“I find,” he said, “that one must meet a crisis with efficiency. Which brings us to this morning’s business.”
Lady Rose’s grip on Lizzie tightened, and he ignored her. “I have secured a special license. The marriage may take place in the next couple of days.”
Lord Whiteridge dropped his fork. “Efficient indeed,” he managed, face coloring with relief and residual irritation. “I cannot say we expected such haste, but, well, given the situation…”
“We wish only to put the best face on things,” said Lady Whiteridge, her own face already halfway to a congratulatory smile. “And, of course, to spare our Rose any lingering distress.”
Felix watched Lady Rose, not bothering to hide his scrutiny now. Her jaw worked, but she kept her eyes on the baby. He wondered whether she would speak at all.
She did, at last. “You did not consult me, Your Grace.”
The title hit Felix in the chest, but he brushed it aside. “Consultation is a luxury best left for smaller matters,” he replied. “The wedding and the wardship are not minor things.”
Lady Whiteridge interjected; voice sweet as arsenic. “Of course, a manmustmake decisions. That is why we marry them.”
Lady Rose made a sound at the back of her throat that could have been a laugh but was more likely a curse. “You will have your wedding, then. And you already have your ward. What more do you want?”
He leaned closer, so only she could hear. “A ceasefire.”
She did not respond, but something in her posture told him that, for the moment, she’d agreed. Lizzie drew her eyes away from his, beginning to fuss in earnest, chirping out a thin wail that rose and fell in time with the ticking clock.
Felix stood and reached toward Lizzie instead, brushing a hand lightly over the child’s curls before signaling to the waiting nursemaid near the door.
The woman stepped forward at once, gathering the little girl from Rose’s arms before she could protest.
The baby gave a soft, protesting sound as the maid carefully gathered her from Rose’s arms, tiny fingers clutching briefly at Rose’s sleeve before releasing it. Felix stepped back to allow the nurse room to pass, his expression unreadable, his hands remaining firmly at his sides.
“Take her to the nursery,” he said. “And keep her warm.”
The nurse curtsied and vanished, Lizzie’s cries muffled behind the heavy door. Lady Rose watched them go with an expression that cut him in two.
“You are quite efficient,” she said.
“I find it preferable to chaos,” Felix said, matching her whisper. “And now that breakfast is done, I suggest we speak in private.”
Lady Whiteridge brightened. “Of course! I’m sure Rose has much to discuss regarding her new circumstances.” She motioned to Lord Whiteridge. “Come, dear. Let us allow the young couple a moment’s peace.” She rose and swept from the room with her husband, her exit a particular masterwork in false affection.
Felix waited until the footsteps faded, then stood and offered Rose his arm. “Shall we?”
She did not take it, but followed him out, skirts whispering over the parquet as they left the breakfast parlor behind.
The morning had brought Carden Hall a stark frost. The windows were laced with white, every pane a spider’s web traced by invisible hand through the empty hallways, the sun pouring through the glass, seeming to melt it in horizontal lines.
Felix led her through a side door and into the garden, the one he remembered best from his own boyhood, though memory had gilded it more than the seasons ever could.
The air outside was brisk, sharp enough to make him draw his coat tighter. Lady Rose, for her part, seemed impervious to small discomforts. She walked beside him, her hands folded in front of her, and her eyes fixed on the gravel path. Felix let the silence hold as long as it could.
“You wanted to speak with me,” she prompted.
“Yes,” he started, but for once, he seemed to be without words.
Lady Rose drifted to the row of potted camellias, trailing her fingers over the glossy leaves. “If you wish to chastise me, Your Grace, you might as well get on with it.”
“I have no wish to chastise you,” he said, closing the distance. “I wished for you to be heard, and not in front of your parents.”
She turned; face composed but hands shaking just a little. “Then I’ll say it plainly. I never wanted to be here. I never wanted—” Her mouth twisted. “You forced me.”
Felix regarded her for a long moment. “Perhaps. But you are not without recourse. If you wish to call off the wedding, you need only say so. You would be free to go. Lizzie would remain as my ward, safe and provided for here…at Carden Hall.”
