Page 48 of The Earl's Scarred Bride

"I understood perfectly well." Elizabeth raised her eyes to meet her father's, and something in her gaze made him fall silent. "He looked me in the eye and told me he was no longer interested. Just as you looked Mother in the eye and told her you had no interest in her beyond the children she could give you."

"Then you must go to him," Luke declared, his voice brooking no argument. He began to pace, his boots clicking against the polished floor. "A wife's place is with her husband. Whatever grievance exists between you?—"

"Father, stop!" Harriet moved to stand between them, her usually gentle demeanor hardening with determination. "Can't you see you're making things worse? Elizabeth needs our support, not your lectures."

Luke's face reddened. "What she needs is to remember her duty. The earl?—"

"The earl made his choice," Elizabeth said quietly, her fingers absently tracing the pattern on the tablecloth. Each loop and swirl of the embroidery reminded her of the way Cecil would trace her scar in their intimate moments, as if memorizing its path. "He told me our time was up. That he no longer desired an heir." The words still burned her throat like bitter wine.

"Nonsense," Luke scoffed again, but his voice held less conviction now. "Every man desires an heir. You must have misunderstood?—"

"I understood perfectly well." Elizabeth raised her eyes to meet her father's, and something in her gaze made him fall silent. "He told me plainly enough. Just as you told Mother her worth lay only in the children she could give you."

"You twist my words," Luke protested, though his complexion had paled considerably. "Your mother and I had an understanding. She knew her duty, her place. We made a good match, a proper match, until—" He faltered, something like regret flickering across his features. "Until she began filling your head with romantic notions about love and choice. Look where that's led us."

"Stop it Father. Mother and you were exactly what I feared Cecil and I would become." Elizabeth's voice cracked. "But he wasn't like you, Father. He was kind, and gentle, and he made me feel..." Her voice caught. "He made me feel beautiful. Even with this." She gestured to her scar.

Harriet reached across the table, squeezing her sister's hand. "Elizabeth..."

"And now he's gone," Elizabeth continued, the words tumbling out like water over stones, "but not because of my face or my pride. He's just... gone."

The silence that followed was deafening. Even the birds outside seemed to have fallen quiet, as if holding their breath along with the occupants of the room.

"Elizabeth." Her father's voice had lost its edge, replaced by something that might have been regret. But Elizabeth had long since stopped looking for signs of tenderness in Luke Cooper's face.

"I should rest," she said, rising from her chair with as much dignity as she could muster. "The journey has tired me after all."

"I'll come with you," Harriet said quickly, shooting their father a warning glance as she followed Elizabeth from the dining room.

They made their way up the familiar stairs in silence, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. Elizabeth's old bedroom remained unchanged, a shrine to the life she'd lived before Cecil. Before everything. The same pale blue wallpaper, the same worn novels lining her shelves, even the same slight creak in the floorboard by the window.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Harriet pulled her sister into a fierce embrace. "Oh, Elizabeth," she whispered, "I'm so sorry. I should have known something was wrong the moment you arrived."

"How could you have known?" Elizabeth managed a weak smile as they parted. "You've had your own troubles to deal with. Though I notice Father seems to have forgiven you rather easily."

Harriet's face fell. "Only because you married the earl in my place. That's the only reason he welcomed me back so quickly." She sank onto the edge of the bed, patting the space beside her."He keeps saying how fortunate we are that you secured such an advantageous match. As if I didn't cause a scandal by running away. As if you didn't sacrifice everything to protect me."

"It wasn't a sacrifice," Elizabeth said softly, joining her sister. "At least...it didn't feel like one at the time."

"Tell me everything," Harriet urged, taking her hand. "What happened with Cecil?"

So Elizabeth did. She told her sister about the growing warmth between her and Cecil, about the nights in his study playing cards, about the way he'd taught her to dance. She spoke of his gentle teasing and the way he'd made her feel desired for the first time in her life. And finally, she told her about that last night, when he'd opened his heart to her about his mother, when she'd given herself to him completely.

"And then the next morning, he was...different," Elizabeth concluded, twisting her handkerchief between her fingers. "Cold. Distant. As if the man I'd come to know had vanished overnight."

"Men," Harriet muttered darkly. "They're all the same in the end, aren't they? Even the ones who seem different." She squeezed Elizabeth's hand. "You should leave him."

Elizabeth's head snapped up. "Leave him?"

"Why not? He's already left you," Harriet said, her voice taking on the same determined tone she'd had when planning her own escape. "You could file for divorce on grounds of abandonment. Father would be furious, of course, but when isn't he?" Her eyes gleamed. "He forgave me easily enough once you married Cecil. Perhaps he'll forgive this too, in time."

"It's not that simple," Elizabeth whispered, rising to walk to the window. The garden below was in full bloom, roses climbing the trellises just as they had in her childhood. "Father only forgave you because the earl's position and wealth made the scandal disappear. If I leave Cecil..."

"Then we'll weather that storm together," Harriet insisted. "We could go to Bath, or perhaps even Scotland. Somewhere far from London society and their endless gossip. You're the one who taught me to be brave, remember? When I wanted to run away rather than marry him?"

"I love him." The words hung in the air between them, simple and devastating in their truth.

Harriet fell silent, watching as Elizabeth pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the window. "Oh, Elizabeth," she said finally, her voice gentle. "That only makes it worse."

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