Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
The sky had opened above London as if in mourning—an endless downpour, cold and punishing.
It soaked through Norman’s coat and hair, turning the world silver, muffling the clatter of hooves and carriages in a gray, dreary fog.
But none of it mattered. He did not feel the rain.
Not really. His thoughts were louder than the storm, and the ache in his chest had long since drowned any sensation of cold.
He had been a fool.
An absolute, irredeemable, pride-blinded fool.
The sort of man who mistrusts the sun for shining too kindly. Who pushes away the one person brave enough to stand at his side, only to watch her vanish beneath the weight of his own doubts.
Kitty.
She was leaving.
The carriage was already being prepared at the door of Lord Balfour’s townhouse.
Trunks were fastened to the back. Footmen dashed between the iron railings and the covered walkway.
And there she stood, wrapped in a traveling cloak of deep blue, her bonnet pulled low against the rain.
She stood a little apart from Jane and Richard. Alone.
Just as he had made her feel.
Norman reached the townhouse gates like a man possessed, ignoring the glare of the butler and the shocked exclamations of the footmen. He hadn’t even worn gloves. His fingers were raw from the cold, clenched at his sides as if by sheer tension he could hold himself together.
He didn’t want to think of what might happen if she refused to speak to him.
Did he deserve her forgiveness?
God, no.
But he would beg for it anyway.
Richard, stepped forward the moment Norman made it to the stoop.
“You are not welcome here.” Richard’s voice rang like a bell in the quiet space between thunderclaps. “My daughter is done with you. You’ve made certain of that.”
Norman opened his mouth, but no sound came.
He hadn’t expected the strength of the wall between them.
A man like Richard did not bluff. His eyes—clear and cold as river ice—held the kind of fury that only a father could possess on behalf of a wounded daughter.
Norman respected it, even admired it, but he would not yield.
“I need to speak with her,” Norman said hoarsely. “Just five minutes.”
“You’ve already taken too much of her time.”
“Then let me earn five more.”
Before Richard could reply, the sweetest voice came from behind him.
“Let him speak.”
Norman’s head whipped up. There she was, standing in the open doorway now, rain misting over her cheeks, eyes like fire beneath her bonnet’s brim.
“Kitty—” Richard turned to her, clearly prepared to object.
“Five minutes,” she said again, gently. “I will join you shortly.”
Her tone allowed no argument. She stepped across the threshold, the floorboards creaking underfoot as Norman followed, shutting the door with a decisive thud that seemed to seal them both in.
Without a word, she tilted her chin toward the staircase.
Norman trailed her up the steps, close enough to catch the faint scent of her perfume—something floral and sharp, like roses after rain—as they reached the bedroom door.
Her hand paused on the knob, knuckles whitening briefly before she turned it.
For one heartbeat, neither of them spoke.
Then she said, very quietly, “You look dreadful.”
A choked laugh escaped him, unbidden. “I feel worse.”
Kitty nodded once, almost to herself. “I imagined you would.”
Her voice was calm. Too calm. It shook him more than shouting ever could.
Norman stepped closer, but not too close. He could not touch her now—not yet. Not until she allowed it.
“I know you don’t owe me anything. Least of all your time,” he began. His voice was rough and unsteady, as if each word fought to get past the jagged stone of his shame. “But I’m here because I—I cannot let you go without saying what I should’ve said the day you left.”
Kitty drew in a slow breath, her arms crossed tight over her chest. She did not speak, but she did not ask him to leave. It was enough.
“I did not trust you,” he continued. “I let jealousy, and pride, and a long, history of betrayal convince me you were like the others. That you had come into my life like some... like some honey-mouthed viper, whispering what I wanted to hear while plotting behind my back.”
Her eyes flashed. “And that is what you think of me?”
“No. Not anymore. But I did for a moment. And I hated myself for it the moment you left.” His jaw clenched, his voice dropping.
“God help me, Kitty—I was so sure of my own pain, I never stopped to consider yours. I thought I was protecting myself. I thought I was being strong. But I see now—I was only being cowardly.”
