Page 31

CHAPTER 31

H e is not avoiding you.

Fiona tried to ignore the silence that had crept into the breakfast room like a slow mist, curling into the corners and pressing at her back as she sat alone. The faint tick of the mantel clock was the only sound besides the gentle clink of her spoon against her untouched teacup. She had let it go cold.

He had to leave early. A parliamentary matter. Important, no doubt. Nothing to do with you. She ran a finger around the rim of the cup, the porcelain cool beneath her touch, her spine held stiff with practiced composure. It is not avoidance. But even as the thought passed through her, she knew it for the lie it was.

He had disappeared after the balcony. Now again after the kiss. Each time she had tried to believe it meant nothing, and each time it cost her a little more of her resolve.

With deliberate care, she folded her napkin and set it beside her plate, the motion crisp and precise, though her hands ached to fidget. Do not let it get to you.

By mid-afternoon, Fiona could no longer endure the stillness of Craton Manor. She instructed the footman to have the carriage readied and set out for Darlington House.

The streets bustled with the familiar chaos of London—carriages clattering over uneven stones, hawkers shouting cheerfully, gentlemen doffing their hats as they passed. She tried to let the noise distract her, to let it fill the silence Isaac had left behind. But when the carriage stopped before Elaine’s home and she descended, she was struck at once by the uncanny sensation that she was not alone.

It was the same crawling awareness that had haunted her once before—the prickling sensation that someone’s gaze had fixed upon her without permission.

She paused at the gate and glanced over her shoulder. The street behind her appeared perfectly ordinary. A nursemaid pushing a pram. A pair of boys tossing a ball between them. An elderly gentleman taking measured steps along the opposite walk. No one out of place.

Still, unease coiled low in her stomach as she stepped forward and knocked at the door.

Just before the latch shifted, she turned her head once more.

And there he was.

A man stood across the street.

He was tall, his frame cloaked in a long coat, and though his face was obscured beneath the brim of his hat, Fiona felt the unmistakable weight of his scrutiny. Her breath caught.

Then, as if he had never meant to be seen, he tipped his head down, adjusted his hat, and turned sharply on his heel, disappearing into the London crowd with practiced ease.

The dread did not leave with him.

The door opened, and she jumped slightly, her thoughts jolting back to the present.

“Oh, what a lovely surprise, Fiona.”

Elaine’s expression was one of genuine pleasure, and within moments, Fiona was inside the drawing room being drawn into her sister-in-law’s arms. The warmth of the house was welcome, but it did little to banish the cold that had settled in her chest.

“Pardon my abrupt call,” Fiona said, brushing her skirts into place.

Elaine dismissed the apology with a wave of her hand as she rang for tea. “Nonsense. You are always welcome here.”

The maid arrived and set the tray between them, and once she had quietly withdrawn, Fiona reached for her teacup but found her fingers still faintly unsteady.

“I’m sorry, Elaine.”

Elaine glanced up, her own cup poised mid-air. “Whatever for?”

“About Mary.” Fiona kept her gaze low, her voice even. “I never knew you had a sister. And I apologize for my curiosity as well.”

Elaine set her cup down with care, her features softening.

“Do not apologize,” she said. “You are family, and have every right to know. And I am glad he has told you at last.”

“Oh, but it is only right I do,” Fiona said, placing her cup gently on the saucer. “I’ve opened up some old wounds with my curiosity.”

Elaine offered a wan smile, the kind born of truths lived long and hard. “Some wounds must reopen to heal, Fiona.”

She reached for her own cup, but her gaze lingered thoughtfully over the rim. “And I’m afraid Isaac bears those kinds of wounds. My brother needs to face his past, accept it as it was, so he can finally let go and move on.”

Fiona’s fingers tightened slightly around her cup. Something about Elaine’s tone stirred unease, a quiet implication threading beneath her words. What did she mean by that? It sounded less like general sorrow and more like knowledge—something more about Mary’s death. Something Isaac had not told her.

She glanced away, choosing her next words with care. If there’s more, and I’m meant to know it, I will.

Instead, she asked, “Do you think it could happen, though? That he could embrace it all and move on?”

Elaine looked at her for a long moment, and then a slow, certain smile curved her lips. “I never thought Isaac would ever marry. Yet here you are, Fiona.”

The words settled around her like a shawl pulled snug. Fiona blinked, but said nothing.

“So do I think another miracle could happen?” Elaine went on, her eyes clear with quiet conviction. “With the burden of his past that he’s refused to lay down? Yes. Now I do believe things could—no, would—change for the better for him.”

She reached out and lightly tapped Fiona’s hand, a simple gesture full of meaning. “You have also changed my brother in more ways than one, Fiona. And I should thank you.”

Fiona stared down at her lap, her hands smoothing the folds of her skirt. Changed him? In what way? She could see no such thing. If anything, he remained as distant and unreadable as the day they’d wed.

“I cannot see how I’ve made any impact at all,” she said finally.

Elaine simply smiled. “Time will make you and Isaac both see what it is you’re denying right now.”

Fiona glanced up, but Elaine had already lifted her teacup again, her expression serene, as though she had not just spoken something bold and certain.

She knows how I feel, Fiona thought, heart fluttering once, quick and unsteady. She sees it. They all do.

And still, she could not name it aloud. Not yet.

Perhaps not even to herself.

Fiona was still contemplating Elaine’s cryptic words—about Mary, about Isaac—when a sudden commotion in the hall pulled her from her thoughts.

The door burst open a moment later and two small figures came bounding into the room, their voices tumbling over each other.

