36. What Now?

WHAT NOW?

T he morning air drifted into Melanie’s room through the curtains, cool but not fresh, just a little smoky—and one more reason to keep her window closed in the future.

Her chest squeezed as she lay staring at the ceiling, replaying the events of the previous night in her head for the nine-hundredth time. So many impressions—fragments of words shared while she and Harry had been entangled in the grass, the glimmering light of the candles as she’d watched Lord Northwoods with dear Josie during dinner…

And later still—when Malum’s playful flirtations abruptly turned cold—cutting words spoken into the open air between their two windows. It all tumbled together, sharp and unrelenting, refusing to fade.

What should have been remembered as a night of wonder and joy, of stolen kisses and whispered promises, had indeed become unforgettable, but not for the reasons she’d dreamed of. Instead of a future she’d been stupid to hope for, she was left with…

Nothing.

No, it was worse than that. She was left feeling rejected, confused. Na?ve.

Foolish.

It didn’t make sense. None of it did.

He had made love to her!

It had been… breathtaking. The kind of experience she’d read about in novels, the kind that left a woman— her!— forever changed. His touch had been so tender, even when it had grown insistent and demanding, and she’d thought… she’d thought that the look in his eyes had been one of unspoken devotion, of love .

Melanie squeezed back her tears.

He’d awakened something she hadn’t known existed. She’d felt cherished, adored, as though she were the only woman in the world.

How could she be alone in her feelings? How could she not have seen it?

The curtains rustled in the breeze, reminding her—“ There is no us.”

As if she could ever forget.

He’d seemed to understand her in ways no one else ever had, seen her when others hadn’t. And then?—

“ There is no us.”

The memory stole her breath anew. She’d left the window open all night, hoping—foolishly, and yes, perhaps na?vely—that she might hear him calling for her again, that he might come back and undo the cruel finality of his words. But the night had remained silent, save for the occasional tapping of muted footsteps on the cobblestones and a few passing carts.

She hadn’t fallen asleep until just before dawn, and even then, her ears had strained for a sound that never came.

Her throat ached—not from tears, though they hovered dangerously close, but from the fierce effort it took to hold them back. She wouldn’t cry. She couldn’t. Crying felt too much like surrender, and she refused to lose him and herself in the same breath.

Because, after a year of sleepwalking through life, she was finally waking up… Even if she lost him, she knew she had gained something irreplaceable. Something no one—not even him—could ever take from her again.

It wasn’t something she could name, not exactly, but it was there. Strength, a defiant confidence in herself. She didn’t have to hide anymore. She could step forward, step into the light, and know that she could simply… be.

A knock at the door sounded, and Melanie blinked. For a fleeting second, absurd as it was, she imagined it might be him. Harry.

But of course, it wasn’t.

“Come in,” she called, tamping down her hope, her voice hoarse.

“Good morning, my lady,” Eloisa greeted as she entered the room with a bright smile and a fresh basin of water. “You’ve had quite the lie-in today.”

Melanie frowned faintly. “Is it that late?”

“Not terribly,” Eloisa replied, setting the basin down and fluffing the pillows on the bed. “But your mother and Lady Josephine have already left for their appointment with the modiste. I’m to help you dress and then meet them at the park, to act as Lady Josephine’s companion. They didn’t want to disturb you.”

Melanie ran her fingers along her braid. “That was thoughtful of them.” Yet guilt pricked at her. She rarely slept in, and now she’d been left behind, which was just as well.

Despite the newfound conviction flickering in her heart, the thought of getting dressed, of pulling herself together, felt insurmountable. If Malum had truly meant it when he’d broken their engagement, then she had nowhere to go. No driving through the park, no engagement party to plan. What was the point?

Her gaze drifted toward the window. Was that what she was going to do now? Retreat into herself again? Let the walls of this house become her world, as they had ever since the fire?

The thought sent a shiver down her spine.

No.

Without consciously meaning to, she’d pushed forward—she’d beenseen. She’d been heard . The idea of returning to that lonely, shadowed existence felt like defeat. She refused to allow a few cruel words from Malum to set her back.

But even as she tried to steady herself with that resolve, his declaration lingered, sharp and final. “There is no us.”

She pressed a hand to her chest, as though she could somehow ease the stabbing sensation in her heart. It hurt to suddenly lose him like this, but also… she simply did not understand.

Why now? What had changed? Because she couldn’t have imagined their connection, not all of it.

First, he’d been sweet and funny. Then, he’d been concerned. He had always— always —been honest and kind. Even when he’d mangled his apologies.

