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He looks so unlike the man who stood in the breakfast room a week ago and told me he needed distance. He looks exactly like what he truly is—a man who once sat beside his sister through fevers very much like this one, learning even as a boy that loving someone did not mean you could keep them safe.

She wondered whether he was thinking of Isabella now. Something in the stillness of his face told her that he was.

The notion touched her heart.

Nathaniel sat in the pale gray light, Iris’s small hand still in his, and let himself think. Warmly, without the cold fury that had consumed nearly every waking thought since the incident in the ballroom.

Here in this room, he found he only had the capacity to consider the moments and memories and people that truly mattered.

Isabella.

He thought of her at ten, feverish with the same illness, asking him for the night garden story in a voice not so different from the one Iris had used tonight. They were so similar and yet so uniquely themselves.

He shook his head and thought of sitting beside her bed for hours, a boy of thirteen entirely out of his depth. He had been terrified in a way he didn’t quite remember until he was faced with Iris like this.

He thought of the last time he’d seen her —hollowed and frightened in a bed like this and of the promise he’d made her: that he would look after Iris, that he would see justice done for whatever had been done to her.

What would she think of me if she could look down on me now? What would she think of the wife I pushed away out of some misguided belief that loving her and pursuing Cumberlea were somehow opposed to one another?

I do not think that she would want this.

Isabella had never been a vengeful woman, despite what had been done to her. She had wanted, more than anything, safety for her daughter and peace. A home. A family that spoke its love plainly rather than burying it in silence. The very same thing Laura had told him weeks ago, in words he had somehow managed to forget the moment his grief demanded otherwise.

What am I doing?

He looked at Iris, who was sleeping soundly, her fever finally beginning to ease under his palm, and then at Laura, curled up in her chair with the blanket he’d drawn over her.

He felt something in his chest crack open at last, the cold fury of the past week slowly giving way to something closer to grief properly felt rather than weaponized.

He had spent three years chasing a reckoning for Isabella’s death, and somewhere in the chasing, he had very nearly forgotten to give her daughter the one thing she had actually asked of him.

His place was here, protecting the two people he loved most in the world, not chasing revenge like some pirate.

A home. A family.

He sat very still in the gray dawn light. He almost shook with relief as Iris’s fever finally broke beneath his palm, hard and quick, just as Dr. March had predicted.

Again, he looked at Laura sleeping soundly in her chair and knew, with a clarity that felt like grief and relief all at once, exactly what he needed to do when morning came.

CHAPTER 30

“Dr. March, we are glad to see you,” Laura said when the doctor arrived shortly after eight. She had not left Iris’s room except to splash water on her face.

She stood against the far wall with her hands clasped together while he examined the girl, unable to bring herself to sit.

“Well.” He straightened at last, and the relief in his voice reached them both before the word did. “The fever’s broken overnight, which is good. Her color’s good, her breathing’s easy, and she’s sleeping well. Her body has finished most of the work. I’d keep her abed another day or two, give her plenty of broth and water, and I’d not let her anywhere near a pony until the week’s out.”

“That will be a challenge,” Nathaniel drawled.

“Whatever she tells you about how well she feels, she must take it easy, Your Graces,” Dr. March advised.

Laura let out a breath, relief washing over her like a ray of sunshine. “She’ll be well?”

“She’ll be quite well, Your Grace. Children are remarkably resilient creatures.” Dr. March gathered his bag, glancing between them. “You’ve both done exactly as you ought to. Though if I may offer one further piece of advice, entirely unsolicited and outside my remit.”

“You may,” Nathaniel allowed, crossing his arms.

“The two of you look much worse than Lady Iris does. Whatever comes next, I’d start with sleep. I am sure your staff would be glad to assist with whatever care your niece requires. Good job, Your Graces.”