Chapter 25
Anne reached her chamber without properly registering that she was going there. It was as though her body had carried her there on instinct while her mind stayed behind in the library.
The door closed behind her, and for a moment, she simply stood with her hand still pressed against the wood, waiting for the image to change if she gave it enough time. It did not.
She crossed the room quickly and turned the key in the lock. The click echoed too loudly in the quiet. She did not move away from the door, even though she wished to put as much distance between her and her husband as possible.
Dorian’s footsteps stopped outside the door soon after.
“Anne,” he said urgently. “Open the door.”
She did not answer.
After a brief pause, he tried again, his voice lower and more controlled but still strained. “Please listen to me. What you saw in there was not what it looked like. I would never have done that to you.”
More silence followed, then his voice came closer, as though he had stepped right up to the door.
“Lady Vivian kissed me,” he said plainly. “I did not initiate it. I did not want it. I should have stopped her immediately, but I was in shock. I never would have expected that from her, as I have never been interested in her. I would never be interested in another woman.”
Anne closed her eyes, her forehead resting briefly against the door, though she still did not open it. She wanted to believe him, but she had seen it with her own eyes.
“Nothing happened beyond that,” he added. “Nothing else. I know what you saw, but you have to believe me when I say that is all it was.”
Still, Anne said nothing. She did not know what to say to him.
“Anne,” he said again, softer. “Open the door.”
When she finally spoke, her voice was steady but fragile at the edges. “I cannot.”
“Then tell me what this is about,” he coaxed. “Because it is not only what you saw.”
Anne hesitated, her hand still resting against the door as though it was the only thing keeping her upright.
“I believed you,” she said at last. “I believed this time would be different, and that I would not be foolish enough to trust someone completely again. And yet I have been proven wrong once again.”
A pause followed on the other side of the door, longer this time, as though even Dorian needed a moment to absorb what she had said.
When he spoke again, his voice had changed, stripped of anything defensive. “You are not foolish.”
Anne let out a small, uneven breath, but she did not respond because that was not what mattered.
What mattered was that she had finally let herself believe she could trust someone again without bracing for the moment they would be taken away, only to be left standing behind a locked door, realizing how quickly that fragile belief had shattered.
“Dorian,” she said, and it took effort to make the word steady. “Tell me something.”
“What is it?” he asked carefully. “Anne, you can ask me anything.”
She closed her eyes, swallowing past the lump in her throat before forcing out the questions. “Is she right? Lady Vivian, is she… is she right about you? Do I deserve better than you?”
Dorian did not respond at first. At his hesitation, something inside Anne tightened painfully because she understood him well enough to know what silence meant when it came from him.
When he finally spoke, his voice was lower than before, stripped of its earlier urgency and replaced with something far more uncertain.
“I do not want to hurt you,” he rasped.
She lifted her head slightly from the door, though she did not open it. “That is not what I asked you,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “Do you believe it or not?”
Another pause followed, and this time it lasted just long enough to confirm what she had already begun to feel.
“Yes,” he said quietly.
The single word settled between them.
Anne’s breath caught, before she let out a small, unsteady sigh that sounded almost like a laugh, but it had no humor in it. She pressed her palm harder against the door as if grounding herself, though it did little to stop her voice from shaking when she spoke again.
“So she is right,” she mumbled. “You do think I deserve someone better.”
“I think you deserve peace,” Dorian emphasized.
“And you think you cannot give me that,” she said.
Silence answered her again, and this time it was enough.
She closed her eyes, tears spilling over before she could stop them, though she did not wipe them away.
“I cannot do this,” she sniffed. “I cannot love someone who already expects to fail me eventually.”
She had not meant to say the word, but she had nothing left to lose.
Outside, Dorian’s breath shifted, as though he had stepped closer without thinking. “Anne,” he said, as if trying to pull her back from something he could feel her slipping into.
She shook her head, even though he could not see it. “You have said enough.” Her voice broke again. “Even if I were to agree that you are innocent, you are still waiting for our marriage to fall apart. I cannot survive that, not after everything.”
The ensuing silence did not ease. It only deepened, stretching across the room until there was something physical pressing against her ribs.
She remained by the door for a long time after, waiting for him to say something that would change what had already settled between them, but the corridor outside stayed quiet.
Eventually, she heard his footsteps retreating, and she stepped back.
She crossed the room slowly, her movements careful in a way that made everything feel heavier than it should have been. When she reached the bed, she sat down as though her body had finally given out.
A knock sounded at the door some time later.
“Your Grace?” Her lady’s maid’s voice came. “May I come in?”
Anne hesitated only briefly before answering, “Yes.”
The door opened and closed softly, before Clara stepped inside, immediately sensing something was wrong. She paused a few steps in, taking everything in.
“Shall I prepare tea?” she asked gently.
“No. I need you to help me pack.”
A small pause followed.
“Pack, Your Grace?”
“Yes,” Anne said, though her voice tightened slightly as she said it, as she had not wanted to utter such a thing. “Enough for travel, for now.”
Clara did not ask the obvious question immediately, but her hesitation made it clear she understood more than she let on.
“Are you leaving Ashford Hall?” she asked carefully.
