Chapter 30
Edward had been awake only moments when the door burst open.
Julian stood in the threshold in his nightshirt, hair disheveled, face streaked with tears. He clutched a sheet of paper in one trembling hand.
“Papa!”
Edward pushed himself upright at once, disoriented by the gray light filtering through the curtains. “Julian? What is it?”
Julian crossed the room in three uneven strides and thrust the letter toward him. “She’s gone,” he sobbed. “She left. She promised she wouldn’t leave, and she did.”
The words did not make sense at first.
“Who has gone?” Edward demanded, already knowing the answer before Julian forced it into the open.
“Miss Fenton.”
The name struck like a physical blow.
Julian thrust the letter into Edward’s hands, his small fingers trembling.
Edward unfolded it quickly, forcing himself to focus despite the pounding in his chest.
My dearest boy—
He read every word. She had written of bravery and music, of promises kept in the heart even when distance intervened. She told Julian he must trust his father. That he must keep playing the piano. That she would carry him with her always.
There was no bitterness in it. No anger.
Only sorrow.
The door opened softly behind them.
Edward did not look up at first. He finished the final line addressed to his son before lowering the page.
Clara Bennet stood just inside the room, pale but composed, another sealed letter in her hand.
“For you, Your Grace,” she said quietly.
Edward rose at once and crossed to her, taking it with fingers that felt far steadier than he was. He recognized the handwriting instantly.
He broke the seal without ceremony.
Edward,
Forgive me for the manner of my departure. I know it lacks the courage you have always shown me, but if I had faced you, I would not have found the strength to go.
You gave me shelter when I had nowhere to stand. You believed me when doubt would have been easier. You treated me not as a burden, nor as a scandal to be managed, but as a person worthy of protection and trust. I will carry that kindness with me for the rest of my life.
What has happened these past days has confirmed what I feared most—that my presence in your household brings danger and ruin too close to your door.
I cannot bear to see your name entangled further in whispers meant for me.
You have endured enough speculation, enough grief. I will not be the cause of more.
Julian deserves a life unaffected by gossip. He deserves joy without explanation, friendship without question. If my absence spares him even a portion of what the ton is now saying, then it is a small sacrifice compared to what he has already lost.
As for William and the truth surrounding my parents’ deaths, I will not abandon that pursuit.
The information you uncovered has given me direction where once there was only fog.
For that, I am more grateful than words can express.
I will follow the thread until it leads to certainty.
If there is justice to be found, I will find it.
Please do not think I leave in anger. I leave in affection deeper than is wise to admit. Ashford has been the first place in years where my sleep was not ruled by terror. My nightmares lessened there. My laughter returned there. That is because of you.
And because of him.
Tell Julian that I expect to hear of every new piece he learns on the pianoforte. Tell him his mother would be proud of the boy he is becoming. Tell him that bravery does not mean never being afraid—it means continuing even when you are.
You once told me you would do anything to keep me safe. Allow me, just this once, to do the same for you.
Lady Victoria is a good and kind woman. She would make a gentle mother for Julian and a steady partner for you. I hope you will not think me presumptuous for saying so. I wish for you both a future unmarred by my past.
Whatever becomes of me, know that Ashford will always remain the place where I remembered how to live.
Charlotte
Julian’s sobbing dragged him back to the present.
“You have to go after her,” Julian insisted, tears streaking his face. “You have to bring her home. She’s part of our family now. She can’t just leave.”
Edward folded the letter carefully, though his hands wanted to crush it.
“I do not know where she has gone,” he admitted hoarsely.
Julian stared at him in disbelief. “You always know everything.”
“I do not know this,” Edward replied, already rising. “But I will.”
He dressed quickly, every movement precise despite the turmoil under his ribs.
Clara remained near the door.
“She left before dawn,” she said softly. “She did not wish to wake the household.”
“Where?” Edward demanded.
Clara hesitated only briefly. “She went to her cousin’s. Beatrice lives on Hawthorne Street. I can give you the address.”
Relief and fury collided inside him, sharp and undeniable.
“Thank you,” he said curtly, already reaching for his coat.
Julian caught his sleeve. “Bring her back,” he pleaded.
Edward crouched before him and took his shoulders firmly. “I will bring her home.”
Not to Ashford.
Home.
He rode hard enough that the early morning air burned in his lungs. The streets were barely stirring when he reached Beatrice’s door, dismounted without ceremony, and struck the knocker with force that echoed down the narrow lane.
The door opened sooner than expected.
Beatrice stood there, startled but composed.
“Your Grace—”
“Where is she?” Edward demanded. “I must speak to her at once.”
