Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Aunt Juliet!”
Aaron’s voice broke through the entrance hall before anyone else could speak, bright and disbelieving and so full of joy that Emmeline felt the sound pierce straight through the brittle quiet inside her.
Juliet had scarcely stepped over the threshold before the boy ran to her. His small arms went around her waist with such force that she staggered back half a step, one hand flying to his shoulder, the other to the back of his head.
“Aaron,” Juliet whispered, and the name broke in two.
“I knew you would come back,” Aaron said against her gown, though his voice shook. “I knew it.”
Emmeline stood near the door, her body cold from the night air and from everything that had happened inside Frederick’s house. She felt Rowan motionless beside her without looking at him.
Aaron pulled back at last, his hands still gripping Juliet’s skirts. His smile wavered as he looked from her tear-streaked face to Rowan’s rigid posture, then to Emmeline, who could not summon anything bright enough to reassure him.
His brow furrowed. “What… what is wrong?”
Juliet drew in a trembling breath.
Rowan answered before she could. “Your aunt is home.”
Aaron looked up at him. “But why is everyone—”
“She is home,” Rowan repeated, and the words closed the question like a door. “That is all you need to know tonight.”
Emmeline’s chest tightened. She watched Aaron’s face fall slightly in confusion.
Juliet bent quickly, cupping Aaron’s face with both hands. “I am tired, darling. That is all. I have missed you very much.”
Aaron’s expression softened at once. “I missed you too.”
Rowan turned away.
The movement was small, but Emmeline felt it as if he had shut her out with his whole body. He crossed the hall without another word and disappeared toward his study.
Juliet flinched at the sound of the door closing.
Emmeline stood frozen for a moment. She had imagined Rowan angry, shouting. She had not imagined that his silence would make her feel abandoned while standing in her own home.
“Goodnight,” Emmeline managed, and her voice sounded almost calm. “You should rest. Both of you.”
Aaron looked at her. “Will you not stay?”
She wanted to kneel beside him, gather him close, and explain with gentleness what the adults around him kept ruining. But her own composure was not trustworthy. She would break.
“Not tonight, darling,” she said softly. “I am tired too.”
She turned before either of them could see her face change and went upstairs.
Her chamber was dark when she entered, the air scented faintly of lavender. It was a room she had come to associate with Rowan’s hands, with the low rasp of his voice in the dark, with the terrifying intimacy of being wanted by him.
Tonight, it felt like a room belonging to a stranger.
Emmeline removed her gloves slowly and set them upon the dressing table, stared at them for a moment, then lifted her gaze to the mirror.
She looked pale. Her eyes were too bright, her mouth too still. No wonder he had noticed.
A knock came at the door and her heart leapt so violently that her hand dropped at once.
“Come in,” she said.
Rowan entered.
The sight of him stole everything from her. He had removed his coat but not his anger. It remained in the width of his shoulders, in the severe line of his mouth, in the gray eyes that fixed upon her and made the air difficult to breathe.
He closed the door.
“Why?” he asked, almost whispering.
Emmeline’s throat tightened. “Rowan—”
“Why did you keep it from me?”
A sharp pain bloomed beneath her ribs. Her body reacted after, fingers curling against polished wood, chin lifting. She could not bear to meet him as though already condemned.
“Because Juliet was frightened,” she said. “Because she begged me for time.”
“And that was enough?” The words were cold, precise enough to cut.
“No,” Emmeline said, and hated that her voice trembled. “It was not enough. It was terrible. I knew it was terrible.”
“Yet you did it.”
“Yes.”
“I searched for her.” His jaw flexed once. “I sent men across the country while Aaron asked for her.”
“I know.” Her voice broke on that one, and she saw something flicker in his face, but it vanished almost at once. “Do you think I did not carry that?”
“I do not know what you felt,” Rowan said. “You chose not to tell me.”
Emmeline swallowed. “She believed that if she came back before she was ready, she would be forced into obedience again.”
His eyes hardened. “So you agreed with her.”
“I understood why she was afraid,” Emmeline said, stronger now. “That does not mean I thought you a monster.”
“But you thought me dangerous enough to be kept ignorant.”
She flinched.
His eyes caught and he looked as though he regretted the blow. Then his control returned, smoother and colder.
“Juliet is my sister,” he said. “I had the right to decide how and when she returned.”
