Chapter 29
William walked the grounds slowly, letting out a quiet sigh as he reached the back lawn. The week had passed more smoothly than he had expected.
Mrs. Shaw had agreed to return, and the house had settled into its usual routine.
Meals were calm, the children cheerful, and the staff were relieved to see order restored.
Nothing had been strained between them, and nothing had been forced.
She had kept to her tasks, and he had kept to his promise to give her space.
Do not crowd her. Let her find her footing again.
He repeated the thought each morning when he saw her in the corridor, each afternoon when Clara tugged her hand and Henry followed close behind, and each evening when she passed him in the hall with a polite greeting and a quiet expression he could not completely read.
He walked past the stables and toward the orchard, looking forward to enjoying the quiet he knew he would find there.
The air was full of the scent of ripening fruit and warm earth, and the sky was deepening into a steady blue, the last of the daylight fading behind the hills.
He stepped beneath the first arch of branches, listening to the soft rustle overhead.
Then he saw her.
Mrs. Shaw stood near the old bench beneath the apple tree, her eyes lifted toward the sky. She looked calm and thoughtful, but there was nothing unwelcoming about her. He paused, watching her with a mixture of hope and caution.
If she turns away, leave her be. If she does not, go to her.
She did not move.
He approached slowly. When he reached her, she lowered her eyes but did not step back.
“Mrs. Shaw,” he said quietly.
“Your Grace.” Her voice was soft.
William hesitated. “I had not expected to find you here.”
“I needed a moment of quiet,” she said. “The house has been full today.”
He nodded. “It has. The children were lively.”
A faint smile touched the edges of her mouth. “They were.”
He studied her expression. She seemed calm, but there was something beneath it.
Do not assume anything. Let her speak if she wishes.
“I hope the last week has not been too heavy for you,” he said.
“No,” she answered. “It has been peaceful.”
He felt a small sense of relief. “I am glad.”
She looked toward the orchard again. “It feels different now,” she said. “The house. The grounds. Everything.”
He stepped closer, careful not to crowd her. “Different in what way?”
“Calmer,” she said. “Less uncertain.”
Her words made him relax. She does not regret returning.
“I have tried to give you space.”
“I know. I am grateful for it.”
He looked at her hands and the way she repeatedly clasped and unclasped them. “If there is anything you wish to say,” he said, “I will hear it.”
Mrs. Shaw hesitated. “I do not know where to begin.”
“Begin anywhere,” William replied. “I will follow.”
She looked at him fully. “Your Grace, the last week has been quiet, but it has not erased what happened.”
“No,” he said. “It has not.”
“I have thought about it,” she continued. “About everything that was said. Everything that was done.”
He kept still.
Let her speak.
“I saw you stand against your aunt. I saw you defend me without hesitation. I did not expect that.”
“I meant every word.”
“I know,” she said. “That is why it unsettled me.”
He frowned slightly. “Unsettled you?”
“Yes.” She looked down at the bench, then back at him. “Because it showed me how much you have changed. And how much I have changed.”
“Mrs. Shaw,” William said quietly, “I did not act out of impulse. I acted because I could not bear to see you treated unjustly.”
She looked at him plainly. “I know. That is what unsettles me.”
He took a slow breath. “Do you wish me to stop?”
“No,” she said too quickly. “I only wish to understand what it means.”
He felt something warm move through him.
She is not rejecting you. She is trying to understand you.
“It means that I will not allow anyone to diminish you,” he said. “It means that I will not pretend indifference, and that I will not hide what you have come to mean to me.”
He could see that her breath seemed to catch.
“Your Grace,” she said quietly, “you must be careful.”
“I am careful,” he said. “I have been careful for months.”
Mrs. Shaw looked down at her feet. “I do not wish to be the cause of trouble for you.”
“You are not trouble,” he said.
She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them, her voice was calm. “I do not know what comes next.”
“I do,” he said. “I know what I want.”
She looked at him shyly.