She recognized them at once—Rebecca and David. She had been introduced to the children briefly after her marriage, but it was pleasant to see them again in their natural, chaotic element.

“Mama!” Rebecca cried as she ran straight to Elaine’s chair.

“What is it now, Rebecca darling?” Elaine sighed, her posture shifting as if bracing for the report.

“David is refusing to give me the apple he got,” Rebecca said, crossing her arms with the earnest indignation only a child could manage.

“I labored for this apple,” David announced before his mother could speak. “And I even scratched my knees climbing the tree to get it. How can I just give it up?”

Elaine’s eyes narrowed, turning to her son. “Have you been climbing trees again, David?”

“Oh dear,” David muttered, clearly realizing only now the trap of his own words.

Rebecca, triumphant, threw her head back with laughter. “See? I told you your big mouth would give you away before I even had to!”

Fiona felt a snort escape her before she could contain it. She pressed a hand lightly to her lips, her eyes dancing.

Elaine caught her gaze, and there was the same spark of amusement mirrored there.

“Rebecca dear,” Fiona said at last, “how would you like some raspberry tarts instead?”

The little girl turned, wide-eyed. “I love berries!” she cried, and without hesitation flung herself into Fiona’s arms.

Fiona let out a small oof and caught her, laughing softly as she reached for the tray and plucked one of the tarts. She handed it to Rebecca, watching with quiet delight as the girl bit into it and promptly forgot about the apple and her brother entirely.

“Later,” Elaine said, eyeing David as he edged toward the tea tray, “you will explain why you went climbing again, young man.”

David gave a sheepish grin and slithered onto the cushion beside Fiona, clearly hoping proximity to her might spare him for the time being.

“He fell and twisted his ankle the last time. And now he’s gone back climbing again, can you believe it?” Elaine turned to Fiona with an expression that teetered between exasperation and disbelief.

Fiona shifted her gaze to David, who was nibbling at the edge of a tart with suspicious innocence. “Oh, I am quite sure David does not fancy losing his limbs anytime soon, now do you, David?”

The boy’s eyes widened in alarm. “Lose my limbs?” he echoed, paling.

“Why, that is precisely what happens when one is careless,” Fiona said, schooling her face into solemnity. “Climbing and falling and hurting those limbs too often, and they may well decide to leave you altogether.”

“I don’t want to lose my limbs,” he whispered, the tart forgotten in his hand.

“Then I am certain those apples can wait a little longer for the gardeners to harvest them now, can’t they?”

David nodded so vigorously his curls bounced. “Yes, yes. I won’t be climbing anymore. I promise.”

Fiona ruffled his hair, and he beamed up at her with relief. She smiled back, and when she glanced at Elaine, she caught a look of mingled surprise and gratitude.

Elaine’s eyes softened, visibly impressed, though she said nothing at first.

Fiona passed a tart to David, who took it with both hands and settled beside his sister. The four of them sat in a cozy circle, the children content, their earlier quarrel forgotten.

But as Fiona looked from Rebecca’s jam-stained cheeks to David’s delighted grin, a quiet ache unfurled in her chest.

This. This is what I want.

A household full of mischief and laughter, of tiny hands and messy squabbles, of small voices calling for her with absolute trust.

But it will not come to pass, will it? Not with Isaac as he is. Not if he continues to keep me at arm’s length.

“You are remarkable with the children, Fiona,” Elaine said at last, her eyes gleaming with what looked like more than approval.

Fiona smiled, though it felt thinner than before.

“They’re delightful,” Fiona said with a smile, watching the children with a warmth she no longer tried to hide.

Turning to them, she tilted her head. “How would you like to come visit me and Uncle Isaac soon?”

Rebecca clapped her hands while David’s eyes lit up. Both children let out happy squeals, nodding enthusiastically. Their joy was immediate and infectious.

Later that afternoon, after returning to Craton Manor, Fiona wandered toward the gallery. Her steps slowed as she approached the far wall—the same one she had stood before once before. The portraits greeted her silently, their painted eyes fixed in solemn remembrance. She paused before the vacant space once again.

Elaine’s words returned to her.

He needs to face his past...

Fiona stared at the absence on the wall, the missing frame that once held a life. What more is there, Mary? What aren’t they saying? The longer she looked, the heavier the silence pressed around her.

Soft footsteps behind her broke the quiet, followed with, “Your Grace.”

Fiona turned to see Mrs. Burton, approaching with a small, ornate key.

“His Grace wishes for you to have it,” Mrs. Burton said, placing the key into Fiona’s palm. “It belongs to the room beside the west hallway. The one with the green wainscoting.”

Fiona looked down at it, the metal cool and unfamiliar in her hand.

“He also said to tell you that he would not be back before dinner,” the housekeeper added.

Fiona’s hand closed around the key. Something inside her dropped. He truly is avoiding me. There was no more pretending. No more quiet rationalizations. He kissed me, and now he is gone again.

“Did he give a reason why, Mrs. Burton?” she asked, though she already knew what the answer would be.

“No, Your Grace. He didn’t say.”

Fiona nodded, murmured her thanks, and turned away, the key clutched tightly in her hand.

The west hallway stretched long and quiet, its windows casting afternoon light in pale slants across the floor. She counted the doors as she passed, her footsteps muffled against the rug. Her gaze lingered on the one with green wainscoting, slightly set back from the others.

She paused before it. The key felt heavier now.

For a long moment, she only stood there, staring at the door, her breath shallow. Why this room? Why now? The air around her seemed to still.

She reached forward and fit the key into the lock. The mechanism turned without resistance, clicking softly into place.

With one final breath, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.