Chapter 16
“Thomas is leaving.”
Oliver spoke the words into his porridge whilst rain streaked the breakfast room windows. Maribel set down her teacup with deliberate care, though her hand trembled slightly against the china.
“Leaving?” She kept her voice gentle, reaching across the table to cover his small hand with hers. “When did you hear this, sweetheart?”
“Yesterday. By the stables.” His dark eyes—Nicholas’s eyes, she thought with the familiar ache—swam with tears he was desperately trying not to shed. “His papa found work in Berkshire. They depart Saturday next.”
Three days. Maribel looked at the boy sympathetically. He had lost so much already. This was why she had not yet told him about his new school.
“I see. That must be very difficult for you.”
“He’s my friend.” Oliver’s voice cracked on the word. “My only friend. And now he’s going away and I shall never see him again, and His Grace says I mustn’t cry about it because gentlemen don’t weep over temporary attachments.”
She could hardly believe the cruelty of the words. Maribel felt fury and heartbreak war within her chest with equal violence.
Of course Thaddeus would say such things. Of course he would take a grieving child’s legitimate sorrow and reshape it into another lesson on emotional restraint.
“His Grace says Thomas was never truly my forever friend,” Oliver continued, staring at his porridge. “That our stations differ too greatly for genuine friendship. That I must learn not to become attached to people who cannot stay.”
This is what it looks like when someone you count on disappears.
The realisation arrived with sickening clarity. This devastation currently etched across Oliver’s small face—this was precisely what she would inflict upon him if she left.
And yet remaining had become untenable.
“Oliver.” Maribel waited until he met her eyes. “His Grace is wrong. Caring for someone is never a mistake, even if circumstances separate you. The love you bear Thomas is real and valuable, regardless of what happens next. Do you understand?”
He nodded slowly, though doubt lingered in his expression.
She pressed a kiss to his hair, breathing in the scent of childhood—soap and sleep and something indefinably sweet. “Finish your breakfast, sweetheart. I shall return shortly.”
But she knew she was lying. Knew that after she spoke with Thaddeus, nothing would be the same.
The walk to his study felt simultaneously too long and far too short. Maribel’s heart hammered against her ribs whilst her mind catalogued every slight, every avoidance, every small wound accumulated over three weeks of careful distance.
Thaddeus cancelling tea. Again and again, until Oliver stopped asking.
Thaddeus leaving rooms when she entered them, as though her presence carried contagion.
Thaddeus addressing her with scrupulous formality even in private, that careful “Lady Blackwood” that erected walls more effectively than any physical barrier.
And most damning—Thaddeus refusing to acknowledge the kiss they’d shared. Refusing to speak of it, refusing to explain his retreat, refusing everything except the safety of emotional isolation.
She was tired. So desperately, achingly tired of pretending she didn’t care.
She reached his study and opened the door without knocking.
Thaddeus sat at his desk, surrounded by ledgers and correspondence, using work as both weapon and shield. He did not look up when she entered, though she saw tension enter his shoulders.
“Your Grace.” Her voice was colder than she’d intended. “I require a moment of your time.”
“I am occupied presently.” He did not lift his gaze. “If this concerns household matters, Mrs. Ashby can—”
“It concerns your ward,” she interrupted, “and the cruel instruction you saw fit to provide him.”
That brought his head up. Surprise flickered across his features before the mask reasserted itself.
“I presume Oliver repeated our conversation.” Thaddeus set down his quill with exaggerated precision. “I spoke only truth. Teaching the boy not to grieve over inevitabilities serves his ultimate wellbeing.”
“His ultimate wellbeing.” Maribel tasted the words, finding them bitter. “You believe teaching a four-year-old child to wall off his heart constitutes caring for him?”
“I believe teaching him emotional discipline will spare him considerable suffering.” Thaddeus rose, his posture defensive despite his carefully maintained composure.
“He has already endured profound loss. Encouraging further attachments to those who cannot remain strikes me as profoundly irresponsible.”
“Those who cannot remain.” Something sharp and cold settled behind Maribel’s ribs. “Tell me, Your Grace—does that category include only groundskeepers’ sons? Or does it extend to scandal afflicted-wives?”
The barb landed. She watched his shoulders stiffen.
“That is not what I meant, and you know it.”
“Do I?” Maribel advanced into the room, her skirts whispering against carpet. “Because from where I stand, your philosophy seems remarkably consistent. Do not become attached. Do not permit intimacy. Maintain distance at all costs, regardless of who suffers for it.”
“This conversation serves no productive purpose.” Thaddeus moved toward the window—that familiar retreat. Presenting her with his back. “I appreciate your concern for Oliver’s emotional state. However, his upbringing remains my responsibility.”
“And mine.” The words emerged sharp as broken glass. “Or have you forgotten our arrangement? I did not come here merely to warm your nursery, Your Grace. I came because that child needed someone who would fight for his happiness.”
“Love.” He turned then, and the expression on his face sent ice flooding through her veins. “You speak of love as though it were simple. As though caring for someone carries no consequence. As though attachment does not inevitably lead to—”
“To what?” Maribel demanded. “To loss? To pain? Yes, Thaddeus. Sometimes it does. But the alternative is this—” She gestured between them. “—this hollow existence where we deny everything real and call it strength.”
“What would you have me do?” The question emerged raw. “What precisely would satisfy you? I have provided for you. Protected you. Given you authority within this household. And still you stand here, demanding—what, exactly?”
His words struck deep because they carried truth she couldn’t deny. He had done those things. But he hadn’t given her himself.