“I want you to remain at Roxburghe,” he said. “I want you to feel safe here. And I want you to know that whatever path you choose, I will not turn from you.”
She inhaled slowly. “Your Grace…”
He waited.
She looked at him with a quiet, searching expression. “I am afraid of hoping for too much.”
Her words hit him like a train.
She hopes. She hopes, and she fears it.
He stepped close enough that she could feel his presence. “Then hope for only what is true,” he said. “I am here. I am not leaving. And I will not ask you to walk this alone.”
She looked at him for a long moment, her expression softening. Her voice was quiet.
“Then stay,” she said. “Just for a moment.”
William sat beside her, leaving a respectful space between them. The bench shifted slightly under his weight. He glanced over, but Mrs. Shaw did not look at him. She kept her eyes on the sky, her expression thoughtful, and her breath even.
They stayed like that for a while, saying nothing. The silence between them was comfortable.
William listened to the leaves moving overhead, the crickets in the grass, and the faint sound of Clara’s laughter drifting from the house where she played with Henry. The sounds helped him relax.
He glanced at Mrs. Shaw again. She had not shifted. She seemed comfortable with his presence, or at least not troubled by it.
Do not disturb this. Let her stay as she is.
He kept still, enjoying the simple moment.
After a long while, William turned to look at Mrs. Shaw. Her profile was calm, although he sensed the faint tension beneath it. He could see that she was keeping her deepest thoughts to herself.
He spoke softly, careful not to disturb the quiet they had settled into. “Mrs. Shaw,” he said, “I cannot undo my silence.”
She did not move.
“But I can promise you one thing,” he continued. “There will never be another woman for me.”
He knew he had never spoken truer words. He had tried to protect her by withholding the truth, believing that silence would shield her from trouble.
I thought I was sparing her.
Finally, he understood that silence had only created confusion, not safety.
He watched her closely, searching for any sign of how his words had reached her. She remained still. Her focus stayed on the stars and her expression was unchanged. Yet something in her posture shifted by the smallest degree, showing a quiet acknowledgment of his words.
She heard me. She is thinking. Let her decide whether she will forgive me.
He kept his eyes on her, waiting, steady and patient.
As William sat beside Mrs. Shaw, he could not help but remember his aunt’s cruelty. His face felt hot as her words returned to him, each one spoken with a certainty she had never questioned.
“I do not want to overwhelm you with words,” he said quietly.
Mrs. Shaw did not turn her head toward him, but she tilted it slightly, encouraging him to continue.
“I need to say something about my aunt,” he continued. “She has spent so many years choosing duty over anything else that she no longer knows how to separate it from simple kindness.”
He paused, watching her profile for any sign of discomfort, but she did not move.
“She has lost the ability to tell happiness from impropriety,” he said. “And I am sorry you were ever made to suffer for it.”
He knew the words were serious, but he did not try to soften them.
He had watched his aunt shape her life around reputation, cutting away anything that did not serve it.
He had let her influence shape his own choices, and he was painfully aware that Mrs. Shaw had carried the consequences of that influence long before he had found the courage to stop it.
I let her decide what was acceptable. I let her speak as though she knew my heart better than I did. I let her harm you while I stayed silent.
He felt the sting of that truth, but he did not look away from her.
“I see the harm clearly now,” he said. “And I will not allow it to continue.” William closed his eyes for a brief moment before continuing. “Mrs. Shaw,” he said, “my aunt does not speak for me. She never will.”
Mrs. Shaw turned her head slightly, just enough to show she had heard him.
“Whatever you decide,” he continued, “will be your choice. No one else’s.”
He watched her closely, waiting for any sign of how she received his words.
She turned and looked at him for a long moment. Her gaze was steady and unblinking.
The silence stretched between them until William felt a slow, controlled fear rise in his chest.
Has she already made up her mind? Has she decided she cannot forgive me?
He kept still and did not look away from her.
