“You are trying to convince yourself this charade is a necessary deception,” she said. “You believe that if you keep her at a distance, you will sway calculating men that she means nothing to you. But tell me, Gabriel. Do you honestly believe they are fools?”
Her words struck precisely where she intended them to. He did not react, though the muscles along his jaw tightened.
“You are not protecting her,” she said. “You are shielding yourself. This has never been about her safety. It is about your fear.”
Gabriel inhaled slowly, willing himself to remain composed despite the sharp truth threading through her accusation.
“Sophia, it is not that simple,” he said, uncertain of what he meant to say next. But his sister did not give him the chance.
“You fear being hurt again,” she said. “You fear failing someone you love. You believe it is not so simple to understand, but it is, Gabriel.”
A heavy silence fell between them, thick with tension.
Gabriel shook his head, taking a deep breath.
“It is by no means so simple a matter,” he repeated, even as a whisper of doubt sat at the back of his mind.
“You simply do not understand.”
Sophia shook her own head with a serious expression.
“You have stood in battlefields,” she said. “You have faced enemy cannons without flinching. And yet you run from the risk of an open heart.”
Gabriel felt the words settle deep, forcing a self-examination he had been avoiding for too long. He had crafted his reasons carefully, built his walls with precision, and convinced himself that his retreat was a strategic necessity rather than a personal failure. However, his sister saw through his façade. She showed more courage facing emotional battlefields than he, and the realization left him shaken.
Sophia held his gaze a moment longer, her fierce loyalty unmistakable. Then, sensing the shift, she exhaled and stepped back.
“You may think this is strength,” she said. “But true strength lies in connection.”
Her parting words lingered, pressing against the carefully erected walls of his mind. He remained still long after she departed, staring at the ledgers before him without truly seeing them. He was unsettled, and for the first time, doubt crept into his logic and ideology. Was he leaving his wife at greater risk by pushing her away?
Chapter Twenty-two
Genevieve sipped her tea absently, the warmth failing to chase away the unease lingering in her chest. The morning was unusually hushed, heightened by the notable absence of both Gabriel and James from the household. They had ridden out at dawn to inspect the northern farms after receiving news of unrest, leaving only her and Sophia to share a subdued breakfast. Sophia sorted through the morning post, her fingers deft as she separated correspondence meant for various members of the household. Genevieve attempted to focus on the meal before her, but her appetite was lacking. The events of the past days had carved a hollow space within her and filled more with questions than certainty. The soft rustle of paper drew her attention just as Sophia’s brow furrowed over one particular letter.
“This bears Richard Harrington’s seal,” she said.
Genevieve stiffened at the name, as an uneasiness started gripping her chest. She set down her cup, reaching carefully for the letter as Sophia passed it to her. The weight of the folded paper felt heavier than it should have, the red wax seal standing stark against the fine parchment. Her fingers trembled slightly as she broke it.
The words blurred at first, her mind skimming the formal greeting, but then the meaning sharpened. The shift was immediate as curiosity vanished, giving way to shock, then to something far worse. The color drained from her face. Her pulse quickened, her breath catching in her throat as she read the message again, willing herself to find some mistake, some misinterpretation. But the words remained stark upon the page.
Aunt Victoria’s health had taken a sudden decline. Whereas before, she had only had a cough and fatigue, she now had a high fever and suffered from confusion. Her pulse was weak, and she was barely conscious. Richard claimed that the physicians feared for her recovery and that, despite their efforts, her strength continued to wane. And most distressingly of all, he wrote that their fading aunt had asked for Genevieve.
Sophia’s voice cut gently through the silence.
“Is something the matter?” she asked.
Genevieve looked up, her eyes wide, the shock raw in her expression.
“Aunt Victoria is ill,” she said. “Richard writes that she may not recover, and that she is asking for me.”
Sophia’s face softened with concern, her hands folding together upon the table. Genevieve barely heard her. A dozen thoughts crashed through her mind at once.
Aunt Victoria is gravely ill? She thought frantically. And she is asking for me?
The news, coming from Richard, felt suspect. He was not a man she trusted easily, especially now, after learning of his connection to Charles. And it was unlike Victoria to ask for help from anyone. Yet the symptoms he described and the terrifying possibility that her aunt truly was dying overshadowed every other doubt.
Guilt clenched tight within her chest. She had been so caught in her own concerns and so consumed by Gabriel’s distance and the tension surrounding Mountwood that she had not considered the possibility of trouble elsewhere. She pressed a hand against the letter, as if by holding it closer she could somehow change the words upon it.
