Chapter 16
The air in the Ashwell woods smelled sharply of damp earth, crushed fern, and old bark.
It was a grounding, ancient scent that effectively stripped away the cloying, perfumed memory of London drawing rooms. Thomas Briggs led the way, navigating the winding, overgrown paths through towering oak and ash.
Edmund walked a few paces behind Thomas, keeping his steps measured. Up ahead, Julian and Arabella were climbing a slight incline, their voices carrying back in bursts of bright conversation. Directly beside Edmund walked Corinna.
She wore a practical walking dress of deep navy, the hem already dusted with dry earth and a few stubborn burrs.
She did not complain about the uneven ground, the low-hanging branches, or the distinct lack of paved walkways.
Instead, she moved through the forest with a vibrant energy, her gray eyes taking in the shifting canopy above them.
“You navigate these woods as if you laid the paths yourself, Mr. Briggs,” Julian called out, turning to offer his hand to help Arabella over a moss-covered log.
Julian was wearing a fine burgundy riding coat that was entirely inappropriate for a hike, and he was taking great pains to avoid a patch of mud.
“I spent most of my childhood running through them, my lord,” Thomas replied, not missing a single beat as he stepped over a tangled root. “If you know where the roots are, you rarely stumble.”
Edmund watched the exchange, his jaw tightening briefly.
Thomas Briggs was entirely too perceptive.
The man had spent the morning offering polite, perfectly acceptable answers, yet his dark eyes constantly swept over Edmund, assessing the rigid line of his shoulders and the cheap wool of his brown coat.
“It is entirely peaceful here,” Arabella said, breathless but smiling as she released Julian’s hand. She looked around the dense woodland, her gentle brown eyes wide. “London feels as though it exists in another world.”
“London is a theater,” Julian agreed easily, falling into step beside her. “This is reality. Though I must confess, reality is doing terrible things to my boots.”
“You should have worn thicker leather, my lord,” Corinna noted, casting a wry glance at Julian’s expensive, polished footwear. “The country does not care about fashion.”
“A tragic flaw in the landscape,” Julian sighed dramatically, making Arabella laugh.
They walked for another hour as the morning stretched lazily into the afternoon.
The land opened and closed around them, dense thickets giving way to sudden, sun-drenched clearings.
There was no performance required here. Edmund felt the constant, exhausting vigilance that had gripped him since the beginning of the Season slowly begin to bleed away.
He could just be a man walking in the woods.
Eventually, Thomas led them into a grassy clearing bordered by ancient, twisting oaks.
“We can rest here,” he announced, dropping a small woven satchel of provisions onto a flat boulder. “The house is still an hour’s walk back, and the sun is at its highest.”
They arranged themselves comfortably in the clearing. Julian sat on a fallen log beside Arabella, while Edmund remained standing, rolling his stiff shoulders. Corinna took a seat on the edge of the large boulder, accepting a slice of bread and cheese from Thomas.
“You mentioned earlier that you had traveled extensively, my lord,” Corinna said, turning her attention to Julian. “Did you find the European forests as agreeable as ours?”
Julian leaned back, balancing a piece of bread on his knee. “The forests, yes. The cities, however, were an entirely different matter. They were beautiful, but full of… complications.”
“Complications?” Arabella echoed, tilting her head.
Julian glanced at Edmund, a brief, silent question passing between them. Edmund gave a barely perceptible shrug. He was entirely exhausted by the constant lying, and a fraction of the truth felt like a necessary release.
“I met Mr. Marsh in Naples,” Julian said quietly. His usual boisterous charm faded into something much more grounded. “He was… well, he was young, and he had managed to involve himself with a rather unsavory crowd. He owed a substantial debt to a man who did not accept apologies instead of coin.”
Edmund stiffened. His hands curled into fists at his sides. Julian was telling the absolute truth of their meeting, merely swapping their roles to maintain the masquerade. But being forced to play the part of the helpless, indebted fool chafed against every aristocratic instinct Edmund possessed.
“I was foolish, my lord,” Edmund interrupted gruffly, staring intently at the grass. “It is not a tale for polite company.”
