18. In Which a Mother Questions Everything – Ashbourne House, Grosvenor Square, London
IN WHICH A MOTHER QUESTIONS EVERYTHING
JULIET
ASHBOURNE HOUSE, GROSVENOR SQUARE, LONDON
Isat in my private sitting room that afternoon that Lucas spoke with Edward, trying to convince myself I'd done the right thing.
I'd questioned Charlotte. Planted doubt. Suggested her love for Edward might be rescue mistaken for something deeper.
I'd told Lucas my concerns. Asked him to challenge Edward. To make him prove it was real.
And now both of them were doubting something that had felt certain just days ago.
Because of me.
Because I'd looked at my brother and my daughter and seen a pattern that terrified me.
But what if I was wrong?
The door opened. Lucas entered and closed it behind him.
"How did it go?" I asked. "With Edward?"
Lucas sat in the chair across from mine. "He admitted it. That Charlotte makes him feel needed. That rescuing her gives him purpose."
My chest tightened. "So I was right."
"You were right that they're rescuing each other. But Juliet—" Lucas paused. "I'm not certain that means it's not real."
I looked at him sharply. "What?"
"Edward struggled with the question. Asked how he could prove love. How could he separate needing Charlotte from loving her? But—" Lucas leaned forward. "He also said something that gave me pause."
"What?"
"He said he can't separate needing her from loving her. That maybe they're tangled together. That needing someone doesn't make it less real."
I stood. Walked to the window. "Lucas, that's exactly the problem. If need and love are tangled together, how do they know which is which? How do they know it will last beyond the crisis?"
"They don't. But Juliet—" Lucas's voice was gentle. "Do any of us know that? When we fell in love, could you separate needing me from loving me? Could I?"
The question stopped me cold.
I turned from the window. Looked at my husband.
Lucas. Who I'd been forced to marry at eighteen because my cousin Beatrice caught us in the Folly. Who had been forty-five to my eighteen. I’d barely known him beyond childhood memories of him bringing me sweets.
"That's not fair," I said quietly.
"Isn't it? You needed me. I gave you safety, security, a way out of ruin." Lucas's voice was measured. "And I needed you. I needed someone who saw me as a person instead of a duke. Someone who could be a mother to Charlotte. Someone who asked me real questions."
"We were caught holding hands," I said. "That was all. Just—talking in the dark and holding hands. And Beatrice brought witnesses, and my life was over unless you married me."
"I remember." Lucas stood and came to stand beside me at the window. "I remember how terrified you looked. I remember making that decision in the folly—that I would marry you because honour demanded it. Because you deserved better than ruin."
"You didn't love me."
"No. Not then." His voice was honest. Unflinching. "I married you because I had to. Because Society demanded it. Because your father demanded it. Because it was the only way to protect you."
I closed my eyes. "And I married you because I had no choice."
"You had no choice," he agreed. "Eighteen years old. Forced to marry a man twenty-seven years older. A stranger, except for childhood memories. A widower with a daughter." He paused. "Juliet, I've never forgotten what I took from you. The life you might have had. The choice you never got to make."
"But we're happy now."
"We are. But it took time. It took weeks before I could even admit I cared for you beyond duty.
Months before, I told you I loved you. Years before we built what we have now.
" Lucas turned me to face him. "And it started from need.
You needed rescue. I needed purpose. We gave each other what we desperately needed, and somewhere in that—eventually—we found love. "
I stared at him. "You're saying Edward and Charlotte are like us."
"I'm saying—maybe they are. Maybe they're starting from need the way we did. But that doesn't mean it can't become real. It doesn't mean they can't choose each other eventually, the way we did."
"But Lucas—we had no choice! We were already married. Already committed. We couldn't walk away even if we wanted to." My voice rose. "Edward and Charlotte have a choice. They can step back. They can wait. They don't have to commit now, while everything is tangled up in rescue and crisis and?—"
"And what if waiting makes it worse?" Lucas interrupted. "What if asking them to prove something that can't be proven just makes them doubt something that's real?"
I turned away. Pressed my hands against the window glass.
