligations that came with his title.

But something fundamental had shifted, leaving him feeling as though he were viewing the world through glass.

He was present but somehow separated from everything around him.

Now, Henry glanced up from his brandy to find Everett settling into the opposite chair at their club. His usual cheerful demeanor was tempered by concern.

“Charming as always, Southall,” Henry replied dryly. “To what do I owe this delightful assessment of my appearance?”

“To the fact that you’ve been sitting in that same chair for the better part of two hours, staring into your glass as though it holds the secrets of the universe.” Everett signaled for his own drink. “Also, you missed our appointment at Tattersall’s yesterday, which is entirely unlike you.”

“Yes. I’ve been… preoccupied.” He said nothing more as he was not quite sure if he was ready to lay his wound bare for all the world to see just yet.

Even to his friend. But the burden continued to press against his throat, demanding to be freed.

“Clearly.” Everett leaned forward, and his expression became serious. “What’s happened, Henry? And do not tell me it is nothing. I’ve known you too long to accept such obvious prevarication.”

Henry considered deflecting and maintaining the facade he’d carefully constructed. But the weight of carrying his pain alone was becoming unbearable.

“Miss Lytton…” he said simply.

“Ah.” Everett sat back as understanding dawned in his eyes. “Did you have a lover’s quarrel?”

He had, of course, known about their clandestine meetings and the relationship that had blossomed between them.

Henry took a long sip of his brandy and savored the burn. “She’s… ended whatever existed between us. Quite decisively, as it happens.”

Everett’s eyes widened. “I see. And her reasons?”

“Well. You see, that’s the funny part.” Henry chuckled, even though the sound was completely devoid of mirth.

“Society’s good opinion, apparently. The fear that association with her would damage Celia’s prospects.

” Henry’s voice carried a bitter edge. “Does it not amuse you? The rebellious Miss Annabelle Lytton folded under the pressure of what other people think about her.”

Everett was quiet for a long moment. He studied Henry’s face with characteristic perception. “It is clear that she has more to fear for now than just herself.”

Henry arched his brow in silent doubt.

“Celia.” His friend concluded simply, and Henry’s fingers tightened around the glass in his grip. “She does not want to ruin your daughter’s chances. It is no longer just about what you or Miss Lytton want.”

“Do you think I do not know that?” Henry said slowly. Bitterness was still rife in his tone. “I know that these concerns are valid and the man I was before I met her would not have minded our going our separate ways, but…”

“But you are not the man you were before,” Everett finished. His tone was calm. No tomfoolery was to be found around its edges. “You truly do love her.”

Henry’s breath caught, the words landing with brutal precision. He opened his mouth, but nothing came. Only the heavy, dawning weight of truth settling in his chest.

He wasn’t the same man who once cared only for pride, for control, for keeping his heart untouched. Somewhere along the way, between her fierce defiance, her laughter, and the way she saw straight through him, he’d surrendered more than he’d meant to.

He did love her. Fiercely. Completely. And the realization struck not like a gentle tide but like a blow: sudden, irreversible, and leaving him stripped bare.

Henry took another sip of his brandy. “I… Well. And yet, here we are.”

“So, shall we discuss what you actually intend to do about this situation, or shall I continue to watch you pickle yourself in brandy while muttering about impossibilities?”

“There’s nothing to be done,” Henry said flatly. “She has made her position clear. I can hardly force her to reconsider.”

“Can’t you?” Everett’s smile was positively wicked. “My dear Duke, where’s that legendary determination that’s seen you through every other challenge life has presented?”

Henry felt a flicker of his old fire at his friend’s words, but it died almost immediately. “This is different, Everett. This isn’t about business dealings or social maneuvering. This is about her boundaries.”

“My, my. Love has changed you indeed,” Everett said.

Those words hung between them, stark and undeniable. Henry had avoided it, even in his own thoughts, as though naming it might make the loss even more devastating.

“Yes,” He admitted quietly.

“Then fight for it, you fool. Fight for her. Show her that whatever scandal she’s fleeing from pales in comparison to what you’re willing to face together.”

