As he drew back just slightly and rested his forehead against hers, the firelight flickered across his face. Neither of them spoke. There was no need. His breath mingled with hers, warm and steady. She found his gaze already waiting. Not demanding. Not expectant. Just… present. Like a hearth built against winter.
She smiled then, soft and tentative, the kind that only came after grief had finally made room for joy. “Elias,” she whispered.
He exhaled her name like a vow.
She let her hand drift to his jaw, brushing her thumb along the stubble at his cheek. “I’m not afraid to love anymore.”
His eyes softened even more, if that were possible. “Neither am I.”
She tilted her head and kissed him again, this time initiating it, claiming it. Letting herself feel every moment, every inch of healing that pressed between their mouths.
When they finally parted, she rested her head against his chest and listened to the steady beat of his heart. She’d lived so long in silence. Now, she never wanted to forget the sound of something steady. The sound ofhome.
Outside, the city exhaled. And inside, Isobel Fairfax began again. Not as a ghost. But as a woman who had risen from the grave, and chosen life.
Epilogue
One week later, Hampstead
The tea waswarm between her palms. Chamomile, with a hint of honey, her favorite. Elias had remembered.
Isobel sat near the window in the front room of the Hampstead flat, her stockinged feet tucked beneath her, a soft shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Morning sun slanted through the gauzy curtains, casting long streaks of light over the worn wooden floor. Outside, the city stirred to life, carriages clattering, vendors calling out their wares, church bells chiming from across the rooftops. But inside was peaceful.
She had not woken to a nightmare in four nights. No heavy breath clawing at her lungs. No shadows pressing against her ribs. No voices whispering that she didn’t exist.
Instead, she had woken to a bright new world with Elias—who sometimes was asleep beside her, other times reading quietly at the edge of the bed, but always with that same steady presence she had once feared she’d never deserve. She was still learning how to breathe in this new world. But every breath came easier now.
The door creaked open behind her. Elias stepped inside, his coat draped over one arm, a folded newspaper in his hand. He looked at her the way he always did now, as if checking, quietly, if she were still here. Still choosing to stay.
“I spoke with Mr. Albridge,” he said, placing the paper on the table. “He agreed to schedule the reading of your father’s will next week. Discreetly. Just a few witnesses.”
Isobel nodded slowly. “Will Norton be there?”
“He wouldn’t dare.” Elias paused. “His solicitor advised him to keep his distance. He’s already being investigated for fraud.”
“Good,” she murmured.
Elias hesitated, then reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a sealed envelope. Cream-colored. Official.
She raised a brow. “What’s that?”
He held it out to her. “Your name. Reinstated.”
Her fingers trembled slightly as she took the envelope and broke the seal. The certificate inside was simple, elegant lettering declaring the annulment of her death record, the restoration of her legal identity, and confirmation that Isobel Fairfax was, in fact, alive.
Isobel Fairfax.
She ran her thumb over the ink as tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. “I didn’t think I’d ever see my name again.”
“You didn’t just reclaim it,” Elias said softly. “Youfoughtfor it. You tore it from the hands of the man who tried to erase you.”
She looked up at him. “I couldn’t have done it alone.”
He crouched beside her chair and took her free hand in both of his, pressing his lips gently to her knuckles. “You didn’t have to.”
Silence passed between them, but it wasn’t empty. It was full of things unsaid, of things they didn’t need to say. Of shared pain, and shared healing.
She set the certificate aside and turned fully toward him, her voice steadier now. “I’ve been thinking, about the cottage.”