But last night, his voice had turned hard. He’d abruptly insisted they call everything off—without even so much as suggesting some sort of… exit strategy, at the very least.

Could he truly have meant it? It didn’t make sense .

Yes, Malum had a reputation for being cold, distant, even ruthless at times. But cruel? Impulsive?

Definitely not.

That wasn’t the man she’d come to know. The man who had joined her on the lawn, gazing up at the sky, who had somehow managed to help her feel whole again. That man wouldn’t cast her aside with such careless—almost reckless—finality.

No, she refused to believe it.

“Eloisa,” she said, quietly but with enough resolve to make the maid pause. “I’d like to wear my cobalt day dress. The one with the delicate embroidery.”

Eloisa beamed. “Of course, my lady. A fine choice.”

Melanie rose, and as Eloisa helped her wash and dress, her determination grew. The act of pulling on her favorite gown felt almost ceremonial, a declaration of sorts.

She wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet.

She didn’t know what she was going to say to him, but she was going to seek him out at the Domus. Today. She wanted—no, she deserved—a full explanation.

Once she was ready, Melanie stopped to examine herself in the mirror. The dress was simple but elegant, its rich blue fabric a flattering contrast to her pale complexion. Perfect.

She straightened her shoulders and clenched her fists, even if her heart wasn’t quite ready to follow.

“Thank you, Eloisa.”

The maid stepped back, admiring her handiwork. “You look beautiful, my lady. Like yourself again.”

Melanie dropped her gaze and winced a little at the reminder of the past year.

For all her attempts to rally her spirits, the ache in her heart remained. Was she just fooling herself? Was it folly to imagine he might truly care for her?

She drew in a slow, steadying breath. Encouragement—whether from herself or others—could only take her so far. If she meant to follow through on her intentions, she would need to face this day head-on, one step at a time.

One breath at a time.

First, tea. Perhaps some toast—something light to settle her nerves. And then… the Domus.

Again.

The very thought of it almost made her feel a little dizzy, a confusing mix of emotions she didn’t quite understand.

The Domus was still, in her mind, a gilded facade masking unspeakable things. The first time she’d gone there, her steps had been driven by adrenaline-fueled desperation—fear for Ernest. She hadn’t thought—she hadn’t allowed herself to think until it was far too late. Then the truth of the place had sunk in, leaving her stunned, and a little—not dirty—but wicked, and more confused than ever.

Because, how could she care for the man who had built it?

Somehow, that persistent reality didn’t outweigh everything else she knew about him.

Her cheeks burned at the memory of the private parlor. The moment Malum had pulled her inside—just the two of them—she’d known the true stirring of desire.

She’d gained a sense of the potency of passion.

Excitement.

And last night, she’d felt…alive in ways she never had before.

With Harry…

Her thoughts lingered on him as she descended to the lower floor, her steps slow as she trailed one hand down the wooden banister. The house felt unusually quiet, and the empty seats in the breakfast room, where her mother and Josie usually sat, only amplified the silence.

Taking her usual seat at the long table, she found the simple act of pouring a cup of tea steadied her nerves. The warm, fragrant aroma wrapped around her, offering a faint sense of comfort.

But just as she lifted the cup to her lips, the door creaked open, and Mr. Chesterfield stepped inside. His expression was composed, yet tinged with an air of quiet urgency.

“My lady,” he announced. “You have a visitor.”

Melanie’s hands trembled slightly as she set the cup down.

Harry is here .

He had come! Who else would visit her at this hour?

Unexpected tears burned in her eyes, though she quickly blinked them away. “The duke?” she asked, trying to mask the excitement bubbling up inside her.

He could only be here for one of two reasons. Either to apologize, to explain himself and take it all back—or to discuss the terms of the dissolution of their engagement. She pressed her hands together to keep them still.

“Yes, my lady,” Chesterfield confirmed, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face—surprise, perhaps.

Relief and anticipation surged through her in equal measure, chasing away the ache that had gripped her since the previous night. Apology or explanation, it didn’t matter— he was here.

Melanie rose, smoothing her skirts with trembling hands. “Thank you, Chesterfield. I’ll see him now,” she murmured, already moving to follow him. Her steps were brisk, though her mind whirled with questions, with emotions she was just beginning to understand.

As they reached the drawing room door, she hesitated only a moment before pushing it open.

Disappointment hit her like a physical blow.

Because the man who rose from her mother’s settee wasn’t Malum.

It was the Duke of Crossings.