“How unfortunate,” he said evenly. “Please give Miss Lytton my regards and hopes for her swift recovery.”

When he returned to collect Celia an hour later, his daughter’s usual chatter seemed subdued.

“Papa,” she said as their carriage pulled away from the house, “is Miss Lytton truly unwell? She seemed perfectly fine yesterday when I glimpsed her in the garden.”

“Did she?” Henry kept his voice carefully neutral.

Celia bit her lip as she clearly wrestled with some internal debate. “Miss Florentia Lytton kept saying how concerned she was for her sister’s health, but… but she seemed rather pleased about it, if that makes sense. And when I asked if I might send up a note of well-wishes, she said it would be ‘better not to disturb poor Anna’s rest’.”

Smart girl, Henry thought with a mixture of pride and sorrow.

“Sometimes, Celia, adults make decisions that seem puzzling to those around them. It’s possible that Miss Lytton simply needs some time to herself.”

“But why would she need time away from us?” Celia’s voice was small and uncertain. “Did we truly do something wrong?”

The question pierced Henry’s heart. His daughter was beginning to sense the undercurrents of adult emotion, the complicatedweb of desire and duty that was pulling her world apart at the seams.

“No, sweetheart,” he said firmly. “You’ve done nothing wrong. Sometimes… sometimes people make choices that have very little to do with the people around them and everything to do with their own fears.”

“So…it is a quarrel between the two of you then.” Henry’s breath caught before he quickly righted himself again.

“Well…” he started to say before clearing his throat once. “I would not call it a quarrel, per se?—”

“Then it is a lovers’ spat?” She supplied, and Henry’s eyes flew wide.

“Celia Blakesley.” His tone was firm, even though his heart contracted inside his chest.

“Oh, fine,” she pouted while looking out the window of the carriage. “I will not pry into adult matters.” This, she said with obvious sarcasm. “But I truly hope you both can settle it soon.”

Henry did not see the need to tell her that this ‘adult matter’ was all for her sake.

So, he kept his mouth shut.

The following weeks settled into a new, hollow routine. Henry continued to escort Celia to her lessons, but he no longer lingered afterward, no longer sought those precious moments of conversation that had become the highlight of his days. Instead, he delivered his daughter promptly and departed immediately.

At social gatherings, he found himself the subject of renewed attention from various quarters. Miss Florentia Lytton continued to appear at his elbow with increasing frequency. Her conversation was light and charming. Her manner suggested an availability that made his skin crawl.

Lord Oakley, her escort, seemed equally eager to cultivate Henry’s acquaintance. Their combined efforts at ingratiation were as transparent as they were unwelcome.

Henry endured these encounters with cold politeness. He offered no encouragement but was also unwilling to create the sort of scene that would only fuel more gossip.

Meanwhile, he caught glimpses of Annabelle across crowded ballrooms and noted the careful way she avoided his vicinity. The practiced smile on her pretty face never quite reached her eyes.

And he absolutelyhatedit.

CHAPTER 30

“Miss Lytton?”

The soft voice from the doorway made Annabelle startle. Her teacup rattled against its saucer as she set it down with unsteady hands.

She had retreated to the morning room following Celia’s lesson because she was unable to bear another encounter with Florentia’s solicitous hovering or her father’s increasingly obvious machinations.

“Lady Celia.” Annabelle managed a smile that felt brittle as winter ice. “Is your lesson with Lady Oakley over? Shouldn’t you be departing now?”

“Oh, Papa is…is speaking with Miss Florentia about my progress,” Celia replied. She stepped into the room with the quiet determination that reminded Annabelle so painfully of her father. He was the same man who was currently in this veryhouse, but she could not bear to see him. “And I… I wanted to speak with you. Privately.”

Annabelle’s chest tightened. The girl’s perceptive eyes, so like Henry’s, seemed to see far too much. “Of course, dear. What troubles you?”