Chapter 29
The following morning felt unnaturally calm after the violence of the storm.
Rosemere House stood washed clean, every path and hedge glistening with rainwater, the air smelling of wet earth and roses.
For the first time in days, Anne woke without the crushing ache in her chest that had followed her into every room.
She still felt emotionally exhausted, wrung out by everything that had happened the night before, but the heaviness inside her had shifted.
It was still unsteady but no longer hopeless.
She found Eleanor in the garden after breakfast, seated on a wrought-iron bench near the rose hedges with a cup of tea in hand and an expression so composed it immediately made her suspicious.
Eleanor looked up as Anne approached, and the smallest smile touched her mouth. “Well?” she prompted.
Anne narrowed her eyes as she sat beside her. “Do not say a word.”
“I have not said anything yet.”
“You are thinking enough for both of us.”
Eleanor let out a low laugh. She set down her teacup before turning toward Anne with unmistakable interest. “You look different. Tell me everything.”
Anne hesitated for only a moment before exhaling slowly. There was no point in resisting. Eleanor would simply pester her until she got answers.
“He rode through the storm,” she revealed.
“Last night’s storm?”
Anne nodded.
Eleanor stared at her for a moment before leaning back against the bench, satisfaction flickering in her eyes. “Your husband is completely unhinged.”
Anne felt a small smile tug at her lips. Eleanor immediately noticed.
“Oh, that is dreadful,” she snorted. “You are smiling, which means you are already lost.”
Anne looked away, warmth creeping into her face. “He arrived soaked through. Half frozen too, I think. He was pounding on the front door like the house was on fire, and he… he apologized.”
Eleanor softened at that. The amusement remained, but her gaze was more serious now.
“Properly?” she asked.
“Properly. He did not try to charm me, nor did he make any excuses. He told me about Lily, the real story. He told me what losing her actually did to him. He admitted that since her death, fear had ruled every important decision he had made. He said he convinced himself that attachment only destroyed people. He told me he hesitated because part of him truly believed I deserved someone better than him.”
Eleanor closed her eyes briefly. “That idiotic man. What happened next?”
Anne refused to meet her gaze. She knew all too well that her friend would delight in it, and despite herself, she rather felt like doing the same.
“He went down on his knees.”
Eleanor went very still. Anne could practically feel her suppressing a delighted gasp.
“Please do not look so pleased,” she groaned.
“I am trying very hard not to be,” Eleanor said, failing entirely. “It is not working.”
Anne folded her arms. “You are horrible.”
“He went down on his knees in the rain!”
“Yes.”
“In the storm.”
“Yes.”
“Outside your front door.”
“Yes, Eleanor. Not only that, but he also told me I was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and that he would rather spend the rest of his life terrified beside me than safe without me.”
Silence settled between them.
Eleanor slowly turned toward her, her expression full of vindication and smug satisfaction. “I told you so.”
Anne shot her a look. “Do you understand what an appalling character flaw that is?”
“Being correct?”
“No, but enjoying it this much.”
Eleanor let out another laugh, but then her expression softened as she reached over and squeezed Anne’s hand. “I am glad,” she said quietly. “Not because I enjoy being right, but because I hated watching you convince yourself that loving someone meant preparing for loss.”
Anne looked down at their joined hands. “I am still afraid.”
Eleanor’s grip tightened slightly. “Of course you are.”
“What if this happens again? What if fear wins again?”
“Then you face it together next time instead of apart,” Eleanor answered, her voice calm and certain.
Anne pondered that for several moments, letting the words settle somewhere deep and uncomfortable and strangely comforting all at once. Finally, she exhaled and glanced sideways at Eleanor.
“That was annoyingly wise.”
Eleanor smiled. “Another terrible flaw of mine.”
This time, Anne laughed properly, and the sound coaxed a softer smile from Eleanor.
It had been far too long since Anne laughed like that, and there was hope in her heart that it would happen more often now that everything was settled.
But the calm of the morning did not last.
She and Eleanor had only just returned inside when raised voices carried faintly from the front of the house, sharp enough to cut through the quiet. Both women came to a halt.
Eleanor frowned. “What is that?”
Before Anne could answer, hurried footsteps sounded in the corridor. A maid appeared in the doorway, visibly flustered.
“Your Grace,” she said breathlessly, looking directly at Anne, “there is a… lady here asking to see the Duke of Ashford. She arrived only moments ago.”
Anne felt something cold coil in her stomach. She already knew.