Beatrice studied him, and whatever she saw seemed to settle something in her.
“She left at first light,” she said. “She was asking questions. About the road near Hawthorne Hollow. About the carriage.”
Edward went still. “She intends to investigate it herself?”
“Yes. “Beatrice’s voice softened. “And when she feels she must think clearly—when she feels she does not belong anywhere else—she goes to the lake near there. It is where her family used to walk. Where she went after … after the accident.”
The implication needed no further explanation.
Edward’s jaw tightened. “You should have sent for me.”
“She would not have allowed it,” Beatrice replied gently. “But you may still reach her. I will show you,” Beatrice added quickly, already reaching for her shawl.
They rode without speaking. The village gave way to open land, then to the quiet stretch of water framed by trees beginning to pale with morning light.
Edward saw her before Beatrice spoke.
Charlotte stood near the water’s edge, her back to them, her hair unbound and stirring in the wind. The lake lay wide and gray beyond her, the sky stretching cold and endless above. She looked impossibly small against it, as though the world had already begun to swallow her.
He dismounted before the horse had fully stilled.
“Charlotte.”
She turned at the sound of his voice. Shock flared first, then something softer—relief, unguarded and fleeting. It vanished almost at once. Her spine straightened. Her expression closed.
“You should not be here,” she said, stepping back from him. “You should not have followed me.”
“I had no choice.”
He crossed the ground between them quickly, but she retreated just as fast, boots slipping slightly in the frost.
“You must go back,” she insisted. “Before anyone sees you here. Before this becomes worse than it already is.”
“Julian is distraught,” Edward said, his voice firm despite the way his pulse pounded. “He woke me in tears. He believes you have abandoned him.”
Her composure fractured at once. “I would never abandon him.”
“Then come home.”
She shook her head and went to pass him. “Do not call it that. It is Ashford. It is your home. I was only ever passing through.”
He stepped into her path.
“Move,” she whispered.
“No.”
She tried to circle around him. He shifted again, blocking her retreat without touching her. Frustration flashed in her eyes.
“You are not listening,” she said, voice trembling now. “If I return, I bring scandal with me. You and Julian have endured enough.”
“Enough?” he echoed sharply. “Do you believe this is easier? That waking to find you gone is protection?”
She turned away from him as though the sight of his face might weaken her resolve. “I love you,” she said suddenly, the words torn from her rather than offered. “That is precisely why I must leave.”
The confession landed between them like a crack in ice.
She tried to move past him again, but this time he caught her hand. Not roughly, but firmly enough that she could not slip free.
“Charlotte, look at me.”
“Let me go,” she whispered.
“I will not.”
She tugged once more, and when he did not release her, she looked up at him with something resembling anger. “Do not make me choose between loving you and protecting you.”
“You are not protecting me,” he said quietly. “You are breaking us.”
She stilled. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
Then she pulled her hand from his and turned decisively toward the path.
He did not hesitate. He stepped forward again, stopping her with his body alone.
“Edward—”
“Do not leave,” he said.
She tried to step around him one last time.
He dropped to his knees.
Beatrice gasped behind them, but Edward did not look away from Charlotte as he held her gaze from below.
She stared at him, stunned into stillness.
“Marry me.”
The wind skimmed across the water, carrying the words away and back again.
“What?” she breathed.
“Marry me,” he repeated, reaching for her hand once more and clasping it in both of his. “Not as charity. Not as penance. As my wife.”
Tears spilled freely down her cheeks now.
“You would do such a thing in the midst of scandal?” she asked. “For someone with no dowry, no alliances, no place in your world?”
“I do not care for dowries,” he said. “I do not care for alliances. I care for you.”
She trembled.
“If the ton insists upon calling it strategy, let them. If it must silence their gossip, so be it. But do not mistake me—I am not offering rescue. I am asking for you. I will take you in any form you will give me. I will not let you walk away believing you are a burden.”
The lake was utterly still now.
She sank slowly to her knees before him, her free hand lifting to his face as though she needed proof that he was real.
“You would bind your name to mine in this?” she whispered.
“In this,” he said. “In anything.”
Her breath caught.
“I love you,” she said, the words soft but certain.
Something in him loosened that had been knotted tight for years.
Edward lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles, reverent and certain. Then he rose and drew her into his arms.
She came willingly.
The embrace was not frantic. It was steady. Anchoring.
Behind them, Beatrice exhaled shakily, relief evident even from a distance.
Edward rested his cheek against Charlotte’s hair and closed his eyes briefly. “I love you, too.”
William had attempted to corner her with scandal.
Instead, he had forced Edward’s hand in the only direction that had ever truly mattered.
Forward.