Semua Bab The War Bride : Bab 41 - Bab 47

A month had passed since Lord Darrell rode for Greymont.True to his word or perhaps to his discipline, letters arrived each week without fail. Brief, precise, and often maddeningly restrained. He wrote of weather, of progress, of the state of the men. Never of himself.I read each one carefully, twice over. Searching for something more, and emotion but caught nothing. But my heart would calm, filled with relief that all was well.Life within the estate had settled into a rhythm that felt… incomplete.My relationship with Coral had changed in ways neither of us acknowledged. We still dined together each evening, seated across from one another at the long table, exchanging polite inquiries about the day.We would talk about the garden, the weather and her son. How he was growing up so fast. And then silence would fall again, heavy and suffocating, filled only by the faint clink of cutlery.Whatever ease had once lived between us was gone, replaced by something fragile, strained, and

The next morning arrived softer than expected.The gardens were quiet, kissed by a gentle breeze that carried the scent of blooming flowers and damp earth. I sat beneath the shade of an old tree, sunlight flickering through the leaves above, casting shifting patterns across her skirts.Across from me sat Edmund. For a time, he spoke, and I listened.He told me of the roads he had traveled, of shifting alliances, of whispers that had turned into something far more dangerous. His tone remained steady, but I knew him well enough to hear what lay beneath it the caution, the weight, the things he chose not to say aloud.“And you?” he asked at last, his gaze sharpening slightly as it settled on her. “How have you been here?”I hesitated, my fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of my sleeve.“The Storms have treated me well,” I said, my voice even, composed. “There is nothing I lack.”It was not a lie. But it was not the truth either.Edmund studied me for a moment longer than n

Lady Meridia’s funeral had been a quiet affair, held by the cabin near the lake she had loved. No grand procession. No crowd. Only a handful of people, and the stillness of a place that seemed to understand what had been lost.I could not stop comparing it to the last time I had stood there. Then, the world had been covered in white. The lake frozen solid, the air sharp but alive.I walked slowly along the water’s edge, her steps unhurried, my gaze fixed on the gentle ripples where ice had once been.I remembered gliding across it, laughter caught in the cold air, my breath visible with every turn. I remembered how carefree it had felt.I remembered Darrell. He had stood with his grandmother then, something unguarded in him as he listened to her speak. There had been warmth in his expression, a quiet kind of joy I understood at the time.Now, that warmth felt like something borrowed from another life. The snow was gone. The ice had melted. The lake looked… ordinary.Or perhaps....

The days that followed left Clara with little room to breathe.Cerelith had taken it upon herself to order an entirely new wardrobe, lighter fabrics, brighter colors, all meant to reflect what she called her new self. Seamstresses came and went, arms full of silks and sketches, their voices filling the halls with endless chatter.Darrell, meanwhile, had thrown himself into assisting Edmund with renovations and moving in.And I ....... had the estate.Winter had loosened its hold, and with it came a thousand responsibilities. I oversaw the transition carefully,storehouses, gardens, staff rotations. New uniforms were being commissioned for the servants, something more suited to the warmer months.I sat now with a merchant, a catalogue spread open before me , fingers brushing over samples of fabric as he spoke at length about quality and stitching.“…this weave, my lady, will hold its color even after repeated washing.....”The door opened. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Ce