The words were thick in his throat. But he would say them all. Every last one.
“I loved you. I still love you. I think I always have. But I didn’t know how to show it without losing the war I thought I was still fighting. I treated your love like it was something dangerous. And in doing so, I destroyed the one thing in my life that was worth protecting.”
Her expression softened, but only a fraction. “You didn’t destroy it, Norman. You broke it. And you broke me along with it.”
His hands clenched into fists. “I know. And I will regret it until my dying breath.”
Kitty reached into the folds of her cloak then and produced a folded sheet of paper. It was damp at the edges from her gloves, but still legible.
“I received a letter,” she said, holding it out to him. “From Marina.”
He did not take it.
“I’m not here for the letter,” he said quietly, before he could lose his nerve.
Her chin lifted, proud as ever, that fire in her eyes still lit—but it burned differently now. Controlled. Guarded. And why wouldn’t it be? He’d doused her in cold water, again and again.
“You don’t wish to read it?”
“No. Not because I don’t believe it.” His gaze met hers, steady now. “Because I don’t need a letter to tell me what’s true. I know you would never betray me. I should’ve known it then. Marina’s confession means nothing next to the fact that I looked into your eyes and doubted you.”
She lowered the letter slowly, her fingers tightening around the paper.
“My grandmother went to Cynthia’s mother,” he said.
“It was her way of trying to make amends. She told her everything—that you had been wronged, that it was Cynthia and her who conspired against you. Apparently, Lady Henley took Cynthia straight to the country, and from what I hear, she has no intention of bringing her back.”
Kitty blinked. “You didn’t tell her to do that?”
“No. I didn’t even know until this morning. Lady Mulberry kept it from me. Said she thought it better I didn’t know until I’d earned the right to speak to you.”
A brief silence stretched between them, broken only by the sound of rain hitting the window.
“She was right,” Norman added softly.
Kitty’s eyes dropped to the carpet. She looked tired. Not just from travel or the storm, but from heartache.
“I loved you,” she said at last, her voice raw. “I think I still do. But you made me feel... like I was disposable. Like the second you were hurt, I no longer mattered. That frightened me more than anything.”
Norman took a step closer, his boots squelching in the floorboards.
“You’re not disposable,” he said. “You are the only thing in this world that has ever made me believe I could be more than what I was taught to be.”
She looked up sharply.
The letter fluttered to the floor like it had never meant anything at all, but Norman knew better now.
It did mean something. Everything. It was proof—real, physical proof—that she had told the truth, that Kitty had never betrayed him.
But it didn’t ignite triumph in his chest. It only deepened the ache already carved there.
He didn’t need to read the blasted thing. He didn’t need the words of another woman to tell him what his gut had known, deep down, all along.
Kitty had been innocent. He’d been a fool.
His gaze had drifted to her hand resting lightly on the mantlepiece, slender fingers curled ever so slightly.
He remembered that hand clenched in his shirt, the way she’d once looked at him like she saw the man beneath the titles, beneath the anger, the doubt.
And he—he’d taken that trust and thrown it back in her face.
“I came because I can’t breathe without you,” he went on. “And I’m not ashamed to say it anymore.”
Kitty’s lips parted slightly, but she said nothing.
“I lost everything when I lost you,” he continued, slower now, because the words came raw. “And no, I don’t mean my pride or my damn reputation. I mean me. The man I was with you. The man I wanted to be.”
Her silence wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t cold. It was worse. It was careful. Hesitant.
God, what had he done to her?
Norman’s fingers curled into fists at his sides. Not from rage this time—not the kind he used to weaponize like a shield—but from the pressure building in his chest, a need to keep himself grounded. Because if he didn’t, he might just drop to his knees.
“I’ve always been so obsessed with doing what’s right, what’s proper, what’s expected. Upholding my family’s name. Pretending that somehow that would protect me. That if I followed the rules, I wouldn’t lose the people I love. But I did. I lost you.”
A bitter laugh slipped from him then, harsh and humorless.
