Chapter 3

Edward had been punishing himself for days, and the wounds that had nearly healed were now worse than before.

I helped him sit on the edge of the bed and sent a servant to bring in a basin of warm water.

I cut away the old bandages with a pair of scissors, dabbed at the dried blood with the warm cloth, and carefully applied the salve.

The river current had been fierce that day, and the rocks and thorns along the bank had left him covered in cuts and scrapes of every size.

I must have pressed too hard at one point, because Edward winced and let out a low grunt.

His gaze dropped to my shoulder, but he did not stop me.

After a moment, he turned his head away and muttered, "Let the servants handle this. There is no reason for you to trouble yourself."

I kept my eyes lowered and replied softly, "You were hurt because you saved me. It is only right that I tend to you myself."

He scoffed and called me a hypocrite.

I did not take offense. When it came to Edward, I had always carried a quiet weight of guilt.

He was one of the finest men in the capital, yet his own act of kindness had cost him his betrothal.

From then on, I came to change Edward's bandages every morning and evening without fail.

Each time, I brought along a basket of fresh food and pastries for him to try.

Edward lifted the lid with a look of contempt and scoffed, "You don't actually think a few pastries will earn you my forgiveness, do you? How absurd."

But before the words had even settled, his eyes fell on the steam still rising from the food, and his throat bobbed.

He picked up his fork, speared a piece of roast meat, and muttered with a reluctant nod, "Passable, I suppose."

I took a bite myself and agreed, "It seems my cooking could still use some work."

I smiled faintly and added, "Then I'm afraid you'll have to keep suffering through my dreadful cooking, Lord Shaw."

Edward turned his face toward the window with a look of disdain, but the faintest trace of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

*****

No matter how coldly Edward spoke to me, I refused to waver, and as the days wore on, my quiet persistence seemed to soften him.

When I struggled with the household accounts, he would grumble about my incompetence but still guide me through them.

Under his direction, I brought the estate's affairs into proper order.

Those days were the closest thing to peace I had known since marrying Edward.

Sometimes, after I finished changing his bandages, we would sit together and talk about nothing in particular.

He rarely smiled, but the wall he had built around himself seemed to be quietly crumbling.

I thought things would stay that way.

But the peace did not last. A royal decree arrived, announcing Edward's betrothal to Charlotte.

*****

The decree came shortly after my grandfather's death. When I heard the news, my legs nearly gave out beneath me.

I had always known he would bring the woman he truly loved into our home, but why did it have to be now, of all times?

Was he so eager that he could not wait?

But no matter how unwilling I was, Edward offered no explanation, and I had no right to demand one.

After Charlotte moved into the estate, whatever fragile bond Edward and I had built shattered overnight.

He had never concerned himself with household matters before, but now he humiliated me in front of the servants again and again, all to protect her.

This went on until I surrendered control of the household entirely.

My heart sank. Everything I had poured into this marriage felt as though it had been for nothing.

I did not want to dwell on those bitter memories. I frowned and unfolded the writ of annulment, reading through it one more time.

It was only then, in a moment of distraction, that I realized I had written the wrong year.

Moonlight spilled across the ground, and the dense trees swayed gently in the wind.

Five years had passed in the blink of an eye.

Edward kept quill and ink readily available in his study, so I made my way toward the desk to take a fresh sheet of parchment and draft a new deed of separation.

But my legs felt weightless beneath me, and my mind went blank. I pitched forward before I could catch myself.

A loud crack echoed through the room as my forehead struck the edge of the desk. Warm blood seeped through my fingers when I pressed them to the wound, and the world went dark.

When I opened my eyes again, the healer Jane Cooper was bent over her leather satchel, tucking away her instruments.

She noticed I was awake and let out a heavy sigh. Jane said, "My lady, I have warned you before. Years of worry and grief have ravaged your body. If you carry on like this, it will kill you."

She clasped the satchel shut and added, "Even the finest physician in all the realm could not save you if you refuse to heed my counsel."

Her frustration was plain on her face, the kind that came from caring too much.

I pressed a handkerchief to my lips as a fit of coughing seized me, then forced a thin smile. I murmured, "No one sets out to die on purpose."

I continued, "I have spent years in this household, treading carefully and fulfilling every duty expected of a wife. And all it cost me was my health and the best years of my life."

I paused and drew a slow breath. "But if we are keeping accounts, then I suppose the debt I owed Edward for saving my life has been repaid in full."

The truth was, I had already written to my cousins in Greendale some weeks ago.

All that remained was to hand Edward the deed of separation and leave for their estate.

And now, the time had finally come.