"I was terrified," I admitted quietly. "When you married me. I was eighteen, and you were forty-five, and I didn't know if I would ever stop being afraid of you. If I would ever feel anything beyond—beyond gratitude that you'd saved me from ruin."
"I know."
"Do you?" I turned to look at him. "Do you know how many nights I lay awake wondering if this was all my life would be? Polite distance. Duty. A husband who was kind to me but didn't love me. A stepdaughter who might never accept me. A marriage that was just—endurance."
"Yes." Lucas's voice was rough. "I know. Because I wondered the same things. If you would ever stop flinching when I entered a room. If you would ever look at me with something other than fear or resignation. If I had ruined both our lives by doing the honourable thing."
The words hung between us. All the truth we'd never said aloud about those early weeks. The forced smiles at breakfast. The careful distance. The desperate hope that somehow, this terrible beginning might lead to something bearable.
"When did you know?" I asked. "When did you know it was becoming real?"
Lucas thought about it. "When I found you with Charlotte.
That morning, you'd stayed with her all night because she had nightmares.
You were exhausted. Your hair was a mess.
You had ink stains on your fingers from reading to her.
And you looked at me like you were daring me to criticise. Like you were ready to fight for her."
"I was."
"I know. And that's when I knew." His voice softened. "You weren't pretending. You weren't being the dutiful duchess or the grateful bride. You were just—Juliet. Fierce and protective and real. And I thought—I could love this woman. I think I already do."
My eyes stung. "That was three weeks after we married."
"Three weeks," Lucas confirmed. "But I didn't tell you for months. Because I was afraid. Afraid you would think I was demanding something you couldn't give. Afraid I would pressure you into feeling something you didn't feel."
"So you waited."
"I waited. Until after the court presentation. Until after the Thorne scandal. Until I couldn't keep it inside anymore." Lucas moved closer. "And you forgave me for lying about your father. You chose to move forward. You chose me. Even though I'd given you every reason not to."
I remembered. The study. The confession. The way my world had tilted when I learned Lucas had been paying my father's blackmailer for eight years. The lie. The betrayal of trust.
And my choice to forgive him anyway.
"I chose you," I agreed. "But Lucas—we'd already had weeks together. We'd already started building something. Charlotte already called me Mama. We'd already—" I stopped. "It wasn't just need anymore. Not by then."
"Are you certain?" Lucas asked gently. "Or did we just get lucky? Lucky that need turned into something else. Lucky that we chose each other eventually, even though we started from scandal and necessity."
I didn't have an answer.
Lucas took my hands. "Juliet. I understand why you're worried. You're looking at Edward and Charlotte and seeing us at eighteen and forty-five. Seeing a forced marriage. Seeing all the ways it could go wrong."
"Yes."
"But they're not us. Edward isn't forty-five, pursuing an eighteen-year-old. He's twenty-three, falling in love with seventeen. It's still an age gap, but—" Lucas paused. "They're both young. Both figuring this out. Both brave enough to question it."
"Like we never did."
"Like we never had the chance to do," Lucas corrected. "We married first and questioned later. Edward and Charlotte are questioning now. Before they commit. That's better, isn't it? That's what you wanted."
Was it? Did I want Edward and Charlotte to examine this so closely that they talked themselves out of something real?
"I just don't want them to make a mistake," I said quietly.
"Neither do I. But Juliet—" Lucas squeezed my hands. "What if the mistake is making them doubt? What if we're so afraid of them repeating our beginning that we're sabotaging their chance at our ending?"
I looked at my husband. At Lucas, who I'd married for all the wrong reasons. Who I'd been terrified of. Who I'd slowly, carefully, painfully learned to love.
And who loved me back. Fiercely. Completely. Despite everything.
"I need to talk to Edward," I said.
"What will you tell him?"
"The truth. About us. About how scared I was. About how it took time." I took a breath. "And that maybe—maybe need and love aren't enemies. Maybe they're just different paths to the same place."
Lucas nodded. "Shall I send for him?"
"Please."
Lucas left to send the message. I stood at the window and tried to prepare for a conversation I had no idea how to have.
Edward arrived an hour later.
He looked exhausted. Dark circles under his eyes. Hair dishevelled like he'd been running his hands through it.
"Juliet." His voice was cautious. "Lucas said you wanted to speak with me."
