Chapter 35
“Look, Uncle Edward! Ducks!”
Oliver tugged at Edward’s hand, straining toward the Serpentine like a hound on a leash.
The afternoon sun dappled through the trees, casting shifting patterns across the path.
Hyde Park bustled with fashionable Londoners taking advantage of the fine weather, but Oliver had eyes only for the waterfowl paddling near the shore.
“I see them.” Edward allowed himself to be pulled along. “They are very fine ducks.”
“Can I feed them? Mrs. Palmer brought bread.” Oliver bounced on his toes. “Please?”
Edward glanced at Mrs. Palmer, who produced a small paper parcel from her bag. “Stay where I can see you.”
Oliver snatched the bread and raced toward the water’s edge, Mrs. Palmer following at a more dignified pace. Edward watched them go, something warm settling in his chest at the sight of the boy’s unbridled joy.
Sophia appeared at his elbow, her arm slipping through his. “He is happy.”
“He is.” Edward covered her hand with his own. “We should bring him here more often.”
They walked along the path, keeping Oliver in sight while maintaining enough distance to give Mrs. Palmer room to manage her charge. The park hummed with conversation and laughter, the distant clip of horses on Rotten Row, the calls of vendors selling ices and lemonade.
Sophia leaned into his side. “This is nice.”
“It is.” Edward smiled. These past weeks had changed something fundamental in him. The constant tension had eased. The walls he had so carefully built had crumbled. And in their place, something new was growing. Something fragile and precious and terrifying in its intensity.
He glanced at Sophia, at the way the sunlight caught the copper threads in her hair, at the curve of her smile. She was beautiful. She was his. And he wanted her with a ferocity that still surprised him.
“Come with me.” He tugged her off the main path, toward a cluster of trees that offered a screen from prying eyes.
“Edward.” She laughed as he pulled her into the shadows. “What are you doing?”
“Staying where I can see Oliver.” He backed her against a tree trunk, his hands settling on her waist. “While also taking advantage of a rare moment alone with my wife.”
“We are in public.” But her protest was weak, her eyes already darkening with want.
“We are in a very private corner of a public place.” He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. “And I have been thinking about kissing you all afternoon.”
“Only kissing?” Her voice came out breathless.
“For now.” He captured her mouth with his.
The kiss started gently but quickly deepened, weeks of intimacy having taught them exactly how to drive each other to distraction.
Sophia’s fingers tangled in his hair. His hands slid from her waist to her hips, pulling her closer.
The world narrowed to the press of her body against his, the taste of her lips, the soft sounds she made against his mouth.
He forgot where they were. Forgot that they stood in a public park in broad daylight. Forgot everything except the woman in his arms and the fire she kindled in his blood.
“Your Grace!”
The voice cut through the haze. Edward wrenched back, his heart slamming against his ribs.
Mrs. Palmer stood at the edge of the trees, her face pale, her chest heaving with exertion.
“It’s Master Oliver.” Her voice shook. “I cannot find him. I only looked away for a moment, and he was gone.”
The world tilted. Edward felt the blood drain from his face.
“What do you mean, gone?”
“He was feeding the ducks, and then a dog ran past, and he chased after it, and I tried to follow, but there were so many people, and I lost sight of him—” Mrs. Palmer’s voice broke on a sob.
Edward was already moving, Sophia close behind. They burst out of the trees and scanned the area near the Serpentine. Families strolled along the paths. Children played on the grass. Couples sat on benches, enjoying the sunshine.
No Oliver.
“You go left.” Edward’s voice emerged sharp with fear. “I will go right. Mrs. Palmer, stay here in case he returns.”
They split apart. Edward strode through the park, his eyes sweeping every cluster of people, every copse of trees, and every possible hiding place. His pulse roared in his ears. His hands shook.
Oliver. Where is Oliver?
He stopped passersby, describing a small boy with dark curls and blue eyes. A woman thought she had seen a child running toward the flower gardens. A gentleman recalled a boy chasing a spotted dog near the bridge.
