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Octavia had made a wise suggestion. Rest now and face the day anew with clearer thoughts. Still, her body would not be silenced so easily.

She briefly considered taking the back stairs to the kitchen to fetch something modest, a bit of bread and cheese, perhaps. The teapot was long since emptied, and the room had grown quiet and cold in its solitude. Surely, if she took the back route, she would avoid running into Aidan.

And yet … her feet remained still. Her heart was not ready. Not for explanations. Not for apologies. Not even for kindness. Octavia and Buttercup were the only souls she could endure tonight.

Thump, thump.

The knock shattered the quiet, and Gwen let out a startled squeal. She had been so lost in her thoughts, she had not heard anyone approach.

Her eyes flew to Octavia, who merely shrugged. Gwen’s pulse quickened. If it was Aidan …

Octavia made a silent offer to open the door, but Gwen shook her head quickly, her breath caught somewhere between dread and longing.

“Gwendolyn?”

The voice beyond the door was unmistakable.

She exhaled in relief and crossed to the door.

When she opened it, her father stood there grinning, his white teeth gleaming in the dim light of the corridor. His good spirits caught her off guard. The last time she had seen him, only hours earlier, he had been under immense strain.

“Papa?”

“It is time to come downstairs, Gwendolyn.”

She shook her head at once. “I do not wish to see … him.”

Her father’s smile dimmed, softening with understanding. “I would like a word with you, and I promise it will be just the two of us. Aidan is … elsewhere.”

“I am not ready,” she murmured, voice low and frayed.

His grin faded, and he tipped his head, a gesture of sympathy rather than argument. “Time and tide wait for no man.”

Gwen folded her arms. “It is not yet noon. I shall face him tomorrow.”

Her father blinked, bemused. “Your mother always had the uncanny ability to redirect any conversation, and I see you have inherited that devilish trait.”

She gave a weak wave of her hand. “It is simply what Chaucer meant by that line, is it not?”

“I am no scholar, my dear. I have not the faintest idea what you are talking about. Is this one of your attempts to be clever?”

She sighed, her resistance wavering. “Chaucer was speaking of noontide, not the tides of the sea. I was merely stating that I would confront this muddle in the morning. At noon, perhaps.”

Her father let out a quiet chuckle. “Well, it is an amusing rebuttal. I will grant you that.”

“Yet it did not work.”

He smiled again, showing those familiar teeth. “No, I am afraid not. It is imperative we speak.”

He held out a hand, palm up, gesturing toward the hallway and the grand staircase beyond.

“You will not run into Aidan.”

“You swear it?”

“On my honor. Not until you are ready.”

Gwen hesitated, then stepped out into the corridor, leaving the door ajar for Octavia. She slipped her arm through her father’s, comforted by his presence.