Chapter 29

CHAPTER 29

T he next morning, Edwin sat at the breakfast table, absentmindedly stirring his tea. The sun cast a soft, golden light through the tall windows, painting the room in warm hues. He felt a weight in his chest, a lingering sense of confusion from the night before. Emma’s arrival, Hanna’s coldness—he had barely slept, wondering what could have gone so wrong.

Suddenly, the door to the breakfast room opened, and Hanna stepped inside. She seemed poised and collected, a far cry from the pale, distant woman he had watched retreat upstairs the night before. His brow furrowed slightly as she crossed the room with calm steps, her skirts rustling softly against the polished floor.

“Good morning,” she said brightly, her voice soft but even.

Before he could respond, she leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek, the warmth of her lips sending a jolt through him. They had kissed each other good morning for the past few days, but after last night, he hadn’t expected it.

Edwin blinked, relief and confusion washing over him.

She sat down across from him, her movements as composed as ever. She picked up a roll from the basket on the table, and as her knife sliced through it, the sound filled the room— crack, crack, crack —the crust splitting under the pressure of the blade.

Edwin glanced at her, watching her work the knife with steady hands. Each cut was deliberate, almost too deliberate, as though she was putting effort into making everything seem perfectly normal. The rhythmic sound of the bread being cut echoed through the room, punctuating the quiet morning air.

In the background, the maids moved about, their footsteps soft but not silent. The faint squeak of leather soles on polished floors drifted toward him, their quiet murmurs intermingling with the delicate clinking of silverware on porcelain.

It was the kind of domestic symphony Edwin had grown accustomed to, a steady hum of daily life. But today, the normalcy felt… forced. Too smooth, too perfect.

“Did you sleep well?” Hanna asked, her tone casual as she began buttering her roll as though nothing at all was amiss.

Edwin paused, still watching her. “Well enough,” he replied slowly. “And you?”

She nodded, taking a delicate bite of her bread. “Quite well, thank you.”

He studied her, unsure how to bridge the gap between her demeanor now and the tension of the night before. He had expected… well, something. An explanation, maybe even a confrontation. But instead, there she was, behaving as though nothing had happened. She wasn’t avoiding his gaze, wasn’t rushing her words, wasn’t fidgeting with her napkin. She seemed… normal.

Too normal.

The steady scraping of her knife against the butter dish felt louder than usual, and each slice of her roll echoed in the space between them. Edwin found himself straining to hear past the noises—listening for something beneath them, some unspoken tension, some crack in the carefully constructed facade she seemed to wear this morning.

But there was nothing. Nothing but the small sounds of the breakfast room, the maids in the distance, and the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth.

“Is Emma feeling better this morning?” Edwin asked, trying to keep his tone casual, though his curiosity was difficult to mask.

Hanna nodded, spreading jam onto her toast with a delicate hand. “Yes, she’s feeling better. She had a dreadful row with our father. He was very drunk, and in his… state, he said some rather vile things. Emma was so upset, she left without thinking.”

Edwin frowned, leaning forward slightly. “Your father’s temper is well known, but I don’t like the thought of her being alone, in such distress. Should I have a chamber prepared for her here? She could stay with us until things settle.”

Hanna’s hand stilled for a moment before she shook her head. “Thank you, Edwin, but no. I appreciate your offer, truly. I shall speak to Father about it first. Emma can’t simply run away every time he behaves cruelly. He must be made to see reason.”

Edwin hesitated, the idea of her going back into the lion’s den without any support unsettling him. “Perhaps I could accompany you? He might listen to me?—”

“No,” Hanna interrupted, her tone firm but polite. “I can manage him. I’m confident enough to face him on my own. Emma needs me to be strong for her, and if I bring you along, Father will think it’s your influence and not my own conviction.”

Edwin sat back, reluctantly nodding, though the unease within him didn’t fade. There was a determination in her eyes, and he couldn’t help but admire the strength she exuded even in the face of such chaos. But still, the thought of her going against her father without any backup gnawed at him.

He had witnessed Lord Worcester’s cruelty firsthand, and Hanna had already endured more than enough from him. Yet, Edwin knew better than to press her when her mind was set.

“I understand,” he said softly. “But if you need me, I’m only a word away.”

Hanna smiled at that, though there was a distance in her gaze that Edwin couldn’t quite understand. He opened his mouth, the weight of the secret he had carried for so long pressing down on his conscience. He wanted to tell her the truth, to lay it all bare. To confess that their marriage had been born out of necessity, a means to gain access to her father’s dealings, and not the product of romantic intent. But as his eyes met hers, his resolve faltered.

Though he had grown to care for her—more than he had expected—he couldn’t be sure of her feelings toward him. She was warm at times, even affectionate, but there was a volatility in her emotions that gave him pause. One moment she would lean into him, trusting, and the next she would retreat, as if walls were rising between them once more.

Edwin craved stability, something solid he could rely on. And while he hoped their marriage might someday become more than a mere arrangement, he couldn’t be sure. The only certainty he had was his quest for justice—justice for his brother, and himself. He needed to clear Benjamin’s name, to prove that his brother had not been the villain everyone believed him to be. And with that certainty would come his own redemption.

The thought shattered his resolve, and he swallowed the words he had nearly spoken. Now wasn’t the time. He needed to focus on the one thing he could control—the investigation. Hanna’s feelings were still a shifting tide, and until he knew where they stood, he couldn’t risk losing everything by revealing his hand too soon.

“Very well,” he said instead, his voice measured. “I trust you’ll handle the matter with your father wisely.”

Hanna nodded, her expression softening as she rose from the table, smoothing her skirts. “I will. Don’t worry, Edwin.”

He watched as she left the room, her movements graceful and composed. The moment the door clicked shut, he sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair.

Ruby, his faithful companion, padded over to him, resting his chin on his leg. Edwin looked down at the dog, giving him a gentle scratch behind the ears.

“Well, Ruby,” he murmured, more to himself than to the dog, “it seems the path forward is still as uncertain as ever.”

But even as he said the words, his mind drifted to Benjamin. Clearing his brother’s name had been his driving force for so long, and no matter how much his heart might begin to lean toward Hanna, he couldn’t let himself lose sight of that goal. Not yet.

He stood up, setting down his napkin and brushing the lingering crumbs off his pants. For now, he would let Hanna handle her father. But in the back of his head, a voice whispered that the time would soon come when he would have to tell her the truth. And when that moment arrived, he could only hope that the fragile bond they had forged would be strong enough to survive it.

But until then, he would wait.