Chapter 19

"We have a description of the man who took them."

Frances felt her legs give way beneath her, and she clutched at Christopher's arm for support. He caught her, holding her tightly as she sobbed against his chest.

"Oh, Christopher…"

He wrapped his arms around her, his voice filled with regret. "Frances, I'm so sorry. I should have been more vigilant. This is all my fault."

Frances pulled back slightly, looking up at him through her tears. "No, it's not. You've done everything you can. What did you do with the information you found?"

Christopher pressed his lips together. "I have informed the constables, and we have a sketch of the suspect. It is in their hands now, and they are doing everything they can."

"And what now?"

"Now, we wait. We have done everything that was possible from our side."

Frances felt as if she had been stabbed in the heart with a knife. Still, she tried to compose herself for Christopher's sake.

It was not his fault that they were in this situation, and he seemed to be doing everything he could.

"Come, let's go to the drawing room. You need to rest for a moment." He scooped her up in his arms effortlessly, carrying her down the hallway.

He set her gently on the plush sofa and pulled a soft, woolen blanket from the back, wrapping it around her shoulders. He knelt beside her, his hand tenderly brushing her hair back from her face.

They had a moment alone now. But it felt so incomplete and hollow without the children.

Frances looked at him and noticed how he seemed to have aged by years in just the span of a few hours.

That was when she realized that he needed someone to be there for him, too. It was unfair that he was carrying all of this burden on his own.

"You have done what you can," she soothed. "I am sorry for putting too much pressure on you."

Christopher seemed surprised by her words. "You are being far too kind."

"And? You clearly deserve it."

"I am not sure if I do," he muttered darkly.

Frances knitted her eyebrows and forced him to look her in the eye. "What is it? You are being too hard on yourself."

She searched his face, her eyes filled with concern.

He took a deep breath, his gaze dropping to the floor as if he couldn't bear to meet her eyes. "This… all of this… it's my fault. If I had been a better brother and protected Peter, none of this would have happened."

Frances reached out, taking his hand in hers. "Christopher, you can't blame yourself for what happened to Peter. You were just a child."

Christopher shook his head, a bitter smile on his lips. "I was the elder brother. I should have looked after him, but I didn't. I couldn't."

He sat down beside her, staring at the wall with a hollow expression. "My parents… they were never a good match. My father loved my mother deeply, but she only saw their marriage as a duty. When Peter was born, things got worse. She became even more distant and cold."

Frances listened intently, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "Go on," she encouraged softly.

Christopher sighed. "When I was seven, my parents separated. My father took me, and my mother took Peter. She was a tyrant, and even that might be a kind way to describe her." His frown deepened. "She believed in strict discipline, and she wasn't afraid to use force to get her way. She was abusive."

Frances gasped, her heart aching for the young boy Christopher had been and for the brother he had lost. "Oh, Christopher…"

She never knew the details of his past, and now that he finally trusted her enough to let her know, her heart only ached for him even more.

"My father was strict, but he was never cruel," Christopher continued, his voice hollow. "He tried to shield me from the worst of it, but he couldn't protect Peter. I always thought that once I became Duke, I could fix things. I could bring Peter back, save him from our mother's clutches. But when I finally inherited the dukedom, it was too late."

"Why was it too late?"

"Peter had already run away with Lydia. He wrote to me, saying he had finally found happiness and he didn't need me anymore."

Tears welled up in Frances's eyes as she listened, her heart breaking for the pain he had endured. "You couldn't have known. You couldn't have stopped him."

Christopher's expression hardened, and his jaw clenched tightly. "But how is that an excuse? It was my responsibility to ensure that my brother did not put himself in harm's way. No matter what he wanted, I should have known better."

Frances was at a loss for words. She did not know how to react, or what to say that would make him feel better.

There was depth behind his pain. It had been accumulating for years.

"But I didn't. And then… they died. And I was left with this crushing guilt that I could have done something, anything, to save him."

Frances reached out, gently cupping his face in her hands. "Christopher, you've carried this burden for too long. You did everything you could. You took in his sons, you've given them a home and a family. You've done more than anyone could have asked for."

Christopher looked into her eyes, his own glistening with unshed tears. "But I failed him, Frances. I failed Peter, did I not? And now his children are paying the price for my mistakes."

Frances shook her head, her voice firm. "No, Christopher. You didn't fail him. You've given Ernest and Edwin a chance at a life they would have never had." And then, after a small pause, she added, "You never told me about the letter before."

She searched his eyes for the truth. If she was going to help him, then she had to know everything.

