Chapter 25
Charlotte woke with sunlight on her face and something lighter in her chest than she had felt in months.
For one suspended, fragile moment, she did not remember William. She did not remember accusations, or secrets, or the near-kiss that had left her pulse racing long after she had closed her door.
She remembered only Edward’s voice in the study. Until you came.
Heat crept into her cheeks at the memory.
She pressed her fingers briefly to her lips, as though she might still feel the ghost of what had nearly happened, then pushed the covers aside and rose. If she allowed herself to linger in it, she would unravel entirely. There were lessons to be had. A boy to find.
Julian was already awake when she reached the nursery, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a wooden horse in hand, humming under his breath.
“You look pleased,” he observed at once, squinting at her suspiciously.
“Do I?” she asked, smoothing her skirt.
“Yes,” he said gravely. “Like when Cook makes honey cakes.”
She laughed despite herself. “Then perhaps today shall be a good day.”
They began their lessons as usual. Julian stumbled through his reading with more enthusiasm than accuracy, then insisted on practicing the pianoforte piece they had prepared. His confidence had grown so much these past weeks that it still startled her.
She was adjusting his hand position when Clara Bennet appeared in the doorway.
“Miss Fenton,” she said, tone quiet but bright. “His Grace requests your presence in the drawing room. Lady Victoria has arrived—with her son.”
Charlotte’s fingers stilled on the keys.
Lady Victoria.
Clara’s eyes flicked to hers in a way that held too much meaning to be accidental. A question. A warning. Perhaps even sympathy.
Charlotte felt something cold settle just beneath her ribs.
“Of course,” she said evenly. “We shall come at once.”
Julian leaped to his feet. “Arthur is here?” he asked eagerly.
“Yes,” Clara confirmed. “And he has brought a ball.”
That was enough to send him racing down the corridor ahead of them.
Charlotte followed more slowly.
The drawing room was already alive with movement. Sunlight spilled across polished floors, catching on silk, laughter, and the bright ribbon in Lady Victoria’s hat.
She was as Clara had described—graceful, composed, dressed in soft shades that complemented her fair complexion. A proper lady. The sort who belonged in rooms like this without effort.
Edward stood opposite her, posture formal, expression measured. He inclined his head in greeting as Charlotte entered.
“Miss Fenton,” he acknowledged.
The title was correct. Necessary.
It felt like a blade.
“Miss Fenton,” Lady Victoria said, offering a composed smile. “You have been a great comfort to his grace’s household.”
Comfort to the household. Not part of it.
“I care for Julian very much,” she said, and left it there.
Victoria’s son had already found Julian, the two boys whispering conspiratorially before bursting into laughter. The sight should have pleased her.
Instead, she felt herself retreat.
She watched Edward exchange polite conversation with Victoria. Watched the ease with which she stood at his side. Watched the natural symmetry of them—the duke and the lady, aligned by rank, by expectation, by a world that would never question their proximity.
This was what made sense.
Not late-night confessions in studies. Not almost-kisses by firelight.
She became acutely aware of her place—standing slightly behind, slightly apart. A governess. Useful. Respected, perhaps. But never equal. Never intended.
Jealousy rose before she could stop it. Sharp. Unwelcome.
She hated it.
Lady Victoria laughed softly at something Edward said, and Charlotte’s stomach tightened. It was not a flirtatious laugh. It was kind. Sincere. She seemed, in truth, a good woman.
That only made it worse.
Edward shifted then—subtle, almost imperceptible—and his gaze found Charlotte’s across the room.
The look was fleeting, but it was not indifferent.
There was tension in it. Awareness.
He looked away first.
The air felt too thin.
Lady Victoria clasped her hands lightly. “I was visiting friends nearby and thought it shameful not to call. It has been too long since the boys saw one another.”
“You are most welcome,” Edward replied, tone courteous but faintly strained.
Charlotte noticed it now—that faint discomfort in him whenever Victoria addressed him directly, whenever their conversation edged toward the personal. He was polite. Attentive.
But not at ease.
The boys, meanwhile, had taken to each other instantly. Julian’s laughter rang out, bright and unguarded, as they chased one another between chairs.
It had been a long time since he’d had a friend visit.
Edward’s expression softened at the sight.
Lady Victoria noticed it, too.
“Perhaps we might take a promenade,” she suggested gently. “The park is lovely this time of year, and the boys have energy enough to outrun the servants.”
Julian gasped. “Please?”