“Nonsense, Mr. Marsh. It shows character,” Julian countered smoothly, though a flicker of dark amusement danced in his eyes. “I found him cornered in a rather grim alleyway behind a tavern. Three men were intent on breaking several of his bones to settle the ledger.”
Arabella gasped softly, her hands resting over her heart as she watched Julian’s face.
“I did not hesitate, of course,” Julian continued, playing the noble earl to absolute perfection. “I stepped between Mr. Marsh and those armed thugs. I paid the debt without a single question, and I pulled him out of the dirt.”
Edmund gritted his teeth. He felt an uncomfortable flush rising to the back of his neck. It was agonizing to stand there and listen to his own rescue being narrated back to him as a charity case. He was a man who approached everything with clinical detachment and duty. He hated appearing weak.
“It was a practical calculation on your lordship’s part, I am sure,” Edmund muttered, refusing to look up. “The thugs were entirely disorganized. I could have managed them.”
“You were bleeding from the eyebrow and entirely out of coin, my friend,” Julian corrected gently. “But you have served me faithfully ever since.”
Corinna did not look at Julian. She kept her gaze fixed entirely on Edmund. He could feel the sheer weight of her stare. She was watching his discomfort at being painted as the rescued dependent.
Edmund shifted his weight, finally lifting his head. As he did, he caught Thomas Briggs watching him from across the clearing.
They packed up the satchel and began the walk back as the afternoon light shifted into a deep, hazy gold. The shadows lengthened across the forest floor, cooling the air.
As the dense trees thinned into the structured, manicured lines of the Ashwell gardens, the smell of woodsmoke drifted toward them. A fire had already been lit in the old stone pit near the orchard wall, casting a flickering glow against the gathering twilight.
They gravitated toward the warmth, taking seats on the curved stone benches surrounding the pit. The fire crackled, sending sparks dancing into the evening sky. They sat together for a long while, the four of them, sharing a comfortable silence that required no forced banter.
“The light in that forest,” Arabella murmured, staring into the flames. “It reminded me of the painting you described yesterday, dear brother. The one with the heavy shadows and the gold horizon.”
Julian turned to her, his expression softening instantly.
“The landscape from Lombardy. Yes, exactly. The contrast is difficult to capture, but when it is done correctly, it is magnificent.” He paused, clearing his throat.
“I have a sketchbook in the parlor, actually. If you wish to see how the charcoal mimics the shadows, I could show you.”
Arabella’s face brightened. “I would like that very much.”
They stood up together. Julian offered a polite bow to Corinna and Edmund, murmured an excuse about the damp evening air, and escorted Arabella toward the illuminated windows of the great house. Their voices faded into the distance, leaving only the crackle of the burning wood.
Neither Edmund nor Corinna moved to follow them.
The garden settled around them. The darkness pressed in, leaving them isolated in the small, warm circle of firelight.
They sat close enough on the stone bench that Edmund could feel the ambient heat radiating from her skin.
The silence between them was not empty; it was heavy, suffocating, and full of everything neither of them had dared to say.
Edmund stared into the fire, his heart hammering a violent, terrifying rhythm against his ribs.
He was the Earl of Ravenswood. He had lost his father, been forsaken by the woman he thought he loved, and had buried his open-hearted nature under a mountain of duty and armor. He had come here to observe a stranger and protect his family’s interests.
Instead, he had found Corinna.
He turned his head slowly. She was already looking at him.
The firelight danced across her face, highlighting the intelligent strike of her cheekbones and the soft curve of her mouth. Her gray eyes were dark, searching, and entirely unguarded. She was not hiding behind her usual introspective armor. She was completely present, waiting for him.
“You did not like hearing that story told,” Corinna said softly, breaking the quiet.
“I am not a man who enjoys charity, Miss Ashwell,” Edmund replied, his voice dropping into a low, rough register.
“I do not think you are a man who requires it,” she noted, her gaze tracing the hard line of his jaw. “You carry yourself like a man who gives orders, not one who takes them.”
“Appearances can be deceiving.”
