My Unchosen Ex Chases Reborn Me (Soren and Fiona) novel Chapter 216

Chapter 216 Quiet Currents.

Chapter 216 Quiet Currents

Soren cast Fiona a sidelong glance, unreadable eyes the color of deep lakes in winter. Whatever flickered behind them, he let no one see.

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“Naomi found her old dagger dull, so I forged a new one for her,” Callum said with modest pride. Remembering Fiona’s delight in chopping bamboo weeks earlier, he added, “If you’d like one as well, I can have a blade made for you.”

An instant later doubt pricked him-was such familiarity improper?

Yet his offer carried no hint of courtship, only the open warmth of a man quick to share whatever skills he possessed.

“Your generosity humbles me, but my brother has already presented me with a fine short blade,” Fiona replied, her refusal as courteous as snowfall on silent roofs.

Callum inclined his head, words retreating once more behind his composed demeanor.

Hillary, distracted by a burst of color along the path, tugged Soren’s sleeve. “Lord Soren, what flower is this? I never saw its like in Broadmoor.”

Almost without thinking, Fiona asked, “Hillary, did you spend your whole childhood in Broadmoor?” The question slipped free before she could name the curiosity stirring it.

“Father served with Duke Zonfrillo there for years,” Hillary explained. “Mother kept me north beside them until illness pulled us home. Broadmoor is wild, not half so diverting as Jexburgh -I have no wish to return.”

The moment the words left Henrietta’s lips, Fiona felt an old curtain lift in her mind and a forgotten afternoon from another lifetime flooded back.

Sunlight had slanted through the gauze windows of Penelope’s private parlor that day, dust motes dancing as quietly as secrets. Penelope-calm, decisive-had told her that Henrietta’s arrival was no small feat. The woman had just returned from Broadmoor, weighed down by travel but still determined to visit.

Each time she came, Penelope would load her arms with parcels-new blankets sewn with winter roses, jars of balm for chapped northern skin, bolts of velvet rich enough to shame a

court gown.

Fiona now remembered another remark Penelope had made-how the Havenford Estate had produced a remarkable young lady. The girl was well past the usual age for courtship, yet refused every polished suitor in Jexburgh. Instead, she rode north to Broadmoor, ladling

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porridge to anyone whose hunger matched their despair. Who else could that daring lady be if not Henrietta’s own daughter?

“Perhaps,” Fiona had said back then, her laugh as light as wind chimes, “she went all that way for the one she loves.”

Penelope had hesitated, words hovering on her tongue like birds uncertain of the gale. At last she sighed and reached for Fiona’s wrist. “When Soren returns,” she murmured, “keep him close. I want the Zonfrillo Estate’s first grandson to be yours.”

Fiona had bristled at the thought, her pulse beating against Penelope’s cool fingers. She could not answer; the silence between them grew thick enough to cut.

Penelope’s tone sharpened, though the concern beneath it never left. “I am only protecting you,” she said. “With a child, your seat becomes unshakable. Let another woman seize the moment and you will lose not only Soren, but the very title you now carry in name alone.”

A crisp laugh cut through Fiona’s reverie. She blinked and found Hillary watching her, the girl’s smile bright enough to rival any midsummer bloom. “Fiona, why the distant look?” she teased.

Beside Hillary, Soren paused mid-explanation, a single sprig of star-shaped blossoms resting in his palm. His gaze slid to Fiona with quiet curiosity.

“Just an old memory,” Fiona answered, forcing a small smile. She offered no further detail, and the moment slipped away like perfume in the breeze.

Hillary turned back to Soren, hanging on every measured word. In the presence of such a well- read, well-born gentleman, her admiration shone plainly, a lantern unchecked by modest shade. That Soren answered each question with patient grace only deepened her delight.

“And what about this bloom? What do you call it?” Hillary asked, fingertips grazing the silken petals of a lavender stalk.

Soren tucked his hands behind his back. “Naomi has waited long enough,” he said gently. “If time allows later, I will be honored to continue our lesson, Ms. Chambers.”

The young lady, innocent to the subtle dismissal, answered with a single, eager word. “All right.”

That solitary syllable was as guileless as a puppy placing its paw in an outstretched hand- trusting, hopeful, heartbreakingly sweet.

Hillary is not as calculating as Roxanne, nor as enamored of mere beauty as Isabella, Fiona reflected. If she once trekked to Broadmoor in a past life, perhaps she did it for Soren-embracing his ideals as if they

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were her own, easing the people’s hunger with her slender hands. Can anyone truly turn away love offered with such blazing sincerity?

Soren found his eyes lingering on Hillary’s bowed head, then drifting back to Fiona. The girl struck him as nothing more than a delicate sprout, a younger sister in need of guidance. Yet Fiona’s frequent silences unsettled him; perhaps she had not slept well.

When they reached the great doors of the main hall, Soren and his brother Callum peeled off toward their own duties, leaving the ladies to their gathering.

Mindy spotted Fiona at once and hurried forward, skirts whispering across the marble. “Where have you been? We’ve waited ages,” she said, seizing Fiona’s hand and steering her toward a small table crowded with chattering ladies.

Roxanne arched a brow, her smile tinged with playful intrigue. “When did the two of you become so inseparable?”

A faint blush crept up Mindy’s cheeks. “I never took the time to know Fiona before,” she admitted. “But the more we talk, the clearer it is—she is truly wonderful company.”

Fiona tipped her head with a playful grin, the lanternlight catching the mischief in her eyes. “Mindy, you gave me at least three full-on eye rolls a moment ago.”

Mindy’s shoulders shrank an inch. Her reply slipped out no louder than a moth’s wing. “I… I didn’t understand you back then.”

Fiona answered only with a soft chuckle, dimples smoothing the sting from her tease.

Mindy straightened, sudden steel beneath the silk of her voice. “If you ever find yourself in trouble, come directly to me.”

Roxanne’s smile glowed, warm as a quiet hearth. “That’s more like it. We met when we had almost nothing let’s stay kind. Watching you two spar makes me happy, but chances like this fade once we grow up.”

A married lady rarely left her husband’s house. Look at Yolanda-she and Fiona lived under the same roof, yet meeting face-to-face had become a privilege, not a habit.

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