Chapter 27
William urged his horse to go faster, trying to outrun the shame pressing on him. The road blurred beneath him, but nothing loosened the tightness in his chest.
I should have said more. I should have acted sooner. I should have protected her.
The horse slowed as Roxburghe came into view. The estate looked exactly as it always did, calm, orderly, and untouched by the turmoil inside him. He dismounted, letting the reins fall slack, and walked across the gravel toward the grounds.
Each step replayed the moment in town. Mrs. Shaw’s steady voice. The way she had looked at him without anger, only disappointment. He had thought his apology would repair something between them. Instead, it had shown him how little he had done.
He crossed the lawn and followed the narrow path behind the stables, needing to find quiet. The orchard stood ahead, and he stopped beneath the first row of trees.
An apology costs nothing. She lost her position. She lost her good name. And I stayed silent.
He inhaled slowly, feeling the truth settle deeper.
I told myself silence was protection. It was cowardice. I let her bear the cost alone.
He looked toward the house, its windows bright in the afternoon light. Nothing about it had changed. He had changed. Or perhaps he had simply run out of places to hide from himself.
I thought myself a man of honor. Yet when she needed me to act, I did nothing.
The orchard remained quiet around him as he accepted the truth he could no longer turn away from.
He moved slowly along the path, the ground firm beneath his boots. Each step brought back Lady Arabella’s parting challenge, spoken with a clarity he could not ignore.
Stop apologizing. Prove yourself worthy of her trust.
He had nodded at the time, thinking he understood. Suddenly he realized the full truth of what she had said.
Words are easy. They demand nothing. They change nothing.
He reached the far edge of the orchard and paused, letting his thoughts take hold.
If I want to repair what I damaged, I have to act. I have to take the cost back onto myself. I have to give Mrs. Shaw the freedom to live without me. Anything less is selfishness.
He turned back toward the house, walking across the lawn with quick and determined steps. He entered through the side door and crossed the corridor, hurrying toward his study. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
Words are not enough. Now is the time for action.
William sat at his desk and leaned forward. He began to think through each step he needed to take. The plan took shape slowly, piece by piece, and when he finally rose from the desk, he knew what he needed to do.
He walked through the halls of his home, all too aware of the emptiness that lingered in every room. The quiet that surrounded him reminded him of what had been lost.
Henry was in the schoolroom, bent over a book with a seriousness that had returned since Mrs. Shaw’s departure. William paused at the door, watching his son for a moment. Henry looked up briefly, offering a small smile before returning to his work.
The sight pierced him.
He misses her. He misses the warmth she brought. And I am the cause of its absence.
William stepped into the room. “Henry,” he said quietly.
Henry looked up again. “Yes, Papa?”
“Come with me,” William said. “We will work in the stables today.”
Henry’s eyes brightened with curiosity, but he closed the book without complaint and followed him. They walked together across the grounds, the afternoon light bright around them.
They spent the rest of the afternoon outdoors, tending to the horses, repairing a loose gate, and walking the perimeter of the fields. Henry spoke more freely as the hours passed, and William listened, grateful for every word.
The day and evening went quickly, filled with work and time together.
When night finally settled over Roxburghe, William returned to his room with a sense of calm he had not felt in quite some time.
He slept soundly, knowing he was no longer a man behaving with honor only in name.
He was becoming a man who acted with it.
The next morning, William sat in his study with a book open before him.
Henry sat nearby, close enough that William could hear the soft rustle of pages each time he turned one.
The quiet felt almost peaceful, and for a moment William allowed himself to believe the day might begin without interruption.
Then he heard the carriage.
William rose and crossed to the window. His aunt’s crest shone on the door of the carriage as it came to a stop.
She would come now. She always comes when she senses there is something she cannot control.
He turned from the window. “Henry,” he said quietly, “go to the schoolroom.”
“Yes, Papa,” Henry answered, standing at once.
William opened the study door and gestured to a passing maid. “Please take Henry to the schoolroom and remain with him.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
She guided Henry down the hall.
William waited until they disappeared around the corner before stepping into the corridor. Lady Spencer’s voice was already drifting through the entrance hall, brisk and certain, as though the house belonged to her.