Edward ran.
The flower gardens were empty of children. The bridge offered no sign of his nephew. He pushed deeper into the park, calling Oliver’s name, and ignoring the curious stares of strangers.
This was his fault. He had been distracted. Had been so consumed with wanting Sophia that he had taken his eyes off the one person who depended on him most.
If something had happened to Oliver…
He could not finish the thought.
Sophia found him.
She had circled back toward a wilder section of the park, following an instinct she could not name, and there he was. Sitting beneath a sprawling oak tree, his knees drawn to his chest, his small body shaking with silent sobs.
“Oliver!” She ran to him, her skirts tangling around her legs. She dropped to her knees and gathered him into her arms. “Oh, sweetheart. We were so worried.”
Oliver clung to her, his fingers fisting in her dress. His face was streaked with tears and dirt. His stockings were torn, his knees scraped and bleeding.
“I got lost.” His voice came out thin and wobbly. “I chased the dog, and then I could not find Mrs. Palmer, and I tried to come back, but everything looked the same, and I fell and hurt my knees, and I thought no one would find me—”
“Shh.” Sophia held him tighter, rocking gently. “You’re safe now. I found you. You are safe.”
Footsteps pounded toward them. Edward appeared around the curve of the path, his face ashen, his breathing ragged. He skidded to a halt at the sight of them.
“Oliver.” The name emerged broken.
The boy lifted his head from Sophia’s shoulder. “Uncle Edward!”
He scrambled out of Sophia’s arms and launched himself at his uncle. Edward caught him, lifting him off the ground, holding him with a desperation that made Sophia’s throat tighten.
“I am sorry.” Oliver sobbed against Edward’s neck. “I am sorry I ran away. I did not mean to get lost.”
“It is all right.” Edward’s voice was rough. “You are safe. That is all that matters.”
But Sophia saw the way his jaw clenched. The way his eyes squeezed shut. The way his arms trembled around the boy.
Something was wrong. Something beyond the fear and relief of the moment.
They made their way back to Mrs. Palmer, who wept with relief at the sight of Oliver. The carriage was summoned. They rode home in silence, Oliver wedged between Edward and Sophia, his small hand clutching each of theirs.
Edward did not look at her. Did not speak. His face had shuttered into the stony mask she had not seen in weeks.
Sophia’s stomach knotted with dread.
That night, Sophia found Edward in his study.
He sat behind his desk, a glass of untouched brandy before him, staring at nothing. The fire had burned low, casting long shadows across his rigid features.
“Oliver is asleep.” She closed the door behind her. “His knees are cleaned and bandaged. Mrs. Palmer is sitting with him.”
Edward said nothing.
Sophia crossed to the desk. “Edward. Talk to me.”
“About what?” His voice came out flat, devoid of emotion. “About how I nearly lost my nephew because I was too busy kissing you to watch him?”
The words struck her like a slap. “That is not fair. We both—”
“We both what?” He looked up at her, and his eyes were cold. Distant. The eyes of the man she had married, not the man she had grown to love. “We both allowed ourselves to be distracted? We both forgot our responsibilities? We both put our own desires ahead of a child’s safety?”
“I feel guilty, too.” Sophia’s voice shook. “Do you think I have not been replaying it in my mind? Wondering what might have happened if I had not found him?”
Edward pushed back from his desk and rose. He moved to the window, his back to her, his shoulders rigid.
“This is exactly what I was afraid of.” The words emerged low and bitter. “This is why I wanted a marriage without passion. Without this… this consuming need that makes me forget everything else.”
Sophia felt the blood drain from her face. “Edward…”
“My father was right.” He spat the words like poison. “Desire clouds judgment. Emotion makes you weak. I knew this. I have always known this. And yet I allowed myself to forget.”
“You are not your father.” She crossed to him, reaching for his arm. “We talked about this. You are not—”
He pulled away from her touch. “Today proved otherwise.”
