Violet cupped her daughter’s face with both hands.
“Yes, sweetheart,” she whispered. “Very brave.”
Lily smiled—trusting, satisfied—and wriggled off her lap, tightening her hold on Daisy as she gathered the kitten up with her.
“Okay! Then I’ll wait till he’s done.”
She ran toward the garden door, Daisy bouncing against her shoulder in a soft, purring bundle.
When the latch clicked shut, Violet stayed at the table, fingers curled around the blue ribbon Lily had dropped—the one that had never made its way into her daughter’s hair.
The room was warm.
The sun was bright.
And still she felt something inside her quietly break.
The heartbreak William had caused was no longer hers alone. One day—when Lily was old enough to understand—Violet would have to decide which truth to give her daughter—the gentle lie of a father lost to a distant war, or the far crueler truth of a man who had known she existed and turned away.
A man who had rejected them both.
Either way, the pain would belong to them both.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Queen’s reply had come sooner than expected.
An envelope bearing Her Majesty’s seal, delivered that morning by Hensley with a quiet bow. As soon as the steward withdrew, William broke the wax, the paper trembling faintly between his fingers.
Formal leave from his diplomatic post.
Bereavement acknowledged.
Estate duty cited.
Return sanctioned.
Respectful. Regretful. Final.
He stood for a long moment after reading it, the silence of Ashford Manor pressing around him. It felt like the first step toward a life he had once abandoned—and was now desperate to reclaim.
That evening, he wrote to the Hamilton estate.
A polite request, nothing more—
May I call upon you regarding a matter of personal importance?
He addressed it to Lord Hamilton, uncertain whether the title now belonged to Nathaniel or still, by some chance, to his father. William remembered hearing of the elder Baron’s illness years ago—enough to suspect Nathaniel had succeeded him, but not enough to be certain.
Once the letter was sealed, he did not sit idly. He packed quickly—clothes enough for an extended stay, and whatever essentials he might need—placing Violet’s letters safely into his valise before closing it. However long he needed to remain away from Ashford, he meant to be ready.
If Nathaniel remembered him from their school years, all the better. If not, courtesy would bridge the rest.
The reply came swiftly.
You are welcome to call. I shall make myself available.
—N. Hamilton