“No,” Emmeline said, before fear could stop her.
Rowan went still.
She drew a breath, her pulse beating hard in her throat. “No. You had the right to know she was safe. To hear the truth. But not to decide for her.”
The silence that followed was so sharp she could hear the fire settle. His face changed almost imperceptibly into something that looked painfully close to hurt.
“You speak very easily now of rights,” he said. “Where were mine yesterday?”
The words gutted her.
Emmeline took a step toward him. “I was wrong not to tell you.”
“And I am meant to accept that because you were kind?” The contempt in that last word nearly broke her.
Her eyes burned, but she refused to let the tears fall. “Do not make compassion sound like vanity.”
“Do not make betrayal sound like compassion.”
The room seemed to tilt beneath her. She stared at him, seeing the fear buried beneath his anger. He had opened himself by inches, and the first pain had driven him back behind iron. She could almost see him building the wall between them with every word.
“I did not intend to wound you,” she whispered.
“But you did wound me.”
Emmeline had to grip the dressing table to keep from reaching for him.
She moved closer before she knew she had decided to, drawn by the ache in his voice.
“Rowan,” she said softly.
He stepped back. “No.”
The refusal struck her like a hand against the chest. She stopped.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, and she saw desire move through the anger. The air changed. Warmth unfurled low in her body despite everything.
His nostrils flared, just slightly. Then he looked away.
“We made an error,” he said.
Emmeline’s breath stopped. “An error?”
“This.” His eyes returned to hers, but they were colder now. “Allowing matters between us to become… confused.”
She stared at him. The word was so small for what had grown between them.
“Do you mean our marriage?” she asked.
“I mean the intimacy. It has made expectations where there should have been clarity.”
For a moment, she could not feel the floor beneath her feet.
Her throat tightened around the word that wanted to escape. Love. She had not said it, but it was there now, bleeding quietly beneath every breath.
“And what clarity would you prefer?”
His voice dropped. “We should return to our original arrangement. Formality. Respect. Separate expectations.”
The word slid into her like a blade.
“For Aaron’s sake,” he added. “For appearances.”
“Appearances,” she said, her voice shook now, but she could not smooth it anymore. “I am trying to understand how quickly you can turn what we have shared into a matter of household management.”
His jaw worked. “I trusted you,” he said.
She paused, her stomach dropping with guilt. “I know.”
“No,” he said, and for the first time his voice roughened. “You do not.”
She stepped closer again, unable not to. “Then tell me. Tell me how to make it right.”
He said nothing.
Emmeline looked at him and felt the truth unfold. She had hurt him, and yes, she deserved his anger.
“I see,” she whispered, and something inside her gave way quietly. “You are right,” she said. “It is best if I simply focus on Aaron.”
Rowan’s expression did not move. Then he said, coldly, “That would be wise.”
It was such a small sentence and yet, it destroyed her.
Emmeline nodded once. “Very well.”
She turned before he could see what it had done to her. Her steps were steady because they had to be. She crossed toward the window, putting space between them, giving him her back because her face could no longer obey her.
“Goodnight, Your Grace,” she said.
Then she heard him move. Heard the door open. Heard him pause, perhaps with his hand upon the handle, perhaps looking back at her.
Only then did the tears fall.
At breakfast, Rowan’s chair was empty.
Emmeline saw it the moment she entered and felt the absence like a physical blow, though her face did not change.
She had dressed with care that morning, because looking ruined would help no one.
Her gown was a soft green, her hair arranged neatly, her cheeks pinched lightly before she came downstairs so that no one would see how little she had slept.
Aaron sat at the table with Biscuit beneath his chair, feeding the puppy bits of toast. Juliet sat opposite him, untouched tea before her, hands folded in her lap, eyes swollen from crying.
Both looked up when Emmeline entered.
“Aunt Juliet cried,” Aaron said at once, his little face pinched with worry.
Juliet closed her eyes. “Aaron.”
“It is all right,” Emmeline said gently, moving to her chair. Her own chest hurt so sharply that kindness felt like pressing on a bruise, but she made herself smile. “Sometimes people cry after long journeys.”
Aaron frowned, studying both of them.
“Where is Father?”
Emmeline’s hand stilled for only a fraction of a second. “He had business.”
Juliet’s gaze dropped to her tea.
Aaron looked disappointed. “He did not say goodbye.”