He walked into the morning room to wait for his aunt, ready to face whatever would come next.
Lady Spencer entered the morning room with her usual composed confidence. Her gloves were perfectly buttoned, her posture was straight, and her expression made it clear she expected everything to go her way.
“William,” she said, settling into her favorite chair. “I really believe you must consider acting quickly with Lady Arabella. It is time.”
William remained standing. “I do not want to discuss Lady Arabella,” he said. “I have no intention of pursuing her.”
Her brows lifted, startled by the firmness in his tone.
He continued, “Instead, it is time to right some wrongs.”
Lady Spencer opened her mouth to speak, but William did not allow her to begin.
“Aunt,” he said, his voice steady, “I require you to write to everyone you misled and publicly retract the rumors about Mrs. Shaw.”
Lady Spencer’s chin lifted. “William, I acted in your best interest.”
“You acted without truth,” he said. “And you will correct it.”
She stared at her nephew, taken aback by the firmness in his tone. “You cannot expect me to—”
“I do,” he said, cutting her off “And I will not discuss it further.”
“I know you do not wish to discuss it further,” Lady Spencer said, her expression tightening, “but please hear me. I acted to protect the family name. I acted to prevent a scandal. I acted out of duty. Everything I did was for the sake of our reputation.”
William stood still, listening.
She continued, “I will not retract what I said. I will not humiliate myself for a woman who does not belong in our world.”
William let her finish, then spoke with calm precision. “If you do not retract it, you will no longer be received at Roxburghe.”
Lady Spencer’s eyes widened. “William, how can you do that?”
“You must make this right. I must ensure that you make this right. But that is not all,” he said. His voice remained steady. “If you do not retract it, your allowance will end.”
She inhaled sharply. “You would cut me off?”
“Yes,” he said plainly. “And if the story is ever repeated, I will name you as the author of the lies.”
Lady Spencer stared at him, stunned into silence. After a few moments, her resolve shattered. She rose with a sharp breath, her eyes bright with fury.
“William,” she said, her voice tight, “this is ingratitude. I have guided you your entire life. I have protected this family. And now you accuse me of wrongdoing because you are blinded by sentiment.”
William remained still.
“You are making a grave mistake,” she continued. “You are allowing emotion to cloud your judgment. You are risking your reputation, your future, everything that has been built for you.”
He did not respond. He simply held her gaze until she realized he would not be moved.
Lady Spencer’s posture stiffened. She turned sharply and left the room, her anger unmistakable.
She will go straight to Lady Arabella, he thought, watching as she stormed out of the house and into her carriage. She will go to the marquess. She will tell them everything.
He turned away from the window, left the room, and walked toward his study.
Let her. I will not chase her words. The truth was twisted once, and I will not allow it to be twisted again.
William met with his solicitor in the study that evening, after dinner. The man had served the family for years and always acted with integrity and decorum. He set his case on the desk and opened it, waiting for William to speak.
William sat forward. “I need to arrange a settlement,” he said. “For Mrs. Shaw and her daughter.”
The solicitor nodded once, showing no emotion or reaction to what William had just stated. “What terms do you wish to set, Your Grace?”
“No terms,” William said. “It must be irrevocable. No conditions of any kind.”
The solicitor paused, surprised. “None at all?”
“None,” William said. “They must never again depend on an employer’s goodwill or a man’s mercy.”
The solicitor took out a sheet of paper. “Very well. We can structure it to ensure long-term security. Would you prefer it tied to their residence, or to their employment status?”
“No,” William said. “It must protect them regardless of circumstance.”
The solicitor looked up. “Even if Mrs. Shaw marries?”
“Yes.”
“Even if she never speaks to you again?”
“Yes.”
The solicitor nodded and began to write steadily, his pen moving across the page. After a moment, he asked, “Would you like to include any stipulations? Conditions of conduct? Requirements for continued payment?”
William shook his head. “No stipulations.”
The solicitor hesitated. “You are certain? Most settlements of this nature include at least one condition.”
“I want her to have complete freedom,” William said. “Not another obligation.”
She has carried enough. I will not add to it.