“And the great irony of it all? You were the only one telling the truth. And I—” He shook his head, voice low and coarse. “I didn’t have the backbone to believe you.”
Her eyes glistened now, but she still hadn’t moved. Still hadn’t said a single damn thing. That silence was cutting him open from the inside out, and maybe he deserved that.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he rasped.
“I just need you to know. When you left, I... I couldn’t function.
I went to Brown the next morning and told him I was pressing charges.
I didn’t care anymore what it would cost me.
I should have done it the moment you asked to help me.
I should have done it because you trusted me. ”
Kitty’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. He saw the way her lashes fluttered—a blink, maybe. A battle.
“And I want you to know... it’s done. He’s being charged. The evidence is irrefutable, and I don’t intend to back down again. It’s because of you. You gave me the strength. You gave me the truth. You showed me who I could be. I simply... I was too much of a coward to be him then.”
He finally took a step closer, slowly, cautiously, like she might vanish if he moved too fast.
“But I’m not a coward anymore.”
Still nothing. They heard the clock ticking loudly from the drawing room. Outside, the carriage waited. Her life—the new one she’d planned for herself—was sitting right there, ready to take her away.
Away from him.
Norman dragged a hand down his face and exhaled hard through his nose, then met her gaze and held it, not caring how exposed he was, not caring that his shirt was damp or that his boots left muddy prints on the polished floor.
“I’ve been called a lot of things in my life, Kitty.
Stubborn. Cold. Arrogant. And I’ll own all of it.
But I won’t let the last thing I am to you be ‘coward.’”
Her lower lip quivered, just barely.
“And I won’t let the last thing I do for you be walking away.”
He reached into his coat pocket. His hand trembled as he withdrew the small velvet box. It wasn’t much—not by the standards of dukes or diamonds—but it was his mother’s ring. The one his father had kept hidden away all these years.
He opened it.
“I love you,” he said, voice low. Firm. “And I don’t say that because I’m expected to or because of scandal or guilt or penance. I say it because it’s the only thing that’s ever been true—more than my title, more than my shame, more than the fear I’ve been hiding behind all my life.”
He took a breath. Deep. Centering.
“So I’m going to ask you something now. Not because I feel obligated. Not because anyone expects it. I’m asking you because I want you. Because I’m yours—not in name, not in duty—yours.” His voice dropped further. “Will you marry me?”
Still, she didn’t speak. And then she turned her head away, just slightly, and a tear rolled down her cheek.
Panic surged. “Kitty—”
“I was going to say no,” she whispered.
His stomach bottomed out.
She looked at him again, and though her face was wet, her voice was steady.
“I was going to say no,” she repeated, “because I didn’t think I could survive you hurting me again.”
Norman felt himself flinch.
“But then you said it was my choice.”
His throat burned.
“And for the first time... it truly is.”
Her hand reached out and brushed the edge of the velvet box. Her fingers closed gently around his, steadying them.
“I say yes.”
He blinked.
“I say yes, Norman. I love you. I always did. I only needed to hear that you loved me more than your pride.”
And then she smiled—the kind of smile that cracked the sky wide open. Not the perfect, practiced smile of courtship or etiquette. The real one. The one she’d worn when they’d argued about Shakespeare’s play. The one that had ruined him the first time he saw it in the garden.
He didn’t think. He just pulled her into his arms, ring box crushed between them, and kissed her like he’d been dying for it—because he had. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t composed. It was messy and wet and desperate, full of all the weeks and mistakes and wasted time he would give anything to undo.
When they broke apart, her forehead rested against his.
“Are you sure?” she whispered.
“I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”
Kitty let out a soft laugh, trembling, and then finally—finally—she reached up and took the ring from his hand.
“Put it on me,” she said.
And he did.
The rain had stopped by the time they stepped outside. Richard’s expression was thunderous, Jane looked scandalized— but Norman didn’t care. Kitty’s hand was in his, warm and solid and real.
He wasn’t going to lose her again.
Let them talk. Let the ton erupt.
She’d said yes.