No,Adrian wanted to say.I thought of nothing but her safety, her comfort. I was caught up in the taste of her lips and the way she said my name. I forgot the world existed beyond the circle of her arms.
But such truths would serve no purpose here. Miss Fairweather was not interested in his desires or his regrets. She was a friend protecting a friend, and Adrian could only respect her for it.
"You're right," he said simply. "I was careless. But I am here now to make it right."
"Make it right?" Miss Fairweather's eyebrows rose behind her spectacles. "And how exactly do you propose to do that? Can you turn back time? Can you prevent Lord Hatherleigh from sharing what he saw with his gossiping wife? Can you restore her reputation without destroying her spirit in the process?"
"I can marry her."
The words fell between them like stones into still water. Miss Fairweather blinked, her mouth opening slightly before snapping shut again. For the first time since answering the door, she seemed at a loss for words.
Then, unexpectedly, she laughed—not the bitter sound of before but something almost wondering. "Oh," she said softly. "Oh, Your Grace. You really don't understand her at all, do you?"
Adrian stiffened. "I beg your pardon?"
"You stand there in your perfectly tailored coat with your impeccable manner and your noble intentions, thinking you can fix this with an offer of marriage. As if Eveline were the sort of woman who would accept such a thing. As if she hadn't spent years rejecting suitors who offered her far less insulting proposals than one born of scandal and duty."
"It's not..." Adrian began, then stopped. What could he say? That it wasn't merely duty that drove him here? That the thought of her facing society's censure alone made him want to burn down every ballroom in London? That he had discovered, too late, that protecting her had become more important than protecting himself?
Miss Fairweather studied him for a long moment, and Adrian had the uncomfortable sensation of being catalogued and categorised like one of the rare texts in his library. Whatever she saw seemed to soften her stance slightly, though her expression remained guarded.
"You're handsome," she said abruptly. "I can see why she... that is, you're very handsome and very polite and you have excellent taste in books. Under different circumstances, I might even like you. But these are not different circumstances, and you have hurt my dearest friend in ways I'm not certain you comprehend."
"Then help me comprehend," Adrian said, surprising himself with the raw honesty in his voice. "Tell me how to fix this without hurting her further."
Miss Fairweather was quiet for so long that Adrian began to wonder if she would answer at all. When she finally spoke, her voice had lost its sharp edge.
"You can't," she said simply. "Oh, Your Grace, don't you see? The very act of trying to fix her, to save her, to restore her...that's what hurts her most of all. She is not broken. She does not need saving. What she needs is to be seen as herself, not as a problem to be solved or a reputation to be salvaged."
Adrian felt something twist in his chest. "I do see her," he said quietly. "I see a woman who quotes Ovid in Latin and loses herself in ancient texts. I see someone who brings order to chaos and finds beauty in forgotten stories. I see..."
"You see what you want to see," Miss Fairweather interrupted, though not unkindly. "You see the parts of her that fit into your world, that make sense within your understanding. But do you see the woman who would rather live in genteel poverty than accept a comfortable marriage? Do you see the person who values her independence more than social approval? Do you see someone who has built an entire life around the principle of not needing anyone, least of all a duke who offers marriage as a matter of honour?"
Each question was a small revelation, forcing Adrian to confront the assumptions he hadn't even known he was making. He had thought he understood Eveline, had prided himself on seeing past the surface to the remarkable womanbeneath. But perhaps he had only seen what he wanted to see. A kindred spirit who might understand his own carefully guarded heart, someone who could exist within his world without demanding he change it.
"You're right," he admitted, the words tasting of ash. "I don't understand her. Not fully. But I want to. And I cannot—I will not—allow her to face society's condemnation alone. Not when I am the cause of it."
Miss Fairweather sighed, suddenly looking very young and very tired. "You truly don't see it, do you? Every word you speak confirms it. 'Allow her.' As if you have that power. As if she needs your permission to face the consequences of her choices. This is exactly why she will refuse you, Your Grace. Because you see her agency as something you can grant or withhold, rather than something that simply is."
The truth of it shocked Adrian. He thought of all the times he had tried to protect Eveline from society's judgment, from the consequences of their growing attraction. Each act of protection had been, in its way, a denial of her right to choose her own path.
"Then what would you have me do?" he asked, and he could hear the desperation creeping into his voice. "Stand by and watch her suffer for our mutual indiscretion? Abandon her to the wolves while I retreat to my privileged position?"
"I would have you ask her what she wants," Miss Fairweather said simply. "Not tell her what you think is best, not decide for her what must be done, but actually ask her. And then, and this is the crucial part, Your Grace, I would have you listen to her answer."
She stepped aside then, gesturing toward the narrow staircase visible beyond the entrance hall. "Third floor, first door on the right. She's taken to her bed with what she calls distress but what looks very much like fever to me. Try not to upset her further because she's fragile enough as it is."
Adrian hesitated. "You're letting me see her?"
"I'm letting you try," Miss Fairweather corrected. "Whether she'll see you is another matter entirely. But I think... I think you need to hear what she has to say. And perhaps she needs to say it."
As Adrian moved toward the stairs, she called after him softly. "Your Grace? A word of advice, if I may be so bold?"
He turned back, waiting.
"Do not offer her your protection," she said. "Do not offer her your name or your honour or your duty. If you must offer her something, offer her the truth. It's the only currency she values."
Adrian nodded slowly, though he wasn't certain he understood what truth he had to offer. That he had compromised her through his own weakness? That he felt responsible for her predicament? That the thought of her suffering made something in his chest constrict painfully?
