Chapter 13
The confrontation with Bickham had done nothing to ease the restlessness that clawed at Edmund’s chest like a caged beast. If anything, the brief taste of violence had only sharpened his awareness of how thoroughly unsettled he felt, how completely Isadora’s presence had disrupted the careful equilibrium he’d maintained for years.
“You know,” Tobias observed mildly, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, “for a man who just successfully defended his family’s honor, you look remarkably dissatisfied with the outcome.”
Edmund’s fingers drummed against the leather arm of his chair, a restless rhythm that spoke of barely contained energy seeking an outlet.
Around them, White’s had returned to its usual evening hum—the soft murmur of political discourse, the occasional burst of laughter from the card room, the comfortable rustle of newspapers being turned by men who’d never doubted their place in the world.
“Bickham was a gnat,” Edmund said dismissively. “Hardly worth the effort of swatting.”
“Yet you invoked James’s memory to do it. That particular weapon hasn’t emerged from your arsenal in quite some time.” Tobias leaned forward, his dark eyes sharp with the sort of attention that had made him invaluable during their military years. “What has you so thoroughly agitated, my friend?”
Edmund rose abruptly, beginning the restless pacing that had marked his worst moments for the past decade.
The Christmas decorations adorning the club’s mantels seemed to mock him with their cheerful greenery—holly and ivy wound through silver, their red berries bright as drops of blood against the dark wood.
“She called me afraid,” he said finally, the words torn from his throat like a confession under torture.
“Ah.” Tobias settled back in his chair with the expression of a man who’d just received confirmation of a long-held suspicion. “And was she correct in that assessment?”
“Of course she was correct.” Edmund’s voice carried a bitterness that made several nearby members glance up from their papers with poorly concealed curiosity.
“I’ve spent ten years building walls around that girl, telling myself I was protecting her when all I was doing was protecting myself from having to face my own inadequacy as her guardian. ”
He moved to the tall windows that looked out over St. James’s Street, where Christmas lights twinkled in shop windows and late evening pedestrians hurried through the December cold. “Do you know what James said to me that morning? Before the duel?”
Tobias remained silent, understanding that this was not a question requiring an answer.
“He said Lillian would need me when she was old enough to face the world. That she would require someone who could help her navigate society’s cruelties while preserving her spirit.
” Edmund’s laugh was harsh as winter wind.
“Someone like her father—charming, diplomatic, capable of making friends even of his enemies. Instead, she got me.”
“You underestimate yourself, Edmund. You’ve provided for her material needs, protected her from scandal—”
“I’ve imprisoned her.” The words exploded from him with enough force to rattle the crystal decanters on a nearby table.
“Hidden her away like some shameful secret because I was too much of a coward to let her live. And it took my wife—a woman I barely know—to show me what I’ve been doing to that child. ”
Tobias was quiet for a long moment, studying his friend’s profile as Edmund continued to stare out at the street below. When he finally spoke, his voice carried the gentle persistence that had always made him impossible to deflect.
“Tell me about this morning’s confrontation. What exactly did your duchess say that has you so thoroughly unsettled?”
Edmund closed his eyes, remembering the way Isadora had stood in that schoolroom, chin lifted in defiance, hazel eyes blazing with righteous fury on behalf of a girl she’d known less than a week.
“She said Lillian deserved more than my fear. That I was keeping her trapped in perpetual childhood because I was terrified of allowing her to develop opinions that might challenge my authority.” He turned from the window to face his friend.
“She accused me of crushing everything vital about that girl in the name of protection.”
“And you believe she was right.”
It wasn’t a question. Tobias had known him too long, had seen too much of the guilt that drove Edmund’s every decision regarding Lillian’s welfare.
“I know she was right. That’s what makes it so damnable.” Edmund resumed his pacing, his boots silent on the thick carpet. “Isadora saw through to the heart of it in a matter of days. Saw what I’ve been too blind or too stubborn to acknowledge for months.”
“Which is?”
“That I’ve been failing James’s daughter as surely as I failed James himself.
” The admission tasted like poison on his tongue, but speaking it aloud to someone who understood the weight of that old guilt somehow made it more bearable.
“I took her in out of obligation, provided for her physical needs, and told myself that was enough. But a bright, spirited girl requires more than room and board and rigid schedules.”
“What does she require?” Tobias asked gently.
Edmund sank back into his chair, suddenly exhausted by the weight of truths he’d been avoiding for months.
“Laughter. Questions. The freedom to make mistakes and learn from them. The chance to discover who she might become rather than being molded into what I think she should be.” He lifted his glass, staring into its amber depths.
“Everything I’m incapable of providing.”
“Are you incapable? Or simply unpracticed?”
