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He really didn’t want to see more of the Roses than he needed to. Pryde had been right. Now he must deal with not only the sister of his murder victim, but also his whole family. He hadn’t considered families existed that loved each other and wanted to be a part of each other’s lives.

But his trepidation and regret disappeared the moment he glanced at Patience. Her whole face transformed so fully that something sweet burst in his heart like a little firework.

An odd thought occurred… Was this happiness?

She ran into the arms of her parents and then hugged each of her sisters. The longest hug was with a young woman a little taller than she, and thinner—Anne, her favorite sister, about whom she had told him.

Watching Patience glow, blossom daily from good sleep and from her time in the garden gave him an interesting, warm feeling as though small wings fluttered in the middle of his chest…

Was it happiness?

It must be. To be happy, all he had to do was make her happy.

What a strange notion. He was thirty-two years old, and he had only just come to this realization. Had he made so few people happy in his life that he’d never noticed the connection until now?

During the past seven nights, Patience had continued to come into his bed. Happily, he obliged, spreading his arms wide, and having her put her head on his chest. It was some kind of pleasure of its own, to feel her sigh and melt into him, trusting and contented and finally about to find peace and let go in his arms.

Only, he’d never be able to make her truly happy. Because of the secret he held.

If she knew what he’d done, she’d never be able to forgive him.

The first day with her family passed in walking and, to his trepidation, talking. They walked through the garden, and Dorian noted the swelling buds of Patience’s roses. He took her papa on a horse ride, and Mr. Rose floundered like a sack of potatoes, pleading for a halt just minutes into the ride.

The whole day, the family behaved like he was their savior. Telling him how they now could finally sleep better at night, and how Mr. Rose even had some ideas to improve the estate so that next year they could finally hire some servants.

Mrs. Rose and the sisters kept blushing tremendously every time a footman offered them a cup of tea or opened a door before them. They kept chirping about how beautiful Rath Hall was, how lucky Patience was, and how grateful they all were to have Dorian in their family.

Dorian simply clenched his teeth. This was torture. He should not have invited them. He didn’t deserve their love, their gratitude, and their admiration.

Had they known what he’d done to their beloved son, they’d never have wanted anything to do with him.

Eventually, dinner arrived, and he was forced to share a meal with them.

The grand dining room was set to receive the guests of honor. A grand crystal chandelier hung from the ornate ceilings over the long, carved dining table, gilded mirrors reflecting the flickering light of many candles. The air was filled with the mouthwatering aroma of roasted meats, vegetables, and creamy sauces, mingling with the delicate scent of the floral centerpieces.

Footmen in crimson livery moved silently about the room, pouring wine and presenting each course with practiced precision while Popwell oversaw them.

Dorian glanced at the opposite end of the table where Patience sat, beautiful in her glittering pale pink dinner gown, her smile so bright it illuminated the room. It was the first time he had shared a dinner with his wife, and he was surprised by how much he liked it.

Normally so quiet and lonely, his dinner hour was now full of clanking forks and spoons, and inappropriately orchestrated conversation—too-loud bursts of laughter, interruptions, arguments—and it all felt like being a part of a family.

He wondered how it had been for Patience to grow up with Mr. Rose as her papa.

Had Dorian been born to the Rose family, would he have become spoiled and entitled like John, or would he be himself, except happier? Mr. Rose wouldn’t have killed his son’s pet, wouldn’t have sent away Mrs. Rose so that he would raise a worthy heir. Mr. Rose wouldn’t have made him duel every day and shamed his daughters for pursuing science. He wouldn’t have locked Dorian in the glasshouse to starve and thirst, and finally break his way out and cut his arms so deeply that he almost died of blood loss.

But no matter now. All that was done.

It was strange, however, to imagine having a close-knit family who knew each other and who loved each other so much.

After dinner, they sat in the grand sitting room, drinking port.

“One thing I wish,” said Mrs. Rose as she patted Patience’s hand, “is that your brother was here to see you this happy. He would have been so proud of you.”

Patience smiled warmly. “I’m certain he would be. I wish John was alive, too, Mama.”

“He would be married now, too,” said Mr. Rose. “I’m sure of it. Such a handsome boy. Was he not, Your Grace?”

All eyes fell on Dorian, and he froze, with his glass half raised to his mouth. The only sound was the crackling of coal in the grate standing in the fireplace.