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“What happened, Leonora? I was worried out of my mind. What is going on?”

Leonora stared at him, plainly startled, and then plainly confused. “Anthony… what are you talking about?”

“My grandmother said something happened to you this morning. She could not tell me what, only that it frightened her terribly, and I rode here thinking the worst the entire way. What happened?”

She opened her mouth to answer him, and a knock sounded at the door before she could.

He stepped back behind it on instinct, out of sight, as Leonora crossed the room to open it.

“Leonora, the Duke is downstairs asking to see you,” he heard Lady Byron’s voice come from the other side of the door. “Shall I sit him in the drawing room, or would you rather be left alone?”

“I would rather be alone, if you do not mind. Please tell him I am simply tired.”

“I thought as much.” Lady Byron said. She withdrew, and Leonora shut the door behind her, turning to find Anthony already stepping back into view.

“This is improper, Anthony,” she whispered, shutting the door. “You should not be here.”

“Tell me what my grandmother meant. What happened at the shop.”

She did not answer at once. She walked back to the bed and sat, and he remained standing, watching her gather whatever she meant to say.

“We were only shopping for dresses. Which is a ridiculous thing to be doing, if you think about it. None of it is for a real wedding. I do not know why I let Her Grace drag me about half of London for gowns meant for a marriage that will not exist.”

“Do not change the subject, Leonora.”

She looked up at him then, and he saw it immediately, the brightness standing in her eyes that had nothing to do with candlelight. He knew Marian’s worry was never groundless, whatever else it was, and seeing the same thing reflected now in Leonora’s face told him everything he needed to know. But he did not press her. He simply waited, and let her find her own way to it.

“My mother is dead.”

Anthony went to take in a breath, but he found that his throat had closed in that exact moment. A surge coursed his body and found no part of him braced for it, and for a moment he could not make himself speak.

Slowly, he sat down beside her instead, quietly, and took a breath before he trusted his voice.

“How do you know? Did you learn something?”

“Lord Brighton. The man from the Camden ball, who said I reminded him of someone.” Her voice had gone very flat. “He recognised me today, at the shop. He told me he had known my mother, that they were childhood friends, the whole history of it, and then, in the middle of it, as though it were nothing at all, he told me she had passed away. Years ago now. An illness, he said, though he did not know much more than that.” She pressed her palms flat against her knees. “I have spent years chasing every rumor in London, trying to find distant relatives, friends… and it comes to nothing. It was always going to come to nothing. She has been gone the whole time, and I did not know, and now there is nothing left to search for at all.”

Anthony leaned in. “Leonora, please.”

“I am so tired.” Her voice cracked on it, finally, the composure she had been holding together giving way all at once. “I have been so tired, for so long, and I told myself it would be worth it, that finding her would make all of it worth it, and now I have found out only that she is gone, and none of it meant anything. I have been a terrible sister these past two years. A terrible ward. I have barely lived my own life while I was busy chasing hers, and for what? For this?” The tears came freely now, and her next words came out close to a sob. “I cannot do this anymore. I do not want to do this anymore.”

He pulled her against him before he had decided to, one arm coming around her shoulders and the other settling at her back, holding her like he was afraid of breaking her and equally afraid of letting her fall. She cried into his shoulder, loudly, without any of the restraint she usually kept wrapped around herself like armor, and he simply held on, one hand moving slowly through her hair. “It is going to be dreadful for a while. I know that. But you will survive it. I promise you that much.”

There was nothing truer he could offer her and nothing else seemed to matter half as much as simply not letting go.

Her breathing began to even out against him, and her hands, which had been fisted in the front of his coat, loosened. One of them moved, sliding up along his back, no longer quite clutching, something closer to a caress. He felt it everywhere at once, a warmth that had nothing to do with the room and everything to do with her hand moving slowly between his shoulder blades, and he went very still, torn between giving her whatever comfort she needed and wanting, rather more than he was prepared to admit, something else entirely.

He drew back only far enough to see her face, and found her already looking up at him, her eyes still wet, her lips parted on whatever she had meant to say and never finished. He did not think about the distance between them. He simply became aware that it had narrowed, until their foreheads nearly touched and her breath was warm against his mouth, and all he could think of was how soft her mouth looked, how much he wanted to know the exact shape of it against his own.

His hand rose to the curve of her neck, his thumb tracing along her jaw, and for one suspended moment neither of them moved at all. Then his mouth found hers, barely, the faintest brush of contact, and it was enough to break whatever spell had been holding them both so still. She pulled back first. He let her go the instant she moved, stepping back himself, and got to his feet rather too quickly.

“Forgive me. I am sorry, truly, for your loss, and I had no business doing that.”

“It is in the past.” She said it quickly, too quickly, the words tumbling out.

Anthony placed both hands on his hips and cleared his throat, trying desperately to make the air lighter. “Are you all right? Truly.”

Leonora lowered her head and sighed. “I can’t stop thinking about this woman, Anthony. When I took the necklace round to the jewelers, searching for her trail, I saw a woman who looked like my mother. I was certain of it at the time. I have been thinking of it again since we came back from the shop, and I do not know why, except that some part of me wants it to mean something. Maybe I do not want this to be the end of it. I cannot simply be told she is dead and accept it and move on.”