“Does it matter? The result is the same—a girl who flinches when I enter a room, who swallows her thoughts rather than risk my displeasure, who looks at me with James’s eyes and sees only disappointment.”
Tobias leaned forward, his voice dropping to the intimate tone reserved for conversations between old friends who’d survived too many battles together. “And your duchess? What does she see when she looks at you?”
The question caught Edmund off guard, forcing him to examine memories he’d been trying to suppress since that morning’s confrontation. “Challenge,” he said finally. “She looks at me as though I’m a puzzle she intends to solve, whether I cooperate or not.”
“That must be rather refreshing after ten years of being treated like a dangerous animal that might bite if approached too directly.”
Edmund’s laugh was rueful. “Refreshing isn’t the word I’d use. Terrifying, perhaps. She has this way of cutting straight through every defense I’ve built, of seeing exactly what I’m trying to hide.”
“And what are you trying to hide, Edmund?”
Edmund drained his whiskey, using the gesture to buy time while he considered how much truth he was willing to speak aloud.
“That I’m not the man James believed I was,” he said at last. “That I’m not worthy of the trust he placed in me, or the faith his daughter deserves to have in my guardianship.”
“Or perhaps,” Tobias suggested with the sort of gentle persistence that had always made him impossible to dismiss, “you’re afraid that you might actually be capable of becoming that man, if you allowed yourself to try.”
The observation struck home with devastating accuracy, and Edmund felt something shift in his chest—a crack in the armor he’d built around his heart, letting in light he’d been carefully avoiding for years.
“She stood up to me,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a note of wonder that surprised them both. “In front of the governess, in front of Lillian, she looked me in the eye and told me I was wrong. Do you know how long it’s been since anyone dared contradict the Dangerous Duke of Rothwell?”
Tobias’s smile was knowing. “And how did it feel to be contradicted?”
Edmund considered this, remembering the way his pulse had quickened when Isadora had stepped closer, the heat that had flared between them when she’d refused to back down despite the cold authority in his voice.
“Alive,” he admitted, the word escaping before wisdom could stop it. “For the first time in years, I felt alive.”
Tobias raised his glass with a grin that held decades of friendship and far too much understanding. “To your duchess, Edmund,” he said, his voice carrying weight beyond the simple words. “May she plague you until your last breath.”
And Edmund, though he growled in reply, could not shake the image of his wife’s proud defiance, or the way her hazel eyes had burned into him when she’d demanded he do better by the girl who’d been entrusted to his care.
An hour later, as his carriage rolled through London’s darkened streets toward the coaching inn where he would spend the night before beginning the journey back to Yorkshire, Edmund found himself speaking aloud to the shadows beyond the windows.
“What the devil did you expect, James?” The words escaped unbidden, raw with frustration that had been building for months.
“You left me a daughter—a brilliant, spirited girl who deserves better than I can give her. Did you think I would somehow transform into the sort of guardian she needs? Did you imagine I possessed skills I’ve never demonstrated? ”
The carriage swayed as they turned a corner, Christmas lights from shop windows casting brief patterns across the leather seats.
In the distance, church bells were ringing the hour—a reminder that tomorrow was Christmas Eve, that families across England were gathering around their hearths while he traveled alone through the night.
“She defies me at every turn, and I haven’t the faintest idea how to respond. Mrs. Hale treats her like a child, but she’s nearly a woman grown. Isadora sees it—sees everything I’ve failed to provide. And the worst part, James, is that she’s right. About all of it.”
The admission tasted bitter as winter wind, but speaking it aloud to the man who’d entrusted him with such precious cargo somehow made it more bearable.
“Your daughter deserves to laugh, to question, to grow into the remarkable woman she’s meant to become.
Instead, I’ve kept her locked away like some shameful secret, so terrified of failing you that I’ve guaranteed that failure. ”
“Beg pardon, Your Grace?” The driver’s voice drifted down from his perch, muffled by the wind and the steady clip-clop of hooves on cobblestones.
Edmund started, realizing he’d been speaking loudly enough to be overheard. “Nothing. Drive on.”
The carriage continued its progress through London’s sleeping streets, past houses decorated for Christmas, past warm windows that spoke of families gathered in comfort and love.
Edmund closed his eyes and wished, not for the first time, that he could simply sleep and forget—forget the weight of promises he’d never learned how to keep, forget the look in Lillian’s eyes when he’d failed her again, forget the way Isadora’s voice had trembled with righteous fury when she’d accused him of letting fear govern his choices.
But sleep would not come, and memory was a cruel mistress who refused to be dismissed. By the time they reached the inn, Edmund had made a decision that would have seemed impossible just hours before.
Tomorrow, he would face his wife and his ward and attempt to become the man they both deserved—or die trying.