Chapter 13
The study had always been the one room in Wolverton where Eric could think without interruption.
This afternoon, it had become the one room where interruption seemed inevitable.
“You’ve managed to avoid us for nearly two weeks,” Atlas said from the chair opposite the desk. “I was beginning to wonder whether marriage had made you entirely unsociable.”
Eric set aside the ledger he had not truly been reading. “It is our honeymoon, Atlas, and you chose to stay behind in London.”
Atlas leaned back comfortably, one ankle resting across his knee as though the conversation required neither urgency nor ceremony.
Familiarity had always come easily to him.
Where Eric measured words before speaking them, Atlas scattered them with effortless confidence, trusting they would land where intended.
It had been one of the reasons they had remained so close for so long. Another was that Atlas had never expected Eric to become someone other than himself.
For several moments they sat in silence until Atlas finally broke it with a quiet sigh. “Are you thinking about changing your mind about Wolverton?”
Eric looked toward the fire before answering. “What makes you say that?”
“You said you would never marry, which for the record, I never believed for a minute.”
“I know what I said, and my feelings have not changed on the matter. However, as you have told me countless times before—it was inevitable. It should not mean anything to you, though. We carry on.” The agreement came without defense.
Atlas studied him for a moment before shaking his head.
“Look…” Eric almost smiled as his cousin continued.
“I’ve never asked you to explain every decision you make,” Atlas continued.
“But I just need to know where we stand because of this particular decision. Let’s start here—why did you choose to marry… and so swiftly, at that?”
Eric considered him longer than perhaps necessary.
“I felt it was my duty. I felt my father would have approved the decision. And once I’d decided…” He searched for words that refused to cooperate. “I wanted it finished before anyone attempted to persuade me otherwise.”
Atlas stared at him. “Eric.”
“What?”
“You’ve spent years refusing every respectable young woman introduced to you.”
“I am aware.”
“You finally choose one, but I thought we were at the point where we had stopped keeping life from each other.”
The warmth left the room just enough for Eric to feel it. He folded his hands together. “So did I.”
Atlas’s expression softened. “You know,” he said quietly, “I wasn’t hurt because you married.”
Eric looked up.
“I was hurt because I thought perhaps you’d decided you no longer needed me.”
He thought back over the years almost despite himself.
A grieving, shell of a man, standing alone at the funerals of his sister and then his parents, and he had not known how to ask for friendship. Atlas had simply appeared one afternoon with two fishing rods and the unreasonable conviction that neither of them ought to spend every day indoors.
Later came university and long rides. Estate problems. Bigger arguments. Silences. And Atlas had remained without ever requiring gratitude.
“You fool,” Eric said quietly.
Atlas blinked.
“I never stopped needing you.”
The grin that spread across Atlas’s face carried unmistakable relief. “Well, that is rather more sentimental than either of us prefers.”
“It absolutely was, and you’ll remember to keep it to yourself, in future.”
“I shall repeat it to Loretta before supper.”
“You’ll do no such thing.”
Atlas laughed outright as Eric reached for the paperweight on his desk. “I withdraw the observation,” he said, standing with his hands up.
“You’d better.”
The old ease returned so naturally that Eric scarcely noticed the moment it happened.
The distance of the past weeks simply…
Ceased to exist.
He had missed it more than he realized.
Atlas looked around the study before settling his attention back upon Eric. “So.”
Eric recognized the tone immediately. “No.”
“I haven’t asked anything yet.”
“You’re about to.”
Atlas smiled with dangerous innocence. “How is married life?”
Eric leaned back. “It has existed for nearly twelve days.”
“And?” Atlas pointed toward him. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m asking.”
Eric looked thoughtfully toward the ceiling. “The roof and floorboards appear structurally sound.”
“Eric.”
“I believe the southern tenants may require additional drainage.”
“Eric.”
“The horses remain healthy.”
Atlas laughed again. “You’re avoiding me.”
“I am, very deliberately.”
“Which only tells me everything.”
Eric frowned. “It tells you nothing.”
“Oh, I disagree.” Atlas leaned forward. “If marriage were dreadful, you’d simply say so. And if you disliked her, you’d tell me.”
“Yes.”
“If she disliked you, you’d pretend not to care.”
“That sounds accurate.”
“So, the only remaining possibility is…” Atlas folded his arms with exaggerated satisfaction.
Eric already regretted allowing the conversation this far.
“You’re beginning to care for her,” he said, and the room became unexpectedly quiet. Eric did not answer. He found, to his irritation, that he could not dismiss the statement quite as easily as intended.
Atlas watched him carefully, and then something changed in his expression. “Well,” he said softly.
Eric looked at him.
“I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Neither was I.” The admission escaped before he could stop it. He looked toward the window as images arrived uninvited. Adelaide laughing in Wilbury. Adelaide teaching Elise with endless patience.
Adelaide standing in the morning room explaining, with complete certainty, that a girl’s education deserved the same attention as a boy’s. Adelaide arguing over estate drainage as though they had worked together for years. Adelaide smiling after he’d offered her responsibility at Wolverton.
He remembered, too, the silence after their hands had touched, and the ease that had followed. The friendship unfolding between them.
And yet friendship alone had never caused him to notice the way morning light caught in someone’s hair. Nor had it made him wonder what expression might greet him when he entered a room.
Atlas broke into his thoughts. “She makes you laugh, and you smile more.”
Eric looked back. “She does.”
“And you’re less lonely.” The observation lingered longest.
Eric had not thought of it that way. Loneliness had become so familiar he rarely named it anymore.
Since Adelaide arrived, there was laughter in corridors and questions over breakfast. Conversations extended longer than necessity required. Elise ran through galleries. The silence Wolverton had carried for years had begun retreating, room by room.
Atlas smiled. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing.”
