Chapter Twenty-Eight
The drawing room at Charlene’s house was quiet, save for the subtle crackle of the fire and the steady ticking of the longcase clock.
Adam stood near the window, his gloves clutched tightly in his left hand, his right smoothing the lapel of his coat out of habit.
He had waited too long for this conversation, and now that he stood in the Fieldings’ home, preparing to ask for Charlene’s hand, the silence pressed in like a verdict.
The door opened with a soft click.
“Rotheworth,” came Fielding’s voice, even and measured.
“Adam,” Waylon added, nodding as he followed their father into the room. He looked both curious and cautious.
Adam turned and bowed. “Thank you for seeing me.”
“You wrote requesting a private audience,” Lord Fielding said as he gestured to the armchairs near the hearth. “I gather this is not to discuss the weather.”
A flicker of humor in his tone, but not much. Charlene’s father was a formidable man even in his gentler moods.
They took their seats, Waylon beside his father, Adam across from them. The heat of the fire did nothing to calm the nervous chill along his spine.
“This is the most important audience I will ever request,” Adam began, his voice low but clear. “And I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”
He paused. They waited. The air thickened.
“I love your daughter.” He cleared his throat and turned to Waylon. “Your sister.”
Lord Fielding’s expression didn’t shift, but Waylon’s brows rose slightly.
Adam continued, “And I believe I always have. Even when I didn’t allow myself to know it.
Even when my family’s expectations, and yours, pointed me elsewhere.
I thought Charlene was meant for David.” He swallowed hard.
“That was my mistake. One I’ll regret all my life.
But I’d like to make up for my past failures. ”
Waylon leaned forward slightly. “But she wasn’t meant for him. She was never meant to be anyone’s second choice—or a prize traded between families.”
His father’s jaw flexed, but he said nothing.
“I’ve waited a year,” Adam said, his voice tightening. “Respected her space. I’ve seen her strength. Her kindness. How she survived that night—and the silence that followed. She didn’t crumble. She endured.”
Now Lord Fielding sat straighter. Not cold, but alert. “She nearly crumbled because of you and your brother.”
Heat rose to Adam’s head as if he were a green boy speaking to the school’s principal. “I come to you today,” Adam said, “not because I deserve her, but because I would spend every day trying to.”
A beat of silence passed. The clock ticked. The fire snapped.
“She’s still healing,” Waylon said carefully. “You know that.”
“Yes,” Adam said immediately. “And I will never demand more than she’s ready to give. But I want her to know—when she is ready—I’ll be there. As her husband, with your blessing. Her friend. Her equal.”
He drew a breath. “So I’ve come to ask. Not just for her hand, but for your trust.”
Waylon shifted, and for a moment Adam thought he might protest. But then the elder Fielding lifted a hand.
“My daughter has always been strong,” he said. “But since last year, she’s grown into something even more remarkable. You’re not wrong. She survived. But it’s left a mark. You saw it.”
Adam nodded once. “Every day since.”
“And you still want to marry her.” It wasn’t a question. It was a test.
Adam’s answer was immediate. “Yes. More than ever.”
Lord Fielding studied him, and then asked, “What would you do if she said no?”
Adam didn’t hesitate. “I’d respect it. And still love her. And never let another man touch her name without consequence.”
Waylon let out a soft breath, almost a laugh. “I believe him.”
Lord Fielding turned toward his son, eyes narrowed slightly, and then back to Adam. “And David?”
Adam’s jaw tightened. “Gone. I sent him away—to an estate far enough that he can do no more harm. He will never step foot in England again if I have anything to do with it.”
The fire cracked again, almost, seemingly, louder this time. Was this what purgatory felt like?
“He betrayed her,” Adam said quietly. “And me. And everything our father stood for. That’s a wound I cannot forget. But I won’t let his filthy character near her again.”
Lord Fielding’s expression softened, but only a fraction.
“Charlene will have the final say,” he said at last. “But as her father, I’ll tell you this: I’ve never heard a man speak with more conviction about my daughter. And I’ve never seen her look at a man the way she looks at you.”
Adam closed his eyes briefly. The approval, the tentative trust—it meant more than he expected.
“You have my blessing,” Fielding said.
Waylon clapped him on the shoulder. “Just don’t break her heart, Rotheworth. Or else I’ll remove yours.”
Adam smiled for the first time. “Never.”
As he stood, his knees nearly gave out from the relief. He bowed low to both men, then glanced toward the doorway—where, one day soon, Charlene would walk in and everything would begin anew.
He didn’t have her yet. But he had this.
And it was a starting signal to begin the rest of their lives.
*
He hadn’t told her yet but Waylon had. Charlene had gotten it out of her brother.
Not about the conversation with her father and the way her brother’s hand had clapped his shoulder with quiet approval.
She only knew one thing—he needed to see her, and she couldn’t wait anymore to see him, when Charlene stood amidst her beloved greenhouse, her hands lightly brushing the delicate fronds of a maidenhair fern.
The damp, earthy scent of the room wrapped around them like an unwilling witness, protective yet quiet.