Eleanor seemed to realize it at the same moment, her expression hardening.
“Who?” Anne asked, though she already knew the answer.
The maid hesitated. “Lady Vivian Marlowe.”
“The audacity,” Eleanor hissed.
Suddenly, another voice cut through the corridor. “Save yourselves the trouble. I know what I am doing.”
Lady Vivian entered before anyone could stop her. She looked disheveled in a way Anne had never seen before. Her hair was slightly mussed, her eyes too sharp to disguise the desperation underneath, and the usual polished smile she wore so effortlessly had cracked into something brittle.
Her gaze landed immediately on Dorian, who had just entered from the opposite side of the hall after speaking briefly with Anne’s mother.
“So it is true,” she said, her voice tight. “You came here.”
He went utterly still at the sight of her. Whatever softness had existed in him moments ago vanished. His face hardened in a way Anne had never seen before.
“Leave,” he ordered.
Lady Vivian gave a short, incredulous laugh. “No.”
Dorian’s voice remained flat. “This is your only warning.”
“You were going to ruin me.”
Eleanor folded her arms. Her earlier amusement had returned, much to Anne’s chagrin. Anne did not want everything to get worse. She simply wanted Lady Vivian to leave, and she knew her friend would only make it worse.
“If that surprises you,” Eleanor drawled, “you are dimmer than I thought.”
Vivian shot her a glare before looking back at Dorian. “Would you truly destroy me over this?”
Dorian’s expression did not change. “Over this? You poisoned a horse. You manipulated servants, you spread lies, and you worked with Holloway for months to sabotage Tempest before the race and undermine my stables.”
“You cannot prove that.”
“I can,” Dorian said coldly. “Pembroke found enough evidence to bury you both.”
Lady Vivian stared at him, and Anne felt her pulse pounding.
Dorian’s voice lowered further, somehow becoming more dangerous. “And that would have been enough, but that is not everything you have done.”
“I do not know what you mean.”
“You know exactly what I mean. This stopped being about racing the moment you decided that destroying my marriage was a game worth playing.”
“Destroying your marriage?” Lady Vivian’s expression twisted. She laughed, but the sound cracked at the edges. “I did not destroy your marriage, Your Grace. I only uncovered what was already there.”
“No,” Dorian bit out. “You exploited my worst instincts. You weaponized my fear. You manipulated Anne. You manipulated me.”
Lady Vivian lifted her chin, her anger returning.
“You hesitated all on your own. I cannot be blamed for that, Your Grace.” She then turned toward Anne, her eyes flashing.
“You saw it yourself, did you not? He stood there. He said nothing. He hesitated because part of him knew exactly what I knew—you are wasted on him.”
“Enough,” Dorian barked.
“She is too good for you,” Lady Vivian snapped. “You ruin everything you touch. You know I am right.”
“No.” This time Dorian’s voice carried absolute certainty.
Lady Vivian stopped.
Anne stared at him.
This was exactly what she had wanted from him—proof that he truly had changed. And though she did not want to thank Lady Vivian for it, she knew that she owed her gratitude in a sense.
Dorian stepped forward, every trace of hesitation gone.
“You have spent months convincing yourself that you understood me,” he gritted out.
“You believed that if you broke my marriage, I would return to being the man I was before, but you never understood a thing. The man you thought would come back never existed in the way you imagined. He was a coward hiding from grief, and Anne changed that.”
His voice softened when he said Anne’s name, though only slightly.
“She made me confront everything I buried. She made me feel alive again.”
Lady Vivian’s expression twisted with something raw and desperate. “All of this,” she said, her voice shaking with fury, “for her?”
“Yes.”
No one spoke.
Dorian’s eyes narrowed. “You will leave this house. You will leave Ashford’s affairs permanently. Every arrangement between our families ends now. You may explain why to your father, or I will do it for you.”
Lady Vivian stared at him in disbelief. “You cannot do this.”
“I already have.”
Her face drained of color.
Dorian’s voice remained mercilessly calm, and if Anne did not know with absolute certainty that he would never hurt her, she might have been afraid of him.
“If you come near my wife again, if you spread another lie, if you interfere in our lives in any way, I will make sure that every person in this country knows exactly what you did.”
Lady Vivian looked at Anne then.
For a brief moment, Anne saw something startling in her eyes. It was desperation, but then it vanished.
Lady Vivian drew herself up, trying to reclaim what little dignity remained. “You will regret choosing her.”