Arthur echoed the plea with equal enthusiasm.
Edward hesitated only a fraction of a second. “Very well,” he said. “A short walk.”
Charlotte felt it then—fully, unmistakably.
This was how it would happen.
A lady from his world. A son who fit seamlessly beside Julian. Walks in parks. Shared visits. An arrangement that required no defiance of society, no secret investigations, no whispered confessions in dimly lit rooms.
Her chest tightened, but she kept her smile fixed in place.
“I shall fetch cloaks for the boys,” she offered.
Edward’s gaze flicked to her again, as though he sensed something beneath her composure. But whatever he saw there, he did not name.
Charlotte turned toward the corridor, pulse steadying through sheer force of will.
She had allowed herself one night of foolish hope.
That was all.
As she gathered Julian’s coat, she understood with painful clarity that she would never be the duchess of Ashford. She would never stand beside Edward as Lady Victoria now did, welcomed without question.
Her role was to teach. To guide. To love quietly and from a distance.
Resignation settled over her like a cloak.
And yet, as she returned to the drawing room and met Edward’s eyes once more—saw the way his attention lingered on her despite everything—hope flickered stubbornly, traitorous and bright.
The boys were already racing toward the door, excitement spilling ahead of them.
Lady Victoria smiled serenely.
Edward offered his arm with practiced formality.
Charlotte followed a step behind, heart caught between what was proper … and what she could not stop wanting.
***
The promenade began pleasantly enough.
Edward and Lady Victoria walked ahead, their pace synchronized, their conversation easy in the way shared experience often is.
Charlotte could hear fragments drift back on the breeze—mentions of sleepless nights, of tutors and temperaments, of the peculiar loneliness that settled over large houses once children were abed.
They looked well-matched from a distance.
Appropriate. Balanced.
Charlotte walked a few paces behind with Julian and Arthur, their laughter bright as they darted between the trees. Lady Victoria’s maid kept near enough to maintain propriety without intruding.
Charlotte told herself she should be grateful. The boys were happy. Edward looked … comfortable.
And yet.
Every time Lady Victoria inclined her head toward him, every time her gloved hand brushed his sleeve in polite emphasis, something sharp coiled low in Charlotte’s chest.
She kept her eyes on Julian. She kept her expression serene.
Then she heard her name.
“… Miss Fenton has been invaluable,” Edward was saying, his voice carrying just enough to reach her. “I do not know how we managed without her. Julian thrives under her care.”
Charlotte’s steps faltered.
Lady Victoria replied warmly, something about how fortunate Ashford was.
Edward continued, “I am fortunate.”
The words were simple. They landed heavily.
Charlotte looked up despite herself.
Edward had turned slightly, as though aware she might hear. Their eyes met across the small distance—briefly, unintentionally, undeniably.
There was no impropriety in the glance.
And yet it lingered a fraction too long.
Lady Victoria saw it. Charlotte knew she did.
The widow’s smile did not falter, but something sharpened behind it—calculation, perhaps. Or understanding.
Charlotte dropped her gaze at once, heat rising to her cheeks. Gratitude warred with humiliation. To be praised publicly was an honor.
To be praised as though she were an asset—while walking behind the woman who might replace her in that household—was something else entirely.
Before she could sort the feeling, another voice cut through the air.
“Well. What a delightful coincidence.”
Lady Amelia.
She approached with two other ladies in her wake, silks whispering against the gravel path. Her smile was immaculate. Her eyes were not.
She took in the tableau in an instant—Edward at Lady Victoria’s side, Charlotte behind them, the children weaving between.
Her gaze settled first on Victoria. Polite. Measuring.
Then it flicked to Charlotte. And lingered.
“Your Grace,” Amelia said smoothly. “Lady Victoria. How unexpected.”
Introductions were made again for the benefit of her companions. Compliments exchanged. Observations about the fine weather.
Charlotte felt herself shrinking, aware of every detail of her plain gown, her position, the way she stood just slightly apart from the noble cluster.
Lady Amelia clasped her gloved hands lightly. “I am hosting a small gathering tomorrow afternoon. Nothing formal. I would be delighted if you joined us.”
Her gaze rested pointedly on Edward.
“And of course,” she added with graceful emphasis, “the children are welcome. One must think of their happiness, after all. The governess may attend to them.”
Charlotte felt the words like a soft dismissal.
The governess may attend to them.
Lady Victoria hesitated. Edward opened his mouth.