Mel stood on the front steps of Hartfell, watching until the carriage disappeared from view. Behind her, she could hear thesounds of the household: children laughing, servants moving, the particular rhythm of a home that had become her own.
She was ready. Not because she had mastered every rule, but because she had finally understood what Serena had been trying to teach her all along.
She didn’t need to be perfect. She didn’t need to be acceptable. She just needed to be herself, completely and unapologetically, and trust that the people who mattered would cherish her for exactly who she was.
The rest was just strategy.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“I’ve made a decision.”
Rhys stood in the doorway of the schoolroom, watching his daughters look up from their morning lessons with expressions ranging from curious to calculating. Mel sat at her desk, a Latin primer open before her, her posture carrying the particular alertness she displayed when she sensed something significant was about to happen.
He had been thinking about this moment for weeks. Throughout Serena’s visit, through the endless correspondence with London solicitors and estate managers, through the quiet evenings in the study when he and Mel discussed the future they were building together. The decision had been forming slowly, taking shape in the spaces between conversations, solidifying into something that felt less like a choice and more like an inevitability.
“What kind of decision?” Anna asked, her tone carrying the careful neutrality of someone who had learned not to let her expectations show.
“The kind that affects all of us.” Rhys moved into the room, taking the chair that had become his unofficial seat during the lessons he increasingly attended.
“I’ve been spending too much time travelling between London and Cornwall. It’s inefficient, and it means I’m never fully present in either place.”
“You’ve been present here,” Viola said softly.
“More than before.”
“I have, but not as present as I want to be.” He looked at each of his daughters in turn, then at Mel, whose expression remained carefully composed.
“I’ve decided to move to Cornwall permanently. Hartfell will be my primary residence. London will be for occasional visits when parliamentary business requires my attendance, nothing more.”
The silence that followed was brief but absolute.
Then Thistle screamed.
It was not a scream of distress or alarm but a scream of pure, uncontained joy, the kind of sound that emerged when a child’s excitement exceeded her capacity for more restrained expression. She launched herself from her chair, crossed the room in three bounds, and threw herself at Rhys with enough force to nearly knock him from his seat.
“You’re staying! You’re really staying! Forever and ever and you won’t go away again!”
“Forever and ever is a very long time,” Rhys managed, his arms wrapping around his youngest daughter with the automatic protectiveness that had become second nature.
“But yes. I’m staying.”
Thistle clung to him with a ferocity that suggested she had no intention of letting go anytime soon. Her face was pressed against his chest, her words emerging muffled but fervent.
“You can help me with my specimens and you can read us stories every night and you can be here for breakfast and dinner and everything in between and Brutus will be so happy because he’s been wondering why you keep leaving and I told him it wasn’t because you didn’t cherish us but he doesn’t always believe me…”
“Thistle.” Anna’s voice cut through her sister’s flood of words with characteristic precision. “Perhaps we should allow Papa to breathe.”
“He’s breathing fine. I can feel it.”
“Nevertheless.”
Thistle reluctantly loosened her grip, though she did not fully release him. She settled into his lap instead, her small body arranging itself as though this was the only place she belonged.
Anna remained in her chair, her posture studiedly casual, her expression arranged into something approaching indifference. But Rhys had learned to read his eldest daughter, to see past the careful composure she maintained to protect herself from disappointment. He could see the tension in her shoulders, the slight tremor in her hands and the brightness in her eyes that she was desperately trying to contain.
“This seems like a reasonable arrangement,” Anna said, her voice impressively level.
“The estate requires regular attention, and your parliamentary duties can be managed through correspondence for most matters. It’s a logical decision.”