"I received a letter from Peter just before he married Lydia," Christopher began quietly. "He wrote to tell me that he had finally found love and that our mother couldn't stop him anymore. He was leaving to start a new life with her."

Frances nodded and gently wrapped her hand around his in support. Christopher glanced down at their entwined fingers but did not pull away.

"He was so determined, so happy," he continued, his voice trembling slightly. "For the first time, he had something to fight for. How could I have stopped him?"

"He was capable of making his own decisions, Christopher. How could you have anticipated what was going to happen?"

Christopher shook his head. It was clear that he blamed himself for every single thing and would not hear a word edgewise.

"When I found out they had died, it was like my world collapsed. I spent two days in a haze, drinking to numb the pain. I can't even remember what I did during those days. It's all a blur."

Frances tightened her grip on his hand. "Christopher, you were grieving. You had every right to feel lost. Why must you judge yourself so harshly? Is it not also true that you were the first person to take the twins in?"

Christopher shook his head, his eyes filled with torment. "But I should have been there for him. I should have protected him, and Lydia, and their boys while they were still alive. Instead, I was too wrapped up in my guilt and shame to help him when he needed me most."

"But at least you did something."

"When my butler told me about the twins, I knew I had to do something. Taking care of them, giving them a home, was the only way I could make it up to Peter. I had failed him, but I couldn't fail his sons."

"And you have not failed them. You've given them love, security, and a future. You've done more than anyone could have asked for."

Frances felt like she was repeating herself over and over again, but it was not getting through to him.

He was set in his ways, blaming himself so harshly.

Christopher's shoulders slumped, and he leaned back against the sofa. "I've tried, but now this has happened. If I had been a better brother, none of this would have happened."

"You were a child yourself when all of this started," Frances said softly but firmly. "You couldn't have known what would happen, and you did everything you could with the knowledge you had. Peter made his own choices, and he found happiness with Lydia. You can't carry the burden of their decisions alone."

Christopher closed his eyes, leaning into her touch as if drawing comfort from her words. "I feel like I owe it to Peter to make sure they have everything. That's why I've decided the dukedom must go to Edwin. I don't want to bring another child into this world only to feel like I'm failing them too."

Frances paused at his confession. It took her a moment to gather herself, as this was something that impacted her as well.

"Christopher," she began gently. "If you don't want more children, I will respect that. But don't let guilt be the reason you make that decision. Guilt is never a good motive behind such a choice."

She paused, searching his eyes for any sign of understanding. "You've built a beautiful family with the twins. They are happy and loved because of you. But don't deprive yourself of the possibility of having your own child out of fear of repeating the past. You deserve to have the family you want."

Christopher looked at her."As usual, you are being far too optimistic. Do you really think it's possible? To have a family without repeating the mistakes of the past?"

"I believe that we learn from our experiences, and we grow from them. You are not your mother or your father. You are Christopher Grant, a man who loves deeply and protects fiercely."

"How is it that you have this opinion of me, even now?" He searched her eyes for any morsel of truth.

"Am I not supposed to?" she countered. "You have given me no reason to believe otherwise."

"But you should be angry at me. I am the man of the house, and this incident has happened under my watch. I am the only one to blame for it."

As he said the words, Frances had a sudden epiphany about his upbringing. She could see clearly now how he had been raised in a strict household, one that did not have room for mistakes.

Anything that was to happen was the Duke's responsibility.

"Christopher…" she breathed. "You need to stop doing that. Your father is not here any longer to reprimand you for everything. You share this house with me, and I am only supportive of you."

He blinked at her, confused at first, and then saw the sincerity in her eyes, and his gaze softened.

They stared at each other for a long moment, and then he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to her lips. It was a kiss filled with gratitude. And a lot of pent-up emotion. They both channeled their feelings into it.

When they broke apart, he held her hand softly.

"Thank you, Frances," he murmured against her forehead. "I do not know how you do it, how you can still believe in me after all that has happened. But you do."

They stayed close, their foreheads resting against each other, finding solace in their shared warmth.

The world outside was uncertain, but at that moment, they found peace in each other's arms.

"Whatever happens," Frances whispered, "we will face it together. I am optimistic that something will turn up tomorrow."

"Then I will believe you too."

Christopher wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close to his chest. They were both on the sofa, which was far too small to accommodate them both comfortably, but none of them seemed to want to move.

It was a delicate moment. And the idea of spending the night alone looked far too daunting to even consider.

So they did not move. Nor did they say anything.

They drifted into a light, fitful sleep, holding each other. But most importantly, holding onto hope that tomorrow would be a better day.