“I am not demanding anything.” Her voice dropped. “I am telling you that I cannot remain in a household where I am trusted with a child’s heart but denied acknowledgment in yours. Where I am essential yet treated as temporary. Where my presence must be erased to preserve your precious control.”
“That is unfair.”
“Is it?” She laughed without humour. “You kissed me, Thaddeus. You held me as though I mattered. And then you spent three weeks avoiding me as though that moment never occurred. As though I were something shameful rather than—”
She stopped, swallowing against the tightness in her throat.
“Rather than what?” His voice had gone very quiet.
“Rather than someone you chose.” The admission cost her everything. “I thought, perhaps foolishly, that our kiss meant you had begun to see me. Not as obligation. Not as convenience. But as someone you... wanted.”
For one terrible, suspended moment, she saw walls begin to crack. Saw longing flicker behind his eyes.
Then he turned away.
“What I want is irrelevant.” His words fell like stones. “My wants have destroyed everything I ever—” He stopped, breathing hard. “I must think of Oliver. His needs supersede everything else.”
“His needs.” Maribel’s hands were shaking now. “And you believe Oliver needs a guardian who teaches him that caring is dangerous? Who models fear rather than courage?”
“Enough.”
The single word cracked through the room. Thaddeus whirled to face her, and the expression on his face stole what little breath remained in her lungs.
“You want honesty? Very well. I cannot be what you need. I cannot be soft and open and vulnerable. Every time I permit myself to feel anything beyond duty, disaster follows. My mother died, and it nearly ruined this family, ruined me... Nicholas and Margaret perished, leaving their child orphaned. And when I dare to want something—”
His voice fractured.
“It never is different,” he finished quietly. “Wanting leads to loss. Attachment leads to suffering. I learned that lesson young. I have no desire to teach it to Oliver through further demonstration.”
Maribel stared at him, her heart hammering so violently she wondered if he could hear it.
“So you would rather teach him to be empty,” she whispered. “To wall off every genuine feeling.”
“I would rather teach him to endure.” His hands were white-knuckled at his sides.
“To stand when others fall. To carry duty without being destroyed by it. Yes, that means maintaining boundaries. Yes, that requires emotional discipline. But those lessons will serve him far better than encouraging him to love freely and trust blindly.”
“Even if it means he never truly connects with anyone?” Maribel asked. “Even if he grows into a man who cannot accept love when it’s offered? Who drives away everyone who cares for him because he’s too afraid to—”
“He will be safe.”
The words hung between them—absolute, immovable.
“Safe.” Maribel tasted the word and found it hollow. “And alone. And hollow. Precisely like you.”
She watched him flinch. Watched pain flash across his features before discipline reasserted itself.
“Perhaps,” he acknowledged quietly. “But alive. Functional. Capable of managing whatever life demands. That is what I can offer.”
The dismissal was unmistakable.
Maribel stood very still, feeling something inside her chest shatter and reform into something harder. Something that might survive what came next.
“Then allow me to make this simple for you, Your Grace.” Her voice emerged distant, almost clinical.
“I cannot remain where I am treated as both essential and disposable. I cannot watch you teach a child that love is weakness whilst refusing to acknowledge what exists between us. And I cannot—” Her voice cracked despite every effort.
“—I cannot survive being convenient to you whilst you remain everything to me. So… seeing as you have accepted placement at the school, I shall… depart too.”
She saw his eyes widen fractionally. Saw something like agony flash across his face.
But he said nothing.
“The child must come first,” he said at last, his voice hoarse. “That is what I am trying to protect. That is why boundaries are necessary—”
“The child must come first,” Maribel interrupted quietly, “and that means I cannot.”
The words landed like a blade between them. She watched understanding dawn in his eyes.
“That is not what I—”
“Yes, it is.” She met his gaze steadily. “You have made perfectly clear that your fear matters more than my heart. That your walls are more important than what we might build together. Very well. I shall not remain where I must be erased to preserve your comfort.”
“Maribel—” Her name had never before sounded so broken.
“I am leaving, Thaddeus.” The calm in her voice surprised even herself.
“Not in anger. Not in desperation. But with dignity. Because I will not teach Oliver that love is something people are afraid to claim. I will not show him that caring means accepting scraps whilst pretending the rest doesn’t matter. ”
“Where will you go?”
“Lady Eleanor will take me back. She extended the offer weeks ago.” Maribel moved toward the door, each step requiring tremendous effort. “I shall speak with Oliver today. I will not lie to him, but I shall be gentle.”
Her hand found the door handle. Cold brass beneath her trembling fingers.
“And then what?” Thaddeus’s voice stopped her. “You simply leave? Walk away from everything we have built here?”
Maribel looked back at him over her shoulder. He stood silhouetted against grey morning light—alone, distant, untouchable.
“We have built nothing, Your Grace,” she said quietly. “You made certain of that. I was merely too foolish to recognise the truth until now.”
She opened the door.
“I was wrong.” The words came softly. “About what I said. The child should not come first in that manner. You should not—you are not—”
But he could not finish. Could not say the words that might have changed everything.
Maribel waited. Counted her heartbeats—one, two, three, four, five. Gave him every chance to speak the truth they both knew.
He remained silent.
“Goodbye, Thaddeus.”
She walked from his study with her spine straight and her head high, refusing to permit him the satisfaction of witnessing her devastation.
Only when she reached her chambers and closed the door firmly behind her did she permit herself to sink against it, one hand pressed to her mouth as silent sobs wracked her frame.
He had almost said it. Almost admitted he cared. Almost broken through walls built over eight years.
Almost.
But almost was not enough. Not for her. Not for Oliver. Not for any of them.
She would pack tonight. And as soon as Oliver was sent away to school… she would leave too.