“How . . . why?” My mind spins.

Mrs. Davenport reaches for my hand and gives it a pat. “Oh, dearie, it was all about status back then. Iggy was in love with me but needed the funds from Emma’s father to help his own father’s business succeed. It was simple; he might have loved me, but love back then wasn’t enough. Instead, he saved his father, bought the manor we always dreamed of having, and lived there with Emma, miserable and alone. The only joy he got came from the letters I sent him. We spoke of him divorcing her and living in the manor together, but he never made it far enough.” She shakes her head. “The day he died, my soul did too.”

I know the feeling. I glance up at Rogan, who squeezes my thigh again. I take that moment to thread my fingers through his.

“After he passed, his lawyer told me Iggy left the manor to me. It was a kind gesture, but one I couldn’t handle, so I let it sit there, never allowing my name to be attached. I didn’t want to sully my reputation. But when Rogan started sniffing around, I wanted to see what reason he could have for buying the house.” She looks off toward the wall behind us, her eyes glistening. “You should have seen it, dear, the pictures upon pictures he had of you two. The letters, the stories. He told me he wanted the house so he could restore it and protect the place where he fell in love. I knew the house might not have been destined for Iggy and me, but it sure as hell was destined for you two.”

My heart swells.

“And you gave it to Rogan, just like that?” I still can’t believe he didn’t have to pay for it.

Mrs. Davenport looks me straight in the eyes. “It’s not always about the money, dear, but the story behind it. Rogan was madly in love—still is—and he would have paid anything to make that property his. That right there told me the house would be in good hands.” She leans back in her chair, taking in the ballroom once again. “Broken love can be mended, but it takes work, understanding, and appreciation for each other’s journey.”

I glance at Rogan, a loving smile on his face as he takes me in. He mouths, I love you, and I do the same.

Mrs. Davenport is right. Hope should never be lost when it comes to broken love. After all, broken things offer new beginnings, and sometimes that’s all love needs . . . a new beginning.