Page 40

“ I can walk to the window,” Selina said, though her voice came out thinner than she’d hoped. “I’ve been in bed for three days.”

Agnes hovered nearby, wringing her hands. “The physician said you should still rest, Your Grace.”

“I’ve rested. All I’ve done is rest. I need some air or I’ll go mad.” Selina shoved the covers back and swung her legs over the side, ignoring how weak they felt beneath her.

The floor was cold under her bare feet. Standing took more effort than expected, and the room tilted slightly, but she gritted her teeth and made her way to the window.

Outside, London moved on without her—vendors shouting, carriages rattling down cobbled streets, children chasing each other through the square. The sunlight made the rooftops shine. She used to find comfort in that rhythm. Now, it just made her feel left behind.

“Is His Grace at home?” she asked, not turning around.

Agnes smoothed the sheets. “He’s in his study. Been in there most of the morning.”

Most mornings, really. Rowan had barely left her side when she was at her worst. But once her fever broke, he’d started keeping his distance.

He still asked how she was, still sent broth and tea—but something had shifted.

He felt far away now, like he’d locked part of himself behind a door she couldn’t open.

“Please tell him I’d like to see him,” Selina said. “And I’d like to get dressed.”

Agnes hesitated. “Are you sure?—”

“I’m sure.”

Less than an hour later, Selina sat by the fire in a pale blue day dress. The simple act of getting dressed had drained her, but it felt good to be in clothes again. Like she was herself, not just an invalid waiting for permission to live.

A knock, and then Rowan stepped in. He stopped just inside the room, his gaze flicking to her, unreadable.

“You look… better,” he said, still by the door.

“I feel better.” She nodded to the chair across from hers. “Will you sit?”

He came over slowly, almost reluctantly. Up close, she saw how tired he looked—shadows under his eyes, tension in his jaw.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” she said.

“I’ve had things to take care of.”

“What sort of things?”

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze shifted away.

“Rowan.”

She reached out, but he moved just out of reach, pretending not to notice.

“What’s going on?” she asked quietly. “Talk to me.”

He stood again, walking to the window. “The physician says you’ll make a full recovery.”

“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about us.” Her voice steadied. “You’ve pulled away. You’re hiding something.”

“Nothing’s changed,” he said. “This is how things were meant to be.”

Her stomach dropped. “What does that mean?”

He turned, face blank. “This marriage—it was always an arrangement. Practical. Nothing more.”

Selina stared at him. “That’s not true. You know it isn’t.”

“It is now.” His voice had no feeling in it. “I forgot that for a while. That was my mistake.”

She rose to her feet, gripping the chair for balance. “A mistake? Is that what you’re calling it now? Everything between us—just a mistake?”

“A complication,” he said flatly. “It wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Stop it.” Her voice broke. “Stop pretending like none of it meant anything. I know you. I felt it.”

His face twisted for just a second—pain flickering through before he caught it and shut it down again.

“You were poisoned,” he said. “Someone tried to kill you.”

“I know.”

“Because of me. Because of things I’ve done. Secrets I’ve kept. Being with me puts you in danger.”

Her breath caught. “So that’s what this is about. You think pushing me away will protect me.”

“It’s not a thought. It’s a fact. You nearly died.”

“But I didn’t. And I’m still here.” She took a slow step toward him. “You don’t get to decide this alone.”

“I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“You’re trying to run.” She held his gaze. “You want to go back to the way things were, but we can’t. I don’t care about titles or houses or whatever else this marriage was supposed to be. I care about you .”

For a heartbeat, something flickered in his eyes—longing, regret, maybe both. Then he looked away.

“It’s not enough.”

“It is for me,” she said. “Whatever comes, we face it together. Or not at all.”

“No.” The word fell between them like a stone. “This isn’t negotiable, Selina. I’ve made my decision.”

“Without talking to me. Without even considering what I might want.”

“Because I know what’s best in this situation.”

Anger flared, giving her strength. “Do you? Or are you simply afraid? Afraid of what you feel, afraid of trusting someone else with your burdens?”

“I’m afraid of burying you,” he snapped, control finally breaking. “I’m afraid of watching you die because of choices I’ve made. Is that what you want to hear?”

