Page 71 of A Temporary Bride for the Duke

He hoped that the water would wash away the memory of Daisy’s moans. The feeling of her skin. The taste of her release?—

Pull yourself together.

He had to continue with their agreement. Despite what he’d said last night, he couldn’t let himself ruin everything. Ruin her.

I made a promise. I asked her to be my partner. I shall not leave her to despair now.

So, he dressed and went to check on his son.

“Good morning, Harry,” he said as he entered the room set up for the boy in his aunt’s part of the house.

Harry did not answer. He sat with his arms folded and chin tilted away. Edmund recognized the small, stubborn figure of displeasure but was surprised to see his usually ebullient son displaying it. Mr. Oswalt sat beside him with a bowl of porridge that had clearly gone untouched.

“I am not hungry,” Harry announced.

Mr. Oswalt gave Edmund a look that suggested he had already tried everything reasonable and was ready to move on with the rest of their day.

Edmund exhaled once through his nose and drew a stool closer. He sat down slowly, as if giving the moment time to settle before he spoke.

“You may go, Mr. Oswalt,” he said. “Take your breakfast.”

The tutor hesitated, then rose and left them alone.

For a while, Edmund did not speak. He simply looked at Harry.

The silence between them felt different from yesterday. Less sharp, but no less difficult.

“I was wrong yesterday,” he said at last. “I am sorry.”

The apology seemed to sit awkwardly in the air, as though neither of them was quite accustomed to it being said.

Harry shifted slightly. “It is all right,” he said after a moment. “I forgive you, Papa.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly. He looked at the untouched bowl. Then back at Harry. “You are still not eating.”

Harry shrugged.

A familiar negotiation, then. Edmund recognized it for what it was: not defiance alone, but a request disguised as refusal.

Edmund recalled the part of his meeting with Daisy last night in which she had encouraged him to be more open with Harry about his mother and her unique circumstances.

While he doesn’t need to know everything, I should tell him something.

He pulled the stool a fraction closer.

“I will make you an offer,” he said, and Harry looked at him suspiciously. “If you eat three spoonfuls of porridge,” Edmund continued, “I will answer any questions you have about your mother.”

That caught his attention immediately. Harry glanced at the bowl as if reassessing its value.

“Three?” he asked.

“Yes.”

A pause. Harry considered this with unusual seriousness, as though weighing terms rather than food.

Edmund waited, patient in a way he had not always managed to be.

At last, Harry reached for the spoon, and Edmund watched him begin to eat.