Anne’s hands tightened briefly in her lap before she forced them to still. “Yes,” she answered.
“Is His Grace aware?”
She looked down. Dorian had to know. She had made her feelings known, and he had not fought for her. What did he expect her to do?
“He does,” she said quietly. “If he does not, then he clearly does not know me, and I cannot stay with a man who does not know me.”
Clara’s expression softened in immediate understanding. “This is not something decided in haste,” she said gently. “You should think on it first.”
“I cannot think on it,” Anne replied. “It has been decided for me.”
Clara stepped closer, carefully, as though approaching something fragile. “May I ask what happened?” she ventured.
Anne shook her head slightly, not in refusal so much as inability.
Clara accepted that without argument, moving instead to the wardrobe and beginning to gather garments as she had been instructed, though her movements were slower than usual, almost reluctant.
After a while, Anne spoke again without looking up.
“I trusted him,” she said quietly. “And I do not think I can trust him anymore. I do not want to leave, but I know what inevitably happens after trust is broken once. It happens again, and if I allow it, then I am just as much to blame.”
Clara did not respond immediately, allowing the silence to settle without interruption. When she finally spoke, her words were carefully chosen.
“Sometimes people make mistakes, or they do things that are not as they might seem at first glance.”
Anne closed her eyes briefly, though she did not move. “I know. But it is not only what I saw. It is what he believes about himself.”
Clara continued packing in silence for a few moments before speaking more softly. “Where will you go?”
“Home,” Anne replied, though even that word felt uncertain now.
It was no longer her home but her mother’s house. Rosemere had not been her home for some time, and she did not feel particularly welcome, but it was all she had left. She did not have a real home, and she wondered if she ever would.
Clara folded another dress carefully before looking back at her. “And His Grace?” she asked quietly.
“I do not know,” Anne said, and the honesty of it left her feeling emptier than anything else had so far. “He will… he will stay here, I suppose, and find someone who will truly make him happy in a way that I never could.”
Clara lowered her gaze, understanding without needing more explanation, and continued packing as the night deepened around them.
“May I suggest something?” she murmured.
“You may.”
“Will you at least wait until the morning? I do not think rest would do you harm. At least in the morning, you will have a clearer head. I would hate for you to do something irreversible and then regret it.”
“I will not regret it,” Anne insisted, but she had to admit that it was the best thing to do.
The following morning, she did wake believing that she had made the right decision. She moved through her chamber while her lady’s maid continued packing, folding dresses and ribbons.
A knock sounded at the door, and she did not need to guess who it was. Clara hesitated briefly before opening the door.
Dorian stepped inside immediately. He looked exhausted, his hair slightly disheveled, his face tight in a way that suggested he had stayed close to her room for far longer than she had realized. His eyes found hers immediately.
“Do not do this,” he said.
Anne kept her hands on the fabric she had been folding, forcing them to stay steady. “I am already doing it.”
His eyes narrowed, and he stepped further into the room before stopping again, as if unsure how much space she would allow him. She did not know that, either.
“Is this because of last night?”
Anne finally looked at him, holding his gaze even as something inside her tightened. “It is because of everything,” she replied. “Last night only made it impossible to ignore the inevitable.”
She saw the effort it took him to remain composed.
“I have explained what happened,” he reminded her. “Lady Vivian kissed me. I stopped it.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you leaving?”
Anne set the folded fabric down and turned slightly toward him. “Because I cannot ignore the fact that I stopped feeling safe the moment I saw it, and because I cannot stay somewhere I am already bracing for loss.”
“Anne—”
“You believe I deserve better than you. You did not need to say it out loud. I see it in the way you look at me, as if you are already preparing for the moment I realize that this entire marriage is nothing more than a mistake.”
“That is not true,” he protested.
“It is what I feel,” she said simply. “And I cannot keep living in a place where I am waiting for something to end before it has even been allowed to begin properly.” Her throat tightened as she spoke, though she kept her voice steady.
“I cannot survive loving someone who already expects to fail me.”
Silence settled heavily in the room. Even Clara had stopped moving.
Anne pressed on, her hands curling briefly before she forced them still. “Let me keep what dignity I have left. I gave you all my trust. I cannot stand here trying to convince you to hold onto something you are already half prepared to let go of.”
The words left a visible mark on him. His eyes lowered, something breaking through the control he had been holding onto since the night before, though he still did not move forward. Anne saw it and felt it in equal measure.
He swallowed once. “I do not want you to leave.”
“I know,” she murmured.
A pause followed, longer than she could stomach. Then he spoke again, his voice lower, almost unsteady.
“If you go, I will not stop you. Know that this is a choice you alone are making, and while I do not want you to make it, I cannot prevent it. I do not want a wife who does not want me.”
The admission settled into the space between them.
Anne looked at him for a long moment, searching for something that might have changed what she was going to do. But there was nothing.
She gave a small nod.
Behind her, Clara continued packing, even though Anne knew that she agreed with her husband. She felt like a fool for doing what she was doing, but it had to be done.
Dorian stayed where he was, not stopping her, not arguing further, not crossing the distance that would have meant choosing her over what had made him keep her at a distance.
Anne understood clearly enough that whatever he felt, it was not enough to keep her there.