I wish you would stop deciding about our life without consulting me. She grasped his hand, determined to keep him from escaping her touch. “Rowan, please. Whatever this is, whatever you’re facing, let me help.”

Rowan glanced down at their hands, his expression softening just for a moment. Then he pulled his fingers from hers.

“When I find the person responsible for what happened, I’ll go back to Aldermere,” he said, his voice calm again. “I’ll come to London only when necessary. You’ll have everything you need, but… it’s best if we keep our distance.”

The words didn’t leave room for argument. He’d already made up his mind.

Something inside Selina cracked, so small and sharp she barely felt it at first. “You’re a coward, Rowan Blackmore.”

He flinched, but said nothing.

“You’re not protecting me. You’re just scared. Scared to love someone. Scared to let yourself be known.” She turned away. “Fine. If that’s what you want, go.”

“It’s what has to happen.”

Her voice dropped. “Then leave. Please.”

She didn’t watch him go, but the quiet click of the door closing echoed through the room. Only when she knew he was gone did her legs finally give out. She sank into the chair and let the tears come.

She sat there for hours, watching sunlight stretch and fade across the carpet. No one disturbed her—not even Agnes. Maybe they knew she needed the silence, needed to sit with the ache until it settled into something she could carry.

By the time night came, the tears had dried. She felt hollow, but steady. Not whole, but standing. Something colder, firmer had taken the place of what had been soft and warm.

Rowan had made his choice. She wouldn’t chase after him.

When Agnes came in to help her prepare for bed, Selina’s voice was calm.

“I’ll need my case packed in the morning. Just a few things. I’m only going for a short visit.”

Agnes blinked. “Are you well enough to travel, Your Grace?”

“I’m not going far,” Selina said. “Just staying with a friend. I need a change of scenery.”

That night, sleep didn’t come easy. She lay still, eyes shut, as memory played on repeat—Rowan’s hand reaching for hers across the breakfast table, the quiet way he used to say her name. Every image was another twist of the knife. But she didn’t cry again.

By morning, her mind felt clearer, if not lighter. She dressed simply, skipped breakfast, and wrote Rowan a short note. No explanations, no emotion. Just that she was staying with Georgiana for a few days and could be reached there if needed.

It felt like nothing. A handful of words where there should have been pages. But what more was there to say?

At Georgiana’s townhouse, the footman barely had time to knock before the door flew open. Her friend took one look at her face and pulled her inside without a word. Tea was ordered, her case carried up, and soon they were seated in the bright morning room, a quiet fire warming the hearth.

“You look exhausted,” Georgiana said gently. “Are you ill?”

Selina thought about telling her everything. The poisoning, Rowan pulling away, the cold conversation that had gutted her. But Georgiana looked so worried that Selina couldn’t bring herself to pile more weight on her.

“Just tired,” she said. “Rowan and I had a disagreement. I needed some time.”

Georgiana didn’t push. “You can stay as long as you like. Robert’s in Yorkshire with the steward, so it’s just me and James. We’ll be glad for the company.”

“Thank you. I won’t stay long; I do not wish to be a burden.”

“You’re not a burden,” Georgiana said firmly. “Friends don’t count the days.”

Selina gave her a tired smile. “I appreciate it. Truly.”

They didn’t speak much more about it. Georgiana made no demands, asked no questions, just gave her space and quiet and cups of tea. Selina spent time with little James in the garden, walked slowly along shaded paths when she felt up to it, and breathed in the peace of a house not full of ghosts.

No word came from Rowan. No letter. No message. Just silence.

With each silent hour, it became clear. He had destroyed what they were building together before it could grow.

On the third morning, Selina sat in Georgiana’s garden, the sun just warming the stone bench beneath her. Bees drifted lazily from flower to flower. James laughed somewhere nearby. And she wondered if the ache in her chest would ever truly leave.

She had survived worse. The ache of a mother buried too soon. The distance of a father who barely looked at her. A marriage that had offered her everything but love.

She’d get through this, too.

But survival wasn’t the same as living. And for a little while, with Rowan, she’d actually felt alive.