The morning you were set to leave, the house was heavy with silence. Your trunk stood by the door, the carriage waiting outside. Anthony’s hand lingered against your cheek as though committing the shape of you to memory.

“I hate this,” he muttered, voice low and rough. His thumb brushed against your skin. “A year married, and already the world conspires to steal you away from me.”

You leaned into his touch, forcing a soft smile even as your throat ached. “It is only for a short while. My mother needs me.”

Anthony’s jaw tightened. He knew his Viscount duties tethered him here—endless estate matters, tenants, and Parliament business. He could not abandon it all, though every fiber of him wanted to.

“I will write to you,” he promised. “And you must do the same. It is the only way I will breathe without you here.”

You kissed him, slow and lingering, before stepping into the carriage. The last sight of him was his figure standing tall on the manor steps, hands clenched at his sides, as though holding himself together only until you were out of sight.

⸻Weeks later⸻

The days blurred into routine—tending to your mother, overseeing the household, but always waiting for the familiar seal on parchment. His letters became your lifeline.

⸻At the Manor⸻

Colin teased Anthony mercilessly about brooding, while Benedict claimed he’d turned “positively insufferable.” But he did not care. His evenings were spent in his study, hunched over paper, pouring his longing into letters. He would sit at the edge of your shared bed, tracing the pillow where your head once lay, before returning to his desk.

⸻When you return⸻

When at last your mother’s health improved, you returned to Mayfair. The carriage had barely halted before Anthony was there, striding forward. His composure broke the moment he saw you.

He pulled you into his arms with such urgency that you barely managed a breath. His lips crashed onto yours, not caring for propriety or the watching eyes of his siblings at the windows.

“Never again,” he murmured against your mouth, his forehead pressed to yours. “I will never let you leave me for so long again. I thought I’d go mad.”