ADRIAN COULD NOT TAKE his eyes off the woman seated next to him looking at the fire. Her fingers trembled faintly in her lap, her face still flushed, her lashes wet from tears that had only just ceased to fall. The faint glimmer on her cheekbones caught the flicker of the firelight, betraying her shame even as she tried to hide it.
'Women,' he thought wearily, 'were a puzzle he would never solve.' A moment ago she had been weeping as though her heart had broken, and now she sat there, timid and blushing like a startled fawn. The contradiction both amused and unsettled him.
He longed to ask what had moved her to tears, but something in her downcast gaze stopped him. Her vulnerability disarmed him, and though curiosity gnawed at his chest, he could not bring himself to press. Better to leave her be. She had probably suffered enough tonight.
So he did the only thing he could to ease her discomfort after watching her for a silent while. He cleared his throat softly and said, his voice lower than usual, almost uncertain, "Em... I think I'll go now."
Her fingers stilled for a moment, then resumed their nervous motion. She did not lift her eyes. "Okay," she murmured, so quietly he barely caught the word.
He nodded faintly and rose from the bed, the quiet rustle of his coat filling the silence. Another day, perhaps, he would ask her what had caused her tears. But tonight, he would let her rest and preserve her dignity.
He had reached the door, his hand already upon the handle, when her voice—small, uncertain—reached him from across the room.
"Em... Adrian."
He paused, his back still to her. "Yes?"
"Thank you."
The simplicity of it caught him off guard. He turned slightly, though not enough to see her face, and a warmth—strange and unfamiliar—unfolded within his chest. He found himself smiling despite the ache behind his eyes.
"You're welcome," he said gently. Then after a moment, more softly still, "Rest. We'll speak in the morning. I have some work to attend to."
"Alright."
Her voice was calmer now. The tremor was gone. He left quietly, closing the door with care as though afraid the sound might provoke her to tears again.
Out in the corridor, the air felt colder. His footsteps echoed softly along the long, carpeted hall, each one heavy with thought.
'What had made her cry?' he wondered again. It was absurd, but he could not let it go. He had never seen a woman cry before—his mother never had, nor his sister. At least, not in front of him. The sight of tears unsettled him, stirred something unfamiliar. Sympathy? Guilt? Perhaps both.
He was still lost in thought when a familiar figure appeared ahead of him. Butler Blake, dignified as ever, approached with that quiet grace that seemed almost rehearsed.
"Your Grace," the butler greeted, bowing his head slightly.
Adrian nodded with a polite smile. "Blake."
"I noticed you were not in your study, my lord," Blake continued, falling into step beside him. "I presumed you had retired for the night."
"I'm not sleepy," Adrian replied simply. His voice held an edge of fatigue but little else. Together, they walked down the dim corridor, the muted glow of the sconces casting long shadows along the walls.
"Lord Percival has requested that you add a visit to St. Andrew's Orphanage to your schedule, Your Grace," Blake announced.
Adrian stopped in his tracks. "A visit to the orphanage?" His tone darkened, his jaw tightening. "Did he now?"
Blake inclined his head. "Yes, my lord. I mentioned that your schedule was already full, but he insisted... and ordered that I cancel the remainder of your engagements."
"What?" Adrian's voice rose slightly, incredulous. "He cancelled my schedule?"
"Yes, Your Grace. He was quite firm."
Adrian exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. The old man was at it again—pulling the strings as though he were still a boy under his father's command. "He's testing me," he muttered under his breath. "Always trying to dictate what I must do."
But even anger felt exhausting tonight. He waved a hand dismissively. "Never mind. Let's discuss something else. Have you arranged my trip to Spain?"
Blake hesitated. "I'm still working on it, my lord. Your calendar remains... rather full."
"Then work harder on it," Adrian said curtly, though the weariness in his tone softened the order.
"Yes, Your Grace."
They entered the study, the warm scent of leather and parchment filling the air. Adrian crossed to his chair, leaning back with a quiet sigh, while Blake remained standing with the quiet dignity of a man who had served too long to ever appear uneasy.
After a moment, Adrian spoke again, his voice quieter now. "Blake, may I ask you something?"
"Of course, Your Grace."
"Have you ever walked in on your wife... in tears?"
Blake blinked, startled by the question. "My wife, my lord?"
Adrian gave a faint nod, his expression unreadable. "Yes. In tears."
The butler's surprise softened into something almost tender. "Yes, Your Grace. Twice, if I recall."
Adrian leaned forward slightly, interest flickering across his features. "Why was she crying?"
"The first time," Blake said after a thoughtful pause, "was early in our marriage. She was lonely, I think. I was too consumed with work, and she had little company. She said she felt forgotten."
Adrian's gaze lowered to the polished surface of his desk. Forgotten. The word lingered in his mind, heavy and accusing. Had he made Evelina feel the same?
"And the second time?" he asked quietly.
Blake smiled faintly. "Ah, that was less serious, Your Grace. Hormones, the physician said. Women are rather delicate creatures when it comes to such matters."
Adrian frowned slightly. "Hormones? You mean to say a woman can cry because of... nature?"
"In a sense, yes," Blake replied, his tone respectful but amused. "Women are moved easily by emotion, and when they are not at ease, it often shows in tears. They do not need great reason for it, my lord—only a heart left unattended."
Adrian was silent for a long while. Then, almost to himself, he murmured, "A heart left unattended."
He leaned back slowly, the firelight from the hearth catching the thoughtful lines of his face. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps she had been crying not from fear or pain, but from loneliness. And if so... was he to blame?
For the first time in years, Adrian felt the uneasy stirrings of remorse.