Do not retreat. You asked her to hear you, and you must let her see you.
William felt a glimmer of hope when she finally spoke.
“You cannot stop people from gossiping,” she said. “But you can stand beside me while they do.”
Her voice was quiet, and the words were a clear statement of what she believed he could offer.
He answered without hesitation. “I will stand beside you.”
Mrs. Shaw exhaled, a soft breath that loosened the tightness in her shoulders. She looked back up at the sky, her movement showing him she had let go of something she had been holding for too long. Her expression stayed thoughtful, but the strain he had seen earlier was no longer there.
William watched her profile in the dim light. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet.
“I am scared,” she said. “I loved someone once. I lost him.”
Her hands tightened slightly in her lap. Her shoulders rose and fell with a controlled breath, but she did not look at him.
William stayed still beside her. He did not interrupt, patiently waiting until she continued.
“I do not want to repeat that,” she said. “I do not want to open myself to something that could end the same way.”
Her voice wavered once, then steadied. She kept her chin lifted and her posture straight.
William did not speak at first. He kept his hands still on his knees. He looked at her profile, watching the small movements in her expression.
“I understand,” he said after a long pause.
She did not turn her head.
“I am scared as well.”
Mrs. Shaw shifted slightly, just enough to show she had heard him.
“I loved someone once,” he said. “She left.”
He kept his eyes on the orchard ahead. He did not look at the ground. He did not look at the sky. He just stared ahead and spoke plainly.
“I did not understand it at the time,” he said. “I did not know how to speak about it, and I did not know how to move past it.”
Mrs. Shaw’s hands loosened slightly. She looked down at them, then back at the sky.
William continued. “I have lived with it for years. I did not talk about it, and I did not let anyone close enough to see it.”
She turned her head a little, not fully toward him, but enough that he could see her profile more clearly.
He kept his voice even. “I am not saying this to ask anything of you. I am saying it because you spoke plainly, and I owe you the same.”
She looked at him then.
William held her gaze and did not look away.
They stayed like that for a long moment. Neither of them moved. The orchard was quiet and the air was still.
Mrs. Shaw lowered her gaze first. She looked at her hands again, then at the ground, then back at the sky.
William kept his hands still, waiting.
She spoke again. “We have both lost someone.”
“Yes,” he said.
“We have both been hurt.”
“Yes.”
She looked straight ahead. “We cannot change that.”
“No.”
Mrs. Shaw inhaled softly. “But we can decide what comes next.”
William did not respond. He looked at her, feeling his pulse quickening with every moment.
She turned her head fully toward him. “We should choose each other,” she said. “Not because we are frightened. And not because we feel we must. But simply because we are willing to try.”
William kept his eyes on hers. He lifted his hand slowly. He did not rush, and he did not reach across the full space at once. He moved inch by inch until his hand hovered near hers.
She did not pull back.
William placed his hand over hers. His fingers closed gently around her palm, and she glanced down at their joined hands.
They stayed like that for a while, neither of them speaking..
Sarah sighed.
William kept his hand in hers.
Then she looked at him again.
He raised his other hand and moved it slowly toward her cheek. She did not flinch or turn away but instead looked into his eyes.
His fingertips touched her cheek and she softly closed her eyes, leaning toward him her lips slightly parted.
He slowly leaned forward until his lips met hers softly. She did not pull back, leaning forward just enough to meet him fully.
They stayed like that, neither of them rushing, neither of them tightening their hold. The kiss remained simple and controlled.
When Sarah drew back, she opened her eyes and looked at William affectionately. He kept his hand on her cheek.
She looked down at their joined hands, then back at him and smiled. He lowered his hand from her cheek and kept the other hand in hers.
Neither of them felt the need to speak. Sarah remained close to him, her shoulder resting lightly against his arm. She did not shift away or adjust her posture, staying exactly as she was beside him.
William did not break the silence but whispered a silent prayer of gratitude that after so many years of pain and confusion, he finally felt at peace.