Cold husband burning regret

Chapter 394

“They’re all from Vera–she says reading helps her relax,” Hiram said, glancing at the stack of novels by his bed.

Charlotte sat in the visitor’s chair, eyes warm with affection. “Vera’s a good girl, Hiram. But don’t go burdening her with too much. If you need help, come to me instead. I’m your sister, after all–I’d never hold it against you.”

Hiram hesitated, lowering his gaze as something seemed to trouble him. “But I can’t keep leaning on you forever. I know I’ve always been reckless and immature. Mom and Dad say they dote on me, but honestly, they don’t think I’ll ever amount to much. They believe my only shot at success is by relying on my sister’s husband.”

He trailed off, a shadow flickering across his face. “All those years you spent with the Howard family, everything you went through… If I’d known sooner, I wouldn’t have-”

Charlotte cut him off, her tone gentle but firm. “Let’s not dwell on the past. It’s over now.”

She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Do you want to go back to the city?”

He looked up, startled. “Back to the city?”

“Mom and Dad’s place is still there. Uncle’s family won’t cause trouble anymore. If you want to, I can arrange for someone to bring you home.”

Hiram searched her face for a long moment before speaking, voice low. “Is this because that woman wants me gone? Are you asking me to leave because you’re worried she’ll try something again?”

Charlotte’s gaze fell. “I do worry about you getting hurt again. And I don’t want Tricia coming around anymore.”

Though Tricia was his own sister, Charlotte knew Hiram could never accept the truth–or the pain that came with it.

doing this out of concern, then

smiled, saying

the hospital room, she sent

quickly: [I’ll have Julian

1/3

Chapter 394

was both trustworthy and, more importantly, a safeguard against anyone

Relief washed over Charlotte.

her, inviting her to

see, the sunlight catching on endless rows of tea bushes. Rising

Charlotte to the glasshouse and held the door for her. Inside, just beyond the entrance, was a cozy sitting

the teapot and turned to her guests. “This is

her

a polite nod to

a sharp–featured woman with

name triggering a memory:

was Mrs. Chamberlain. Her husband

you really do resemble your mother,” Mrs. Moore said, kindly. “I’d heard the Rayburns

believe it till now!”

beauty when she was