Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

A s they arrived at the Ashford estate and stepped out into the crisp evening air, a shiver ran down Hanna’s spine, the cold nipping her exposed skin. Edwin turned to her, his eyes carrying a warmth that she had grown accustomed to.

“Would you care to dine with me, Hanna?” he asked, his voice filled with a gentle concern. “I deprived you of the opportunity to dine with your father and sister, and I wish to make amends.”

Hanna looked at him, a soft smile gracing her lips. “I have had my share of dinners with them,” she replied. “Well, with my father, at least. And I am hungry, so yes. Although I am afraid the servants haven’t been expecting us to dine here. They will have nothing prepared, and I hate to burden them.”

Edwin smiled. “Do not fret, I will manage it without inconveniencing anyone,” he reassured her and offered his hand, leading her inside.

He paused in the grand entrance hall, where the low crackling of fires and the distant bustle of servants preparing for the evening met their ears. Hanna slipped out of her cloak, and Edwin, while shrugging off his greatcoat, caught Mrs. Maple’s eye as she rounded the corner.

“Mrs. Maple,” he called out, his voice as steady and composed as ever, yet laced with a warmth that seemed to melt the lingering chill in the air. “Would you kindly prepare some bread, cheese, meats, and fruits for us in the breakfast room? Nothing grand tonight—a simple spread will do.”

Hanna blinked, surprised, her gaze darting to him. His usual formal demeanor when requesting dinner had softened considerably, and the request itself was unexpected. Dinner was typically served in the stately dining hall, a room meant for grandeur and fine displays of wealth and decorum, not the humble, cozy setting of the breakfast room.

“The breakfast room, Your Grace?” Mrs. Maple asked, a curious smile playing on her lips.

“Yes, Mrs. Maple,” Edwin replied with a nod. Then, he turned to Hanna. “It reminds me of simpler days. My brother and I used to take our meals there, far from the pomp of the dining hall. I find it’s where I can think more clearly, where the fire burns just a little warmer.” Looking back at Mrs. Maple, he smiled again. “You recall, I trust?”

The older woman inclined her head. “I do. You always did favor it, as did your brother. Very well, Your Grace. I shall see to it at once.” She cast a quick glance at Hanna, her eyes twinkling with a hint of understanding before she bustled off, her footsteps fading down the hallway.

Hanna stood there for a moment, still clutching her gloves in her hand, watching as Edwin hung his greatcoat on the coat rack. His movements were relaxed, unhurried, as if this moment, this small act of requesting a simple dinner in a modest room, was something deeply personal to him.

“So did you always dine in the breakfast room as a child?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.

“Not always,” Edwin replied with a soft smile as he led the way to the breakfast room. “But often enough so it gives me comfort. It reminds me of my childhood—before titles, estates, and duties weighed so heavily. There’s something about the simplicity of it, the quiet… It feels more like home than the grand dining hall ever could.” He glanced at her sideways. “I thought you would appreciate it too. Less formality, more… comfort.”

Hanna hesitated, but then a smile spread across her face. The idea of dining somewhere intimate, away from the looming pressure of grand banquets, appealed to her more than she had expected.

“I think I shall enjoy that very much,” she said softly, touched by the thoughtful gesture.

They stepped into the breakfast room, and the warmth crept up her fingertips and into her arms as she stood before the fire and inhaled the sweet scent of cedar.

The night had deepened, casting the world in shades of inky blue and silver. Something beyond the glass caught her attention, and her breath hitched slightly. Delicate white flakes swirled in the faint glow of the lanterns outside—snow. The first snowfall of the year, silent and pure, gently blanketing the grounds in a fine dusting of white.

She pressed a hand to the cool glass, transfixed by the falling snow. It stirred something deep within her, a wave of nostalgia that made her chest tighten with bittersweet emotion.

“Hanna?” Edwin’s voice broke through the stillness, his voice curious yet soft. “What are you looking at?”

She turned her head slightly, her expression one of quiet wonder. “It’s snowing,” she whispered, as if saying it loudly might somehow disturb the peaceful scene outside. “The first snow of the year.”