Adam watched her from the doorway, his presence stark against the verdant oasis she called her sanctuary.
“You should not have come,” Charlene said without turning, her voice tight as she busied herself trimming a healthy bloom.
“I should not have stayed away all year,” Adam replied, his steady voice carrying over the space between them.
“You were hiding here all that time, in pain, and I was useless…” He reached into his waistcoat.
“I couldn’t even give you this meagre apology that I knew you deserved all along.
You deserve better than me, than any of this.
And yet, if you allow me, I’d like to work all of my life to live up to all you ought to have. ”
She turned then, her green eyes sharp, though misted with something she tried desperately to hide. “Staying away does not suit you. You’re the duke! Orchids are not built for retreat.”
Adam froze, the faintest line of confusion crossing his features. “What?”
“You heard me,” Charlene huffed, crossing her arms. “You’ve always been an orchid.
A magnificent bloom demanding the brightest sun, tall and pristine for all the world to admire.
Meanwhile…” She trailed off, looking away, her lips trembling before she managed, “Meanwhile, I am a fern. Something small, tucked under the canopy, needing shade, hiding because I have no choice!”
“That’s what you think?” Adam stepped closer, his boots crunching on the gravel pathway. “That I’ve stood tall simply to hold my head high while you’ve suffered, all alone?” His voice cracked slightly, the pain in his tone unmistakable.
“What am I supposed to think?” Her voice rose, and she blinked back tears. “No one understands! Not truly. Not like you, and yet here you are, day after day, keeping the weight of the world steady on your shoulders as if I am some… some responsibility!”
“Charlene, you are not my responsibility,” he said firmly.
You are my love! My heart! My everything!
Her breath hitched, and for a fleeting moment, hope flickered across her face, only to be crushed by heavy resignation. “What, then?” she whispered, biting her lip. “Why else would you have shielded me from scandal? Why else but to preserve me for your own convenience?”
Adam stared at her, disbelief warring with indignation. “For my convenience?” The edges of his voice softened, and his gaze bored into hers. “Do you truly believe I would waste my efforts keeping the wolves at bay for something as selfish as that?”
“You did not deny it,” she countered, her voice breaking. A tear slipped down her cheek, and she turned her face away, as though too ashamed to look at him.
Adam closed the distance between them, his hand reaching tenderly for her chin, forcing her eyes back to his. “I didn’t deny it,” he murmured, his voice low like the rumble of distant thunder, “because I’ve been waiting for you to trust me enough to see the truth.”
Charlene’s breath caught, her tears now unbridled. “And what is the truth, Adam? Tell me, because I’m so tired. I’m so tired of not knowing what I can trust.”
He cupped her face in his hands, his thumb brushing against the delicate trail of tears on her cheeks.
“The truth, dearest Charlene, is that I have only acted for one reason. Because I admire you. Your strength. Your fire. And, yes, your ability to hide in the shadows when the world grows too cruel.” His voice turned softer, utterly vulnerable.
“Charlene, you are no fern because you are fragile. You are a fern because of what they are at their core. Ferns uncurl slowly from their tight, snail-like buds, as if they are testing the world one careful inch at a time. They endure, Charlene. They stay green through driving rain, cold winds, and all the cruelty nature can offer. When orchids fade in their damp little environments, ferns remain steadfast, faithful.” He stepped closer, his voice softening, yet filled with conviction.
“That’s what I admire most about you. Your resilience.
You know what is true. What is worth protecting.
That is beauty, Charlene. That is what the Ton will never understand.
And that is why you’re the woman this duke needs at his side. ”
Her tears fell faster now, and Adam leaned in, pressing his lips to the wetness streaming down her skin. He kissed her tears away, one by one, until his lips hovered just a breath from hers.
“Say you’ll believe me,” he whispered, his voice like a string about to snap. “Say you’ll see what has been clear to me from the very beginning—that you are my everything, and I have never wished to be a savior. Just a man worthy of standing at your side.”
Charlene’s trembling fingers reached for him, folding into the lapels of his coat, as though anchoring herself to the promise he laid bare before her. “I’ve misunderstood you, then?” she whispered, her voice cracking.
“Look at me now,” he murmured. “Do you see me, Charlene? Adam, who helped you fill this raised bed with soil. Who gave you seeds for your thirteenth birthday because that was what you truly wanted, not ribbons and watercolors.”
“That was you,” she whispered.
“That is me!”
Her gaze lifted slowly to his, and in the green depths of her eyes, reflected in the soft glow of the sunlight filtering through the greenhouse glass, Adam saw it. Belief. Her lips brushed against his, tentative and trembling, yet soft as a sigh.
“Yes,” she breathed, “I see you now.”
Adam’s arms wrapped around her then, pulling her flush against him as the walls she’d built crumbled around them both. Their kiss deepened, their breaths mingling, and for the first time, Charlene felt truly seen—not as the ruin the world called her, but as the woman Adam cherished beyond reason.
And somehow a fern and an orchid managed to come together.