“What wouldn’t?”
“If you fell in love with your wife.”
Eric gave a quiet huff of amusement. “That seems dangerously optimistic.”
“You married an intelligent woman.”
“I did.” Eric hesitated.
Atlas spread his hands. “So, what exactly is the difficulty?”
Eric looked toward the fire. “I had convinced myself I was finished with risking my peace and sanity for love.”
Atlas’s voice gentled. “You aren’t your father, nor are you responsible for every tragedy that’s happened in this family.”
Eric said nothing.
“And caring for someone doesn’t doom them.”
The words settled heavily because Eric had spent years believing precisely the opposite. Perhaps he had simply become accustomed to believing it. He was about to answer when a measured knock sounded at the door.
“Enter.”
Abigail stepped inside with perfect composure. “Your Grace.” She curtsied. “Dinner is served.”
Eric thanked her automatically.
She turned to leave, and only then did he notice Atlas watching her curiously. Abigail reached the doorway before glancing back, and her eyes met Atlas’s. Something strange passed between them before both looked away so naturally that another man might never have noticed it.
Eric frowned faintly, and Atlas stood. He let his attention linger on the closed door another second before his eyes met his cousin’s, and he let the strange exchange slip quietly to the back of his mind.
“I should warn you,” Atlas said as they reached the dining room doors, “Loretta has already informed the cook that she intends to compliment every course.”
Eric sighed. “That sounds exhausting.”
“It usually is.”
The butler announced them before either man could continue.
Dinner had already begun to settle into its familiar rhythm by the time the first course was cleared. Candlelight softened the long mahogany table, catching against crystal glasses and polished silver until the room seemed warmer than it had any right to be.
Loretta ensured much of that warmth centered upon herself.
She possessed a remarkable talent for drawing conversation as naturally as another woman might draw breath.
Every anecdote became amusing. Every observation deserved laughter.
She praised the roses in the center arrangement, complimented the cook upon the soup, admired Wolverton’s renovations, and somehow managed to do so without sounding insincere.
Eric understood why society adored her.
She made everyone feel included.
Atlas, predictably, matched her ease without effort, drifting comfortably from village gossip to hunting stories before somehow involving Mr. Turner in a spirited discussion regarding crop rotations.
Across the table, Adelaide listened more than she spoke. When she did speak, however, people listened.
Eric found himself doing so more often than anyone else, and it surprised him how naturally she belonged there. She carried herself as though the title neither elevated nor diminished her. She spoke to the servants with the same courtesy she extended to Atlas.
She asked questions because she genuinely wished to hear the answers rather than because silence required filling.
The room seemed steadier whenever she entered the conversation.
The discussion eventually found its way to horses. Atlas carved another slice of venison. “I’ve always preferred thoroughbreds,” he said. “Lighter on their feet. Better temperament.”
“For racing,” Adelaide agreed.
Atlas smiled. “You disagree already.”
“I simply think they’re often mistaken for the best at everything.”
Eric rested his wineglass on the table. “They’re excellent animals.”
“They are,” Adelaide replied. “But if I were choosing a horse expected to spend twelve hours crossing difficult country while carrying a tired rider, I’d sooner trust a well-bred hunter than something built entirely for speed.”
Atlas looked genuinely interested. “And why is that?”
“They’re bred to think.”
Eric glanced toward her and she continued without hesitation. “A frightened horse runs. A trained hunter learns to judge the ground beneath it. Speed matters until judgment matters more.”
Atlas nodded slowly. “I hadn’t considered that.”
“My father always insisted a clever horse would save a foolish rider more often than the reverse.”
Eric found himself smiling. “He wasn’t wrong.”
Adelaide looked at him. “You agree?”
“I’ve watched enough young gentlemen purchase magnificent horses entirely unsuitable for the work expected of them.”
Atlas laughed. “I believe she’s won.”
“I believe she has.”
For just a moment, Adelaide’s eyes met his across the table. A subtle brightness flashed over them, and then she looked away.
The conversation flowed onward almost immediately, and yet Eric carried the moment with him. He was becoming increasingly aware of how often he sought her opinion before forming his own.
He noticed something else as the evening progressed.
Loretta smiled just as brightly as before.
She laughed at Atlas’s stories. She praised the wine.
She complimented Adelaide’s choice of flowers.
And yet each time Adelaide spoke, Loretta’s attention sharpened almost imperceptibly.
Not enough for anyone else to remark upon it, but enough for Eric to notice.
Twice she attempted to redirect the conversation.
Twice it drifted back toward Adelaide anyway.
Loretta’s smile remained flawless, though her eyes did not. She disliked surrendering the room. Eric wondered whether even Atlas noticed. Dessert had scarcely been served before Loretta rested her spoon delicately against her plate.
“I must say,” she began pleasantly, “I have admired your confidence ever since London, Adelaide.”
Adelaide looked up. “You’re kind.”
“Oh, not kindness.” Loretta smiled warmly. “Admiration.” A brief silence settled over the table. “I’ve rarely met a lady quite so… committed to a cause.”
Eric felt Adelaide still slightly beside him. “The women’s rights movement, I mean.” Loretta’s voice remained perfectly conversational. “You don’t merely discuss it at gatherings, do you?”
Atlas glanced toward his wife, and she continued before anyone answered. “You organize meetings. Correspond with reformers. Encourage petitions.” She laughed lightly. “If memory serves, there were even whispers that you’d addressed audiences yourself.”
The room became very quiet, and Eric looked at Adelaide. Uncertainty crossed her face, but her features were still tight with knowledge. She knew precisely what Loretta had done.
This was no idle discourse. Loretta had not challenged her opinions but had placed them squarely before her husband. Eric watched Adelaide’s fingers tighten gently around the stem of her wineglass, and then she finally turned toward him.