Edwin shifted in his chair, leaning forward a little to meet her gaze. His eyes flicked briefly to the window, though he seemed more interested in her reaction than the snow itself.

“You look captivated,” he noted.

A small, wistful smile tugged at her lips. She nodded, her eyes flicking back to the snow-covered landscape. “When I was a child, the first snowfall always felt like magic. My sisters and I would rush outside, even before breakfast, still in our nightgowns and boots, just to catch the first snowflakes with our tongues.”

She let out a soft laugh, the memory vivid in her mind. “Alexander would always come with us. He’d be the one to make a snowman, every year without fail. It became a tradition—the first snowman of the season, made by Alexander, with carrots from the kitchen and scarves stolen from our closets.”

“We did the same, with coal taken from below stairs. We thought ourselves quite clever, but all along, the servants knew it was us,” Edwin chimed in.

“Alexander would spirit coal away, too,” Hanna said with a smile as she pictured her brother coming up the stairs with bits of coal hidden beneath his coat for the snowman’s eyes and mouth.

Edwin, who had been watching her closely, leaned back slightly, his brow furrowing in thought. “Alexander,” he repeated contemplatively. “I’ve heard mention of him before, but… didn’t he leave some years ago?”

Hanna’s smile faded slightly, and a shadow passed over her face. “Yes. He left,” she said, her voice quiet now. She drew in a deep breath, as though gathering her thoughts. “He left because of my father. They always clashed, ever since Alexander was old enough to think for himself. Father was cruel to him, and eventually, Alexander couldn’t take it anymore.”

She paused, her hand still resting on the window, her fingers tracing the faint outline of frost beginning to form along the edges.

“I was angry with him for a long time,” she admitted softly, her voice tinged with a sadness that seemed to echo from a deep part of her heart. “I felt abandoned, like he’d left us behind to deal with Father on our own. I couldn’t understand why he didn’t stay and fight.”

Edwin’s expression shifted slightly, becoming more serious, more attentive. “And now?” he asked gently.

“Now…” Hanna turned away from the window, her eyes meeting his. “Now, I understand why he had to leave. My father… he can be relentless. Alexander did what he had to do to protect himself—to survive. I see that now. We’ve reconciled since then. I’ve forgiven him, and he’s forgiven me for not understanding at the time.”

She smiled faintly, though there was a hint of sadness in it. “I miss him. We write to each other, but it’s not the same. He’s always been the one to take care of us—or at least, that’s what I thought when we were children. It’s strange how much you expect someone to carry until they can’t anymore.”

Edwin was silent for a moment, as though weighing her words carefully. He studied her face, the flickering firelight casting a soft glow over her features. “It sounds as though you’ve come to understand each other in a way that only time can allow.”

Hanna nodded, her smile becoming a little more genuine. “Yes. He lives in Ireland now. I’ve thought of visiting him, but… the distance is great, so we only see one another rarely. He has been away, fighting on the Continent. I’d hoped to see him again, but alas…” she trailed off, uncertainty lacing her voice.

Edwin sat up straighter, his gaze steady, the usual guardedness in his eyes easing for a brief moment. “Then we’ll go. If you wish to see him, we can visit him together. It’s easy to arrange.”

Her eyes widened slightly in surprise, and for a moment, she could only stare at him. She hadn’t expected such a generous offer, especially given how careful he usually was with their relationship. But there was no mistaking the sincerity in his voice, nor the kindness in his eyes.

“You… you’d do that?” she asked softly, her heart swelling with gratitude.

“Of course,” he replied simply, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “He’s your brother. If it’s important to you, then it’s important to me as well.”

Hanna felt something warm stir within her—an unfamiliar but welcome sense of connection, of being understood in a way she hadn’t expected.

“Thank you, Edwin,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Edwin smiled, a faint but genuine curve of his lips, before he turned his gaze back to the window.

“It’s still snowing,” he remarked, almost to himself, as the flakes continued to fall outside, gathering on the windowsill and blanketing the ground.

“Yes,” Hanna replied, her heart lighter than it had been in a long while. “Yes, it is.”