“She has rejected me twice now, Everett.” The words rent his heart in two. “I cannot weather it again.”

“This is surrendering before the battle’s even begun.”

Henry did not need the admonishment. He already knew that he was being just as much of a coward as he’d accused Annabelle of being.

That evening, Henry made his way to Annabelle’s residence for Celia’s scheduled lesson with his friend’s words echoing in his mind. But when the door opened, it wasn’t Annabelle who greeted them.

It was her sister, Miss Florentia Lytton. Her smile was bright and welcoming in a way that immediately set Henry’s teeth on edge.

“Your Grace! How lovely to see you. I’m afraid Anna isn’t feeling quite well today—a headache, you understand. But of course, Lady Celia’s lessons must continue. Grandmama is in the parlor.”

Henry studied the woman’s face, noting the practiced innocence of her expression and the way her eyes seemed to drink him in as though she did not truly care a wit about the predicament of Annabelle.

Something cold settled in his stomach as pieces began falling into place.

“How unfortunate,” he said evenly. “Please give Miss Lytton my regards and hopes for her swift recovery.”

When he returned to collect Celia an hour later, his daughter’s usual chatter seemed subdued.

“Papa,” she said as their carriage pulled away from the house, “is Miss Lytton truly unwell? She seemed perfectly fine yesterday when I glimpsed her in the garden.”

“Did she?” Henry kept his voice carefully neutral.

Celia bit her lip as she clearly wrestled with some internal debate.

“Miss Florentia Lytton kept saying how concerned she was for her sister’s health, but…

but she seemed rather pleased about it, if that makes sense.

And when I asked if I might send up a note of well-wishes, she said it would be ‘better not to disturb poor Anna’s rest’. ”

Smart girl , Henry thought with a mixture of pride and sorrow.

“Sometimes, Celia, adults make decisions that seem puzzling to those around them. It’s possible that Miss Lytton simply needs some time to herself.”

“But why would she need time away from us?” Celia’s voice was small and uncertain. “Did we truly do something wrong?”

The question pierced Henry’s heart. His daughter was beginning to sense the undercurrents of adult emotion, the complicated web of desire and duty that was pulling her world apart at the seams.

“No, sweetheart,” he said firmly. “You’ve done nothing wrong. Sometimes… sometimes people make choices that have very little to do with the people around them and everything to do with their own fears.”

“So…it is a quarrel between the two of you then.” Henry’s breath caught before he quickly righted himself again.

“Well…” he started to say before clearing his throat once. “I would not call it a quarrel, per se?—”

“Then it is a lovers’ spat?” She supplied, and Henry’s eyes flew wide.

“Celia Blakesley.” His tone was firm, even though his heart contracted inside his chest.

“Oh, fine,” she pouted while looking out the window of the carriage. “I will not pry into adult matters.” This, she said with obvious sarcasm. “But I truly hope you both can settle it soon.”

Henry did not see the need to tell her that this ‘adult matter’ was all for her sake.

So, he kept his mouth shut.

The following weeks settled into a new, hollow routine.

Henry continued to escort Celia to her lessons, but he no longer lingered afterward, no longer sought those precious moments of conversation that had become the highlight of his days.

Instead, he delivered his daughter promptly and departed immediately.

At social gatherings, he found himself the subject of renewed attention from various quarters. Miss Florentia Lytton continued to appear at his elbow with increasing frequency. Her conversation was light and charming. Her manner suggested an availability that made his skin crawl.

Lord Oakley, her escort, seemed equally eager to cultivate Henry’s acquaintance. Their combined efforts at ingratiation were as transparent as they were unwelcome.

Henry endured these encounters with cold politeness. He offered no encouragement but was also unwilling to create the sort of scene that would only fuel more gossip.

Meanwhile, he caught glimpses of Annabelle across crowded ballrooms and noted the careful way she avoided his vicinity. The practiced smile on her pretty face never quite reached her eyes.

And he absolutely hated it.