They sat in silence for a moment.
The fine china clinked faintly as Blanche set her cup down.
Her gaze lingered for a long moment on her younger sister’s face. Fanny was an innocent, sweet girl. Above all, Blanche wanted to spare her from suffering the same predicaments, the same worries that she had endured.
“I’ll always look after you,” she said, her voice thick. “No matter what. You know that, right? Whether I’m in Woodrey, or Scotland, or the moon.”
Fanny rolled her eyes, smiling. “I know.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I do. You’ve been doing it all along.” At that, Blanche laughed. A little tear slid down her cheek and disappeared into the fold of her robe before either of them acknowledged it.
“Oh, what fresh sentimentality is this?” Her mother swept into the room with the self-importance of a court herald flanked by two pugs and the scent of rosewater.
One of the pugs immediately leaped onto the sofa, flattening herself across Fanny’s lap. The other one barked once, then sneezed indignantly into Blanche’s tea tray.
Her mother sniffed. “You’d think someone had died from the looks of you. Or worse, written verse.”
Blanche tilted her head, smiling faintly. “We were merely being honest.”
“Well, stop it. It’ll make the curtains wilt.” But her tone had softened, and when she glanced between her daughters, something unspoken passed beneath her lashes. “I heard what you said,” she added. “About caring for your sister. About… everything.”
The pugs yipped, but her mother ignored them.
“That’s precisely what I’ve been instilling in you and your sister, since you were young.”
Blanche’s throat bobbed. “Mother…”
“While it was all due tomyparenting…” Her mother looked down, nudging the pug with her toe. “Let me just express gratitude to you for remembering the foundation I built for you and being smart enough, for once, to say it out loud.”
Blanche blinked at her, at the quiet way her mother had bowed her head—not in submission, but in respect.
“I don’t deserve the credit,” she said softly. “Not all of it, at least.”
Her mother’s brow lifted. “Oh, yes. The Duke has certainly helped make this all possible. We’re forever indebted to him. As is right, he should help, since he had the means, but still—we are grateful.”
Blanche rolled her eyes and smiled, gaze distant now, half-turned toward the window where light began to pour through the glass like hope rediscovered.
Her fingers curled softly around her cup.And he never once asked for anything in return.
Blanche looked down into her tea, something inside her shifted—leaned, as if listening for a heartbeat across a distance too vast to measure.
And then—the knock came softly—twice, then silence.
Blanche stiffened, her teacup hovering midair.
She and Fanny had moved to the front parlor with the dim intention of watching the sunrise, but the sky remained stubbornly gray, as though reluctant to offer them any kind of closure.
That knock… it wasn’t the kind one used for business or deliveries. It was careful. Measured.
Heath.
Her heart vaulted with foolish hope before her mind could quash it. She set her tea down with care and stood, smoothing her robe instinctively.
Fanny looked up. “Do you think?—?”
“I don’t know,” she said. But her steps were already moving toward the foyer.