And for the first time in what felt like years, she let herself believe that perhaps, just like the snow, new beginnings were quietly unfolding between them.

“Were you very close, you and your brother?” she asked then, determined to learn more about him.

She no longer thought him capable of murder, although she had to be certain. She had to hear him speak about his brother. Only that way would she know the truth.

Edwin watched the snowflakes fall for a moment, lost in thought. Then, as if something evoked a memory, he glanced back at Hanna and gave her a small smile.

“We were. Always. My brother and I used to play outside in the snow when we were children,” he said quietly. “We’d spend hours building forts and having snowball fights until we couldn’t feel our fingers anymore.”

Hanna’s expression brightened with surprise. “What was he like?”

Edwin leaned back in his chair, a distant look crossing his face. “Benjamin was… spirited,” he replied with a touch of fondness. “Always the one to get us into trouble, but he had a way of making it impossible to be angry with him for long. He had this infectious laugh that made everything seem less serious.”

He paused, his smile fading slightly. “Our father didn’t like it much when we spent time playing outside. He thought it was undignified. ‘A duke’s sons should not be seen making fools of themselves in the snow,’” he said, imitating his father’s stern tone with a dry smile. “But Benjamin never cared. He’d drag me out there anyway, no matter how much Father disapproved.”

Hanna studied him for a moment, sensing something deeper behind his words. “Your father sounds… strict,” she remarked slowly. “What was he like?”

Edwin’s expression shifted, the lightness of the memory giving way to something more somber. He hesitated, his eyes dropping to the table as he gathered his thoughts.

“Stern,” he finally said, the word weighted with years of experience. “Often unyielding. He had a very clear idea of what he expected from us—from Benjamin especially, as the eldest.”

“He wasn’t… cruel, not like your father,” he added quickly, glancing at her. “But he was distant. Reserved. I don’t remember him ever being particularly affectionate or warm. It wasn’t in his nature to show kindness openly. He had a sense of duty that overshadowed everything else.”

Hanna nodded, her heart aching a little at the thought. She had often imagined Edwin’s life being vastly different from her own, but perhaps their experiences were more alike than she had thought.

“It must have been difficult,” she said softly.

Edwin’s gaze grew distant again. “It was… hard to know him. I always felt like I was trying to live up to some standard that he never fully explained, as if I was constantly being tested but never quite knew the rules of the game.”

He paused, his jaw tightening slightly. “When he died, I felt… robbed, I suppose. Robbed of the chance to ever truly know him. There were so many things left unsaid. I wanted to understand him, to earn his respect in a way that wasn’t just about title or duty, but I never got the chance.”

A quiet understanding settled between them as Hanna reached out, her hand resting gently on his. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice soft with empathy.

Before Edwin could respond, the soft creak of the door interrupted them. Mrs. Maple and two footmen entered, carrying large silver platters. The rich aroma of freshly baked bread filled the room, mingling with the scent of the cheeses and roast meats, making Hanna’s mouth water.

The servants laid the platters on the table, and Hanna’s eyes widened at the spread before them. Freshly baked loaves of bread sat alongside wheels of cheese, slices of cured meats, and delicate pastries that glistened with honey and sugar. The sight was comforting, simple yet inviting, and it brought a sense of warmth to the otherwise heavy conversation.

“Thank you, Mrs. Maple,” Edwin said, nodding to the housekeeper.

She smiled warmly at the both of them before retreating with the footmen, leaving them alone once more.

Hanna looked at the food and then back at Edwin. “This is wonderful,” she said, her voice lighter now. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

Edwin chuckled softly, some of the tension leaving his face. “Neither did I, to be honest.”

They settled into their seats, and as Edwin began to carve slices of bread and offer her the cheeses and meats, Hanna found herself feeling strangely at ease.

The weight of their earlier conversation still lingered, but now, in the warmth of the candlelit room, with the quiet sound of snow falling outside and the comforting smell of the meal before them, it seemed less burdensome.

It was a moment of peace—small, perhaps, but meaningful. And as they shared the simple meal, something unspoken passed between them, a quiet understanding that, despite their different pasts, they were finding a way forward together.