Chapter 30
Chapter 30
Hope edged closer. “She cares for you—always has. You know that.” Her fingers twined around the shawl at her shoulders. “But you—” She paused, searching for words, and then let them tumble out. “You care for me now. You’ve risked so much just by telling me last night what you did.”
Noah sank onto the edge of the desk, gathering his papers into a clumsy stack. “I don’t know how to balance it. I’ve spent my life in duty and expectation. Collette reminded me of that—” He gestured toward the closed door. “—but then you reminded me of something else: hope. Forgive the pun.”
Hope offered a small, gentle smile. “I wouldn’t expect it otherwise.”
They stood in silence for a heartbeat, the soft ticking of the clock resuming its patient march. Then Hope lifted her chin, resolve settling into her gaze. “You have your responsibilities today at the House. Let Collette have her space—I’m sure she’ll come around. Later… shall we meet in the garden? I’ll wait on the south terrace, where the jasmine blooms.”
Noah’s eyes brightened at the thought of her waiting there, the morning sun catching gold in her hair. He nodded, almost reverently. “I would like that.”
Hope turned to leave, but paused at the door. “Noah—” she said softly, then offered him a warm, steadying look. “Thank you.”
“Thank you,” he echoed, and watched her slip away, the corridor’s dim light swallowing her form.
He remained seated for a long moment, chest heaving with conflicted emotions. Then he rose, smoothing the front of his waistcoat. He fetched his papers—the ones Collette had meticulously arranged—and tucked the silver pen back into its holder. As he headed for the door, he hesitated, hand on the latch, and allowed himself a moment to steel his nerves.
By the time he reached the gravel drive of the estate, the first carriage was rattling up, the coachman tipping his hat crisply. Noah mounted the steps and settled onto the leather bench beside the driver. He gave the house one last, solemn glance: its stone walls and tall windows, the home of his birth and the site of every obligation he had ever known.
Yet today, something felt altered. In his breast stirred both dread and exhilaration, the twin burdens of duty and desire. He pulled his cloak around his shoulders and tapped the reins. The horses pawed the earth, and with a flourish of hooves, they set off toward the House—toward an audience with the Lords and Ladies, toward the formalities that would fill his morning.
Inside, the corridors were already alive with bustle: footmen arranging portfolios, clerks whispering at the great oaken table, courtiers murmuring behind gilt-trimmed screens. But Noah moved among them with calm purpose, greeting familiar faces with a nod, unrolling his papers before the chief steward, who had grown accustomed to his meticulous handwriting.
The first hours passed in a blur of signatures and deliberation: charting the trade routes, allocating funds for the repair of the east wing, consenting to the ambassador’s petition. At each item, Noah’s mind drifted back to that private moment in the study—Hope’s gentle encouragement, Collette’s trembling anger. He wondered where Collette was now, whether she retreated to the servants’ quarters to confide in the other women, or whether she wandered the grounds, lost in her own thoughts.
When the lunch gong sounded, Noah excused himself. He stepped into the corridor and paused, taking a steadying breath. He could not undo his harsh words, but he could try to make amends. He left the grand hall, navigating the side passages that led to the servants’ wing. The door to Collette’s quarters stood slightly ajar; light spilled across the floorboards.
He rapped twice. A muffled sound—perhaps a sob—answered him. He pushed the door open and saw Collette seated at her small writing table, the teacup from that morning right where she’d set it, cold and half-full. The room was modest: flowered wallpaper peeling at the corners, a single window overlooking the herb garden, and a stack of ledgers on the floor.
Collette looked up at him, her expression guarded. For a heartbeat, Noah faltered. Then he stepped fully inside and closed the door behind him.
“I shouldn’t have spoken to you so,” he began, voice quiet. “I was overwhelmed—afraid, even. But that’s no excuse.”
She met his gaze steadily, arms crossed. “You forgot I have feelings too.”
He gave a small, rueful smile. “I know. And I forgot what a privilege it is to have you beside me. I take it for granted.”
Collette’s eyes softened a fraction, though she made no move to rise. “Why did you refuse my tea? It was my attempt to steady you.”
Noah knelt to retrieve the cup. He cradled it in both hands, holding it out to her. “Maybe I needed to remember warmth comes in more forms than one.”
She paused, then took it, fingertips brushing his. “You’re incorrigible.”
“Only where you are concerned,” he said softly. He rose, standing close enough that she could see every line of sincerity in his face. “Collette, will you forgive me?”
She set the cup down again—this time with gentle reverence. “I will,” she whispered, the tension leaving her frame. “But only if you promise not to shut me out again.”
He placed a hand over hers. “I promise.”
Outside the window, the bells of the House tolled, signaling the start of the afternoon session. Collette glanced toward the door. “You should return. They’ll wonder where you are.”
Noah nodded. “I’ll come for you later. Promise.” He brushed a thumb across her knuckles, then tipped his head. “Thank you—for everything.”
She inclined her head, brusquely arranging her skirts as if to dismiss both herself and her own emotions. “Now go. And Master Noah?”
He looked back over his shoulder as he reached the door.
“Don’t be late,” she said, before turning away to hide the faint flush of relief on her cheeks.
He smiled, the weight in his chest somehow lighter than before. “Never,” he replied—and stepped back into the corridor.