Justin said she’d chosen to be unhappy. He was right, too. She’d chosen the last two years of misery by pushing her husband away and refusing to listen to him, too frightened of being wrong to realize she’d had true love in her hands the entire time. She’d used her moral superiority to reject happiness. And now it was too late. Oh, it couldn’t be too late. Could it?

She stood again and lifted the lamp, carrying it to the writing desk with her. She let out a frustrated breath and shook her head. A letter was not good enough. If she were Sebastian and received a letter under these circumstances, she wouldn’t read it. She’d toss it into the fire immediately. She wasn’t about to wait for tomorrow and try to pay him a call just to have him refuse her, either. She needed to go when she knew he’d be home. Perhaps she could—

Wait. That was it. The perfect idea struck her. Grabbing the lamp once more, she rushed to the door of her bedchamber and pulled it open before racing down the corridor to her brother’s room. She must wake Justin immediately. She had a plan, and it was grand.

Chapter Twenty

Sebastian had been staring at the blasted sheet of vellum for what felt like hours. He’d tried to write the letter absolving Veronica from their marriage, but it all came out sounding like a lot of gibberish. Perhaps he’d do better explaining it to her in person. Only that would mean he’d have to pay her a call and that would mean she’d have to accept his call. He plunked the quill back into the inkpot and dropped his forehead onto his hand. When had it all become so complicated? A wry smile touched his lips. When he’d agreed to see his wife again and to spend nearly a fortnight with her, that’s when.

He stood and turned to stare at his bed. Perhaps he should try to get some sleep. Perhaps he’d find the correct words in the morning. He’d barely taken a step when a loud thump met his ears, followed soon after by small clicking noises…at his window?

He strode over to look out the window that faced the street, but he couldn’t see anything. The panes were covered in foggy ice. The clicking sounds continued. He made his way back to the writing desk, where he grabbed his letter opener from a drawer and returned to chip away at the ice on one pane. He also used the side of his arm, warm against his dressing gown, to rub at the window. The inconsistent clicks continued and when he’d finally cleared away enough of the ice to see out, he saw…pebbles. A small group of pebbles lying in the snow on the roof beneath his window. The moon was bright enough to make them out. But what in the world had that loud thump been? He pulled open the window and stuck out his head and shoulders, bracing his hands against the sill and squinting into the darkness.