“Yes,” Corinna agreed, her voice barely a whisper. “They certainly can.”
Something inside Edmund’s chest simply gave way. It was a catastrophic collapse of every defense he had built over the last two years.
He did not think about the scandal. He did not think about Julian, or Vivienne, or the terrifying consequences of the truth. He only thought about the woman sitting inches away from him. He wanted to strip away the cheap wool coat and the lies and stand before her exactly as he was.
Edmund reached out. It was not a calculated move. There was no strategy, no performance, and no hesitation. It was just him. He moved his large hand across the cold stone of the bench, his rough fingers brushing against the soft fabric of her navy dress, reaching toward her.
Corinna’s breath hitched. She did not pull away. She leaned a fraction of an inch closer, her eyes dropping to his mouth. The undeniable chemistry between them flared, hot and desperate.
Edmund opened his lips, the words rising in his throat. I am Edmund. I am the earl. I like you, and I have ruined everything.
“Lord Ravenswood!”
The voice cut through the dark like a shattered pane of glass.
Edmund froze. Corinna flinched, snapping her head toward the gravel path.
Vivienne’s heavy, frantic footsteps crunched loudly in the dark as she marched toward the orchard wall. Her voice carried ahead of her, shrill and dripping with absolute indignation.
“My lord, are you out here?” Vivienne demanded, her silhouette materializing at the edge of the firelight. She was clutching a thick shawl around her shoulders. “This is entirely inappropriate! The night air is terribly dangerous, and you have been gone for hours. Where is he?”
Edmund went perfectly still, his hand retreating instantly to his own lap. His blood turned to ice. He pulled the blank mask of the secretary back over his face, locking his jaw so tightly his teeth ached.
Corinna sat rigidly beside him, her face pale in the firelight. The beautiful moment had been violently murdered.
Vivienne stepped fully into the light, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed the stone bench. She took in Edmund’s plain brown coat and Corinna’s flushed face with a look of profound, sneering dissatisfaction.
“Just the two of you?” Vivienne asked, her tone dripping with suspicion and disdain. “Sitting in the dark? Corinna, really. This is entirely unacceptable behavior. And you, Mr. Marsh, you forget your place.”
A beat of terrifying silence followed. Edmund braced himself, preparing to stand and take the full brunt of Vivienne’s fury to protect Corinna.
“I am right here, Miss Ashwell.”
Arabella stepped smoothly out of the shadows near the edge of the orchard wall. She was holding a silver cup of water in her hands, her expression completely placid.
“I was merely fetching a drink from the pump house,” Arabella said, her voice mild and perfectly even. “I have been here the entire time. Mr. Marsh and Corinna were kind enough to wait for me.”
Vivienne blinked, completely derailed by the sudden appearance of the earl’s sister. Her suspicious glare faltered, replaced by a strained, entirely false smile.
“Oh. I see,” Vivienne said stiffly. “Well. The hour is still terribly late. Corinna, you must come inside at once. You are reflecting poorly on the household.”
Corinna stood up slowly. She did not look at Edmund. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on the ground, wrapping her cloak tighter around her shoulders. “Yes, Vivienne.”
Vivienne turned on her heel and marched back toward the house, demanding Corinna follow her immediately. Corinna walked away into the dark, leaving an empty, freezing space on the stone bench.
Edmund sat by the fire, staring at the space where Corinna had just been. His hands were shaking.
Arabella did not follow the Ashwell sisters inside. She walked over to the fire pit and stood beside Edmund, looking down at him. The firelight caught the aching compassion in his younger sister’s eyes.
She had seen it. She had seen the reach. She had seen the absolute, undeniable truth of what existed between her brother and the wallflower.
“Edmund,” Arabella said softly, her voice barely a whisper in the quiet garden. “This needs to be over. It is time.”
He closed his eyes, dropping his head into his hands. The heat of the fire offered absolutely no comfort against the freezing dread pooling in his stomach.
“I know,” Edmund whispered roughly, his voice cracking under the weight of his own lies. “God help me, Arabella, I know. But I do not know how.”