"I do. Sit."
He sat. I sat across from him.
We looked at each other. Brother and sister. Edward, who I'd helped raise after our mother died. Who I'd loved fiercely even when I was too young to know what that meant.
"I'm sorry," I said.
Edward blinked. "What?"
"I'm sorry. For questioning you. For making you doubt. For—" I stopped. "For projecting my own fears onto you and Charlotte."
"Juliet—"
"Let me finish." I took a breath. "I was eighteen when I married Lucas. He was forty-five. We were caught in the Folly—by Beatrice, deliberately, with witnesses. We were only holding hands. Talking. That's all. But it was enough to ruin me."
Edward was quiet. Listening.
"Lucas married me because he had to. I married him because I had no choice. And I was terrified." My voice cracked. "I didn't love him. I barely knew him. I was eighteen, and he was forty-five, and all I could think was—this is my whole life. This stranger. This marriage I didn't choose."
"But you're happy now."
"I am. But Edward—it took time. Weeks before, he told me he cared for me.
Months before, he said he loved me. Even longer before I could say it back and mean it.
" I leaned forward. "We started from need.
I needed rescue from ruin. Lucas needed someone to see him as a person.
Someone to be a mother to Charlotte. We gave each other what we desperately needed.
And eventually—eventually that became love. "
"So you understand," Edward said. "Why Charlotte and I?—"
"I understand that love and need can be tangled together. That they can grow from the same soil. But Edward—" I looked at him. "Lucas and I had no choice. We married first and hoped for love later. You and Charlotte have a choice. You can wait. You can be sure before you commit."
"And if waiting makes us doubt something that's real?"
The question landed like a blow. Because it was exactly what Lucas had said.
"I don't know," I admitted. "Edward, I've been married for twelve years. I love Lucas more than I can express. But I also remember what it felt like at the beginning. The fear. The uncertainty. The desperate hope that somehow this would work out."
"Did you regret it? Marrying him?"
"Not now. But there were moments—in those first weeks—when I wondered if I'd made the worst mistake of my life." I met his eyes. "And I didn't even have a choice. I can't imagine how much harder it would have been if I'd chosen it. If I'd had to live with knowing I could have said no and didn't."
"So you think I should say no."
"I think—" I stopped. Started again. "I think you should be certain. Really certain. That you love Charlotte for who she is, not because she makes you feel needed. That when the rescuing stops—when Dunmore marries someone else and the Season ends—there will still be something left."
"And how do I prove that?"
"I don't know. But Edward—" I reached across and took his hand.
"I believe you think it's real. And I believe Charlotte thinks it's real.
But thinking isn't the same as knowing. And with twelve years of hindsight, I can tell you—the marriages that last aren't the ones that start perfect.
They're the ones where both people choose each other every day.
Even when it's hard. Even when you're not sure. "
Edward was quiet for a long moment. "Do you still choose Lucas? Every day?"
"Yes."
"Even knowing how it started? Even knowing it was forced?"
"Especially knowing that. Because it means we chose to make it real. We chose to turn necessity into love. We chose each other despite everything."
Edward nodded slowly. "Thank you. For being honest. For telling me the truth about how it really was."
"I'm your sister. And Charlotte's mother. It's what I'm supposed to do."
He moved to the door. Paused. "Juliet—when you and Lucas fell in love. Did you know? Or did you just—trust that it was real and hope for the best?"
I thought about it. About the months after Lucas confessed his love. About forgiving him for the Thorne lie. About choosing to move forward.
"We hoped," I admitted. "We trusted. And we got lucky that hope was enough. But Edward—" I stopped him. "Don't rely on luck. Be sure. Because if you're wrong—if this is just rescue—you'll both be devastated."
He nodded. Left.
I sat alone in my sitting room and tried to believe I'd done the right thing.
I'd told him the truth. About the forced marriage. About the fear. About how love came slowly, carefully, over time.
But I'd also told him to be sure. To prove it. To wait.
And maybe—maybe that was exactly what they needed.
Or maybe I'd just made them doubt something that could have been beautiful.
I didn't know.
All I knew was that loving someone meant protecting them.
Even from themselves.
Even when it hurt.