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While he waited for the maid to bring the vase, he stood outside his study. The thought of looking at ledgers again was not one he wanted to face, but when he glanced over at the desk, he saw the bulb Charlotte had once placed on his desk.

He walked closer and saw that the water beneath it had gone dry. The thick stem that had emerged from the bulb had turned brown, withered, and died.

Beside the dead bulb was the note from Lenora, the one he’d crumpled and placed inside his desk.

Charlotte had found it after all.

He closed his eyes, cursing himself. He should have burned it the day he’d received it. He didn’t even know why he’d kept it. But clearly, his wife had discovered and read it.

Alaric picked up the crumpled note and tossed it in the cold hearth, using a fireplace poker to bury it in the ashes. His wife’s opinion of Lenora’s message was clear enough.

The dead bulb reminded him of the thorny branches Charlotte had placed around the house when she’d been angry with him last time.

But he couldn’t deny he deserved this. His wife had strong reasons to believe he hadn’t been faithful to her, even though he had. And since he’d been gone for so long, it had likely only fuelled that distrust.

He didn’t know what kind of marriage he wanted any more. But being friends sounded far better than leading parallel lives. Somehow, during the past few months, he’d realised that he wanted to be married to Charlotte. At the very least, he wanted to bring back her smile. He wanted to share her bed at night and touch her in a way that brought her pleasure. Surely that was reasonable.

What would she do if he began adding flowers to the house? Would it bring back her good spirits?

A knock sounded at the door, and the maid asked, ‘Your Grace, you asked for a small vase with water?’

‘I did, yes.’ He walked back to the hallway and took the vase, placing the crocus inside it. The flower was still too tiny for the vase, but at least it was something.

Alaric walked up the stairs, carrying the vase with the delicate crocus. He found a spot near the window in Charlotte’s room. The flower didn’t look very healthy, but it might perk up with the sunlight and water.

He wondered what she would think when she saw it. When he glanced outside, he saw that she had already left the gardens. A few moments later, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. A footman brought him his luncheon, and he sat at his wife’s desk, eating in silence. The cook had also sent up a large slice of vanilla cake covered in a sauce that smelled faintly of lemons.

It wasn’t until he’d finished his meal that Charlotte finally entered her bedchamber. She stiffened at the sight of him.

‘Your Grace, I didn’t expect to see you here.’

That much was evident. ‘I thought we should talk.’

‘I don’t really have anything to say to you.’

Oh, she was indeed still furious with him. He stood from his chair and crossed the room, closing the door behind her. ‘But I have a great deal to say to you.’

‘Alaric, I’m very tired.’ She clasped her reddened hands together, and he realised she wasn’t wearing gloves. She must not have worn any when she’d been working in the gardens.

‘I brought you a slice of cake,’ he said. ‘And there’s tea if you want it.’

‘I need to wash first.’ She walked over to the basin and poured water into it before she washed her hands. Her expression grew pained. ‘The water is colder than I’d thought.’

He held out a linen towel. ‘If you’re cold, I could order a bath for you.’

She shook her head. ‘No, that’s not necessary.’ After she dried her hands on the towel, he stepped in front of her.

‘You’re angry.’ Time had clearly done nothing to diminish her frustration. And he doubted if any words he said would change it.

‘There’s no reason for me to be angry,’ she said quietly. ‘Not any more.’

Those words were so heavy, so final, it made his gift feel utterly insignificant.

During the past few weeks, he’d been trying to prove to himself that he wasn’t obsessed with wanting her. That he wasn’t constantly thinking about the empty pillow beside him or how it had felt when he’d fallen asleep with her in his arms.

God above, how had Charlotte slipped past his defences so easily? It had been a vicious torment to be apart from her. He’d forced himself to stay away, trying to prove that he could.

And now that he was here, he didn’t know how to begin mending their broken marriage.