The rejection cut deep. Sophia wrapped her arms around herself, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall.
“So, what are you saying?” Her voice was small. “That these past weeks meant nothing? That everything between us was a mistake?”
Edward was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was hollow.
“Yes.”
The single word shattered something inside her. She stared at his back, at the rigid line of his spine, at the way he refused to face her.
“I thought you were making progress.” She heard the tremor in her own voice but could not stop it. “I thought we were building something real.”
“We were building a distraction.” He turned then, and his face was carved from stone. “An indulgence. One that nearly cost Oliver his life.”
“He scraped his knees!” Sophia’s voice rose. “He got lost in a park and scraped his knees. He was not kidnapped. He was not killed. He was frightened and hurt, and we found him.”
“This time.” Edward’s jaw clenched. “What about next time? What about the next moment when I am so consumed with wanting you, I forget to watch him? When I fail him the way I failed Leonard?”
The truth of it hit her then. This was not about today. This was about years of guilt and grief, wounds that had never healed, and fears that ran deeper than she had understood.
But understanding did not ease the pain of his rejection.
“So that’s it.” She straightened her spine, refusing to let him see her break. “You would rather retreat into coldness than risk feeling something real.”
“I would rather protect Oliver than indulge my own weakness.”
“Loving someone is not a weakness!” The words tore from her throat. “Letting yourself be happy is not weakness! But you are so determined to punish yourself that you would destroy everything good in your life rather than accept that you deserve it.”
Edward flinched. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Pain. Doubt. The barest crack in the armor he had rebuilt.
Then it was gone.
“This was a mistake.” His voice was final. “All of it. Getting involved. Letting myself believe that I could have…” He stopped. Shook his head. “It ends here.”
Sophia stared at him. At this man who had held her through the night, who had whispered promises against her skin, who had looked at her like she was the answer to every question he had ever asked.
And who was now shutting her out as though none of it had ever happened.
“Very well.” She heard her voice as though from a great distance. Cold. Brittle. “If that is what you want.”
She turned and walked to the door. Her hand closed on the handle. She paused, some part of her hoping he would call her back, would tell her he did not mean it, and that he would reach for her the way he had reached for her so many times before.
Silence.
She opened the door and walked out, closing it behind her with a soft click that echoed like a gunshot in the quiet house.
The days that followed passed in a haze of careful avoidance.
Sophia took her breakfast in her chambers. Edward took his in the study. They passed each other in corridors with polite nods and empty eyes, strangers inhabiting the same house.
The servants noticed. Of course, they noticed. But they said nothing with their faces carefully neutral as they navigated the sudden chill that had descended upon Heatherwell House.
Sophia poured herself into caring for Oliver.
The boy was shaken after his adventure in the park, prone to nightmares and clinginess in a way he had not been before. He asked for Sophia constantly, wanted her beside him while he played, while he ate, and while he drifted off to sleep.
She gave him everything he needed. Read to him until her voice grew hoarse. Painted endless pictures of horses and dragons and families holding hands. Held him when the nightmares woke him, stroking his hair until his trembling stopped.
“Where is Uncle Edward?” Oliver asked one afternoon, looking up from his painting with troubled eyes.
Sophia’s chest tightened. “He is very busy with work, sweetheart.”
“He does not come to see me anymore.” Oliver’s lower lip trembled. “Is he angry with me? Because I got lost?”
“No.” Sophia gathered him into her arms. “No, Oliver. He is not angry with you. He loves you very much.”
“Then why doesn’t he come? I miss painting with him. He was getting awfully good at painting clouds.”
Sophia had no answer. She held the boy close and blinked back her own tears.
Sometimes, late at night, she heard movement in the corridor outside her chambers. Footsteps that paused at her door lingered, then retreated.
She never opened the door. And the footsteps were never followed by a knock.
They were married. They lived in the same house. And they had never been further apart.