Clara’s expression softened in immediate understanding. “This is not something decided in haste,” she said gently. “You should think on it first.”
“I cannot think on it,” Anne replied. “It has been decided for me.”
Clara stepped closer, carefully, as though approaching something fragile. “May I ask what happened?” she ventured.
Anne shook her head slightly, not in refusal so much as inability.
Clara accepted that without argument, moving instead to the wardrobe and beginning to gather garments as she had been instructed, though her movements were slower than usual, almost reluctant.
After a while, Anne spoke again without looking up.
“I trusted him,” she said quietly. “And I do not think I can trust him anymore. I do not want to leave, but I know what inevitably happens after trust is broken once. It happens again, and if I allow it, then I am just as much to blame.”
Clara did not respond immediately, allowing the silence to settle without interruption. When she finally spoke, her words were carefully chosen.
“Sometimes people make mistakes, or they do things that are not as they might seem at first glance.”
Anne closed her eyes briefly, though she did not move. “I know. But it is not only what I saw. It is what he believes about himself.”
Clara continued packing in silence for a few moments before speaking more softly. “Where will you go?”
“Home,” Anne replied, though even that word felt uncertain now.
It was no longer her home but her mother’s house. Rosemere had not been her home for some time, and she did not feel particularly welcome, but it was all she had left. She did not have a real home, and she wondered if she ever would.
Clara folded another dress carefully before looking back at her. “And His Grace?” she asked quietly.
“I do not know,” Anne said, and the honesty of it left her feeling emptier than anything else had so far. “He will… he will stay here, I suppose, and find someone who will truly make him happy in a way that I never could.”
Clara lowered her gaze, understanding without needing more explanation, and continued packing as the night deepened around them.
“May I suggest something?” she murmured.
“You may.”
“Will you at least wait until the morning? I do not think rest would do you harm. At least in the morning, you will have aclearer head. I would hate for you to do something irreversible and then regret it.”
“I will not regret it,” Anne insisted, but she had to admit that it was the best thing to do.
The following morning, she did wake believing that she had made the right decision. She moved through her chamber while her lady’s maid continued packing, folding dresses and ribbons.
A knock sounded at the door, and she did not need to guess who it was. Clara hesitated briefly before opening the door.
Dorian stepped inside immediately. He looked exhausted, his hair slightly disheveled, his face tight in a way that suggested he had stayed close to her room for far longer than she had realized. His eyes found hers immediately.
“Do not do this,” he said.
Anne kept her hands on the fabric she had been folding, forcing them to stay steady. “I am already doing it.”
His eyes narrowed, and he stepped further into the room before stopping again, as if unsure how much space she would allow him. She did not know that, either.
“Is this because of last night?”
Anne finally looked at him, holding his gaze even as something inside her tightened. “It is because of everything,” she replied. “Last night only made it impossible to ignore the inevitable.”
She saw the effort it took him to remain composed.
“I have explained what happened,” he reminded her. “Lady Vivian kissed me. I stopped it.”
