In Everthorne Manor's hallways hung the aroma of washed earth and the recent fall of rain. There had been a storm cloud presence the evening before, anointed with moonlit water left dripping onto sun-whitened terrain early on Saturday morning. It felt revitalizing and bright once again—as much as it failed to agree Amelia.
On the mahogany office desk stood Uncle Charles's letter, fresh with meaning inside Amelia's memory space.
She knew better than to think this visit was the product of familial concern. Lord Edwin Ashford had never once written to her in her life. Not when her parents passed away. Not when she was wedded off. Not when Claude abandoned her.
So why now?
Amelia breathed and refocused on her morning chores.
Since assuming the affairs of the estate, she had found a rhythm—one that needed no second thoughts, no extraneous emotions. She went over accounts before breakfast, managed the staff's work before noon, and spent her afternoons caring for the land and animals that had, in so many ways, become her comfort.
It was a life she had created for herself. One that did not depend on Claude's approval, his presence, or his consideration.
And yet, as she walked around her study, she sensed his presence before she even caught sight of him.
"I never knew the estate was being run so well in my absence," Claude's voice broke the morning stillness.
Amelia didn't look up from the documents before her. "I never needed your realization, only your absence."
A sharp silence followed. She could feel his gaze on her, heavy, calculating.
"You've grown fond of making jabs at me, haven't you?" he muttered, stepping closer.
Amelia finally looked up. "I've grown fond of speaking the truth."
Claude snorted but did not protest. Instead, his eyes skipped over the documents laid out on the desk—the ledgers, the letters, the reports. He had hoped the estate would be in good order while he was away, but he had not counted on this degree of attention to detail.
"You were always going to be a duchess," he remarked after a pause.
Amelia raised an eyebrow. "How gracious of you to admit so, Your Grace."
His mouth pinched shut at her derision. But before he could construct a reply, a rapid knock on the door cut into them.
Grace entered, her face even more tense than usual. "Your Grace, there is an issue in the east fields."
Amelia's posture straightened. "What happened?"
"The stable hands found an injured foal by the river. It must have wandered off during the storm last night. Mr. Alden is tending to it, but he sent for you."
Amelia didn't hesitate. She gathered her skirts, grabbed her cane, and started toward the door.
Claude frowned. "You're going all the way to the east fields? In this condition?"
Amelia gave him a cold glare. "My condition is not your concern."
Claude gritted his teeth as he watched her disappear. It was not only the words that pierced him—it was the fact that, despite her own injuries, she did not waste any time forcing herself ahead.
---
When Amelia arrived at the fields, her leg was throbbing, but she paid no mind. The shaking foal distracted her from the discomfort.
The little horse was lying in the grass, its tiny body shuddering even though it was bathed in sunlight. Its mother was next to it, stamping the earth nervously.
Amelia crouched beside the foal, running a gentle hand down its side.
"He's cold," she murmured.
Mr. Alden nodded. "Aye. He's weak from the night out. We're not sure if he's hurt or just exhausted."
Amelia turned to Grace. "Bring warm blankets and some milk. Quickly."
Grace hurried off, leaving Amelia alone with Mr. Alden and the stable hands.
"You be careful, Your Grace," Alden cautioned. "Your leg—"
"My leg will not prevent me from assisting," Amelia stated.
Claude had just managed to hear her say this.
She was on her knees in the earth, her hands tracing over the foal's thin body, her face set and unyielding.
"Of course," Claude said to himself under his breath.
She did not care about her own welfare. She would sooner endure than back down from something she felt about.
And for the first time in a long time, he caught himself looking at her not with anger, but with something much more dangerous.
Admiration.
---
Once the foal had been moved to the stable, Amelia finally allowed herself to breathe. The ache in her leg had worsened, but she refused to acknowledge it.
Claude, however, was no fool.
"You're in pain," he observed as he walked beside her back toward the manor.
She kept her eyes ahead. "I'm fine."
He exhaled sharply. "You were never a good liar."
Amelia came to a halt and turned to him. "And you were never a good husband. But here we are."
Claude froze.
For the first time, she saw something flicker in his eyes—something raw, something bordering on regret.
But she didn't stay to unravel it.
She turned and walked on, leaving Claude standing there, once again watching her move further away from him.
And for the first time in his life, he knew he may never be able to catch up.