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Madeline had fidgeted as if uncomfortable, not speaking for several moments as the silence stretched on. When she responded, there was an undercurrent of disappointment. “I have been well.”

Simon nodded, not paying much attention as he summoned the will to say his piece.

“I shall not be visiting our garden beyond this evening.”

She did not reply for some time, and Simon was afraid he would have to repeat the awful declaration to cap his terrible day.

“I … see.”

It was all she said, and the silence that followed pressed upon him until he was compelled to explain himself further. “I have negotiated a marriage contract with Lord Boyle to marry his daughter.”

“He is a viscount.”

Her remark did not require a response. They both knew it was the primary motive for such a match.

“Which daughter?”

“Olivia … the eldest.”

“Do you admire her?”

Simon rolled his shoulders, discomfort prickling beneath his coat. The question unsettled him.

“I barely know her, but it will strengthen the Blackwood title. Elevate our connections and increase our influence when I wed the child of a respected viscount. Strengthen our bloodlines, which was my father’s wish. It is⁠—”

“Your duty.” Madeline completed the sentence for him. “You have not visited our garden in some time. Did you come to tell me this?”

Simon bowed his head to study his boots, his legs stretched out in a languid position which did not reflect his state of mind in the least. “I wanted you to hear it from me, not read it in the news sheets.”

Madeline rose to her feet, making to leave. “I thank you. Felicitations, Simon. I wish you every happiness in your future.”

The finality of her words struck him like a blow. He was not ready. Reaching out, he caught her delicate hand in his. He was selfish—he knew it—but tomorrow he faced the gallows, and he was not quite ready to say goodbye.

“These are my last few hours of freedom. Would you … spend them with me? Perhaps we might speak as we once did, when the world was still kind?”

He longed for that simpler time, when he had been a bold youth without the weight of expectations weighing him down. When they had planned their lives together. How different things might be if he had not caused Nicholas’s accident.

Madeline tilted her head, considering his words until she relented and seated herself. “One last conversation before we say goodbye.”

His heart resumed beating in his chest, and Simon resolved to savor each second of their last night. He made a conscious effort to cast off the mantle of solemnity that had become his nature, and after an awkward start, they talked and laughed together about the mishaps of youth until well past midnight.

At last, she checked the time. “I have work in the morning,” she said, regret coloring her tone as she rose.

Simon raised a finger to brush back a lock of her silky hair, taking his time to view her features in the silvery light for the last time. Then, with reverent restraint, he bent and pressed a gentle kiss to her brow. It was all he dared, a benediction more than a farewell. Something pure to remember her by.

Stepping back, he gave a little bow. “Farewell, lovely Psyche.”

Madeline’s lips trembled into a wistful smile, hesitating for just a moment, then headed toward the arch to disappear from sight.

Simon watched his goddess walk away, his thoughts bittersweet. He was losing his best friend to be an honorable husband to Olivia Boyle. To be fair to his future wife, he would have to do his best to find peace within his arranged marriage.

He hoped Madeline would find a husband worthy of her grace. Someone who would see not merely her beauty, but the strength and goodness that had once made him believe in the infallibility of true love.