Page 104 of The Duke's Jilted Bride

“When I find the person responsible for what happened, I’ll go back to Aldermere,” he said, his voice calm again. “I’ll come to London only when necessary. You’ll have everything you need, but… it’s best if we keep our distance.”

The words didn’t leave room for argument. He’d already made up his mind.

Something inside Selina cracked, so small and sharp she barely felt it at first. “You’re a coward, Rowan Blackmore.”

He flinched, but said nothing.

“You’re not protecting me. You’re just scared. Scared to love someone. Scared to let yourself be known.” She turned away. “Fine. If that’s what you want, go.”

“It’s what has to happen.”

Her voice dropped. “Then leave. Please.”

She didn’t watch him go, but the quiet click of the door closing echoed through the room. Only when she knew he was gone did her legs finally give out. She sank into the chair and let the tears come.

She sat there for hours, watching sunlight stretch and fade across the carpet. No one disturbed her—not even Agnes. Maybe they knew she needed the silence, needed to sit with the ache until it settled into something she could carry.

By the time night came, the tears had dried. She felt hollow, but steady. Not whole, but standing. Something colder, firmer had taken the place of what had been soft and warm.

Rowan had made his choice. She wouldn’t chase after him.

When Agnes came in to help her prepare for bed, Selina’s voice was calm.

“I’ll need my case packed in the morning. Just a few things. I’m only going for a short visit.”

Agnes blinked. “Are you well enough to travel, Your Grace?”

“I’m not going far,” Selina said. “Just staying with a friend. I need a change of scenery.”

That night, sleep didn’t come easy. She lay still, eyes shut, as memory played on repeat—Rowan’s hand reaching for hers across the breakfast table, the quiet way he used to say her name. Every image was another twist of the knife. But she didn’t cry again.

By morning, her mind felt clearer, if not lighter. She dressed simply, skipped breakfast, and wrote Rowan a short note. No explanations, no emotion. Just that she was staying with Georgiana for a few days and could be reached there if needed.

It felt like nothing. A handful of words where there should have been pages. But what more was there to say?

At Georgiana’s townhouse, the footman barely had time to knock before the door flew open. Her friend took one look at her face and pulled her inside without a word. Tea was ordered, her case carried up, and soon they were seated in the bright morning room, a quiet fire warming the hearth.

“You look exhausted,” Georgiana said gently. “Are you ill?”

Selina thought about telling her everything. The poisoning, Rowan pulling away, the cold conversation that had gutted her. But Georgiana looked so worried that Selina couldn’t bring herself to pile more weight on her.

“Just tired,” she said. “Rowan and I had a disagreement. I needed some time.”

Georgiana didn’t push. “You can stay as long as you like. Robert’s in Yorkshire with the steward, so it’s just me and James. We’ll be glad for the company.”

“Thank you. I won’t stay long; I do not wish to be a burden.”

“You’re not a burden,” Georgiana said firmly. “Friends don’t count the days.”

Selina gave her a tired smile. “I appreciate it. Truly.”

They didn’t speak much more about it. Georgiana made no demands, asked no questions, just gave her space and quiet and cups of tea. Selina spent time with little James in the garden, walked slowly along shaded paths when she felt up to it, and breathed in the peace of a house not full of ghosts.

No word came from Rowan. No letter. No message. Just silence.

With each silent hour, it became clear. He had destroyed what they were building together before it could grow.

On the third morning, Selina sat in Georgiana’s garden, the sun just warming the stone bench beneath her. Bees drifted lazily from flower to flower. James laughed somewhere nearby. And she wondered if the ache in her chest would ever truly leave.

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