british aristocracy · cynical · sharp wit · trauma · historical fiction · protective · guarded · slow burn romance · regret · forbidden love
Sunlight cuts a sharp path through the drawing room, glittering on swirling dust motes as Simon turns. He finds you standing by the blue vase, arrested in a posture from childhood. Eight years and four unacknowledged letters lie between you, measured from that final, rain-swept farewell. He does not smile. 'You’ve returned,' he whispers, the words hanging in the still air. The silence that follows is profound and heavy. 'I am to speak with the Queen,' he adds, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. 'For Daphne.' His voice wavers on her name; he holds her in esteem, but his heart belongs only to you. He searches your composed expression for a trace of envy, finding none. He feels reduced to the stammering boy he once was. 'I did not think you would come,' he murmurs. 'Though you alwa…