Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The days felt like they were getting longer.
And each one was growing more difficult to see through to its end.
Waking up in the morning took more effort than Christopher could believe, getting work done became impossible, and when the sun started to sink down the sky at the end of each day, Christopher breathed a sigh of relief to have seen another day reach its end.
Things should not have been like this.
Still, Christopher was of the mind that he should not feel so affected by what had happened.
That he had decided it was time to leave Rose and end his marriage, that he was once again on his own, and that things would go back to how they used to be…
how they had been his entire life until Rose wandered into it.
Perhaps it is not Rose that I am worried about? Rather, is it the fear of being discovered that haunts me and makes these days feel so long? Yes… each day that comes brings with it the possibility that my lies might be revealed, and that is why I struggle.
Christopher spent more time than he was proud of trying to convince himself of this lie.
Typically, it did little good, because he knew well enough why he felt so rotten. It wasn’t fear of being discovered. It was Rose, the sadness he felt at having left her, and the guilt that suffocated him because Christopher knew that he had done the wrong thing.
What he did not know was what he was going to do about it.
The worst of those days came exactly one week after Christopher had left Rose behind.
The week was spent north of his estate, locked away in a small farmhouse that was quite literally in the middle of nowhere.
It was dilapidated and slovenly. When Christopher arrived, it was messy and coated in dust and dirt.
Once, such a hovel as this would have been enough to see Christopher break down and pray for death. Now, however, he simply did not care.
For a full week, he sulked around the house. Barely eating. Barely sleeping. He did not bathe. He did not bother with clean clothes. Depression was what struck him, and because of how stubborn he was, Christopher refused to admit it.
When he woke on the eighth morning to the sound of thunder and heavy rain, Christopher groaned and resisted the urge to scream into nothingness. It felt to him that the weather was a perfect reflection of his mood, and until he found a way to improve said mood, it would only grow worse.
Let it grow worse. Let it drown me. What is even the point anymore? Yes, things might go back to how they were, but do I even want such a thing? Can my life ever be the same as it was?
It was near midday when Christopher heard it.
Walking aimlessly around his home, through the sound of rain and wind, the unmistakable noise of a carriage rattling down the road snapped Christopher to attention.
His heart leapt through his throat, and excitement struck him for the first time in days. Without stopping to consider who it might be, he rushed outside and stood on the balcony, doing his best to keep his smile hidden when he saw a carriage gently trotting down the driveway.
Naturally, Christopher’s first thought was that Rose was coming to see him.
He did not know why she might be; he could not fathom what she wanted, but that she was here…
it was enough to shatter the funk that had its grip around him, just enough so that Christopher was able to remember what it felt like to be happy again.
And if that isn’t enough of an indication that I have made a horrible mistake, I don’t know what else is…
The rain was heavy, such that it made viewing difficult.
Christopher teetered on the edge of the balcony, thinking to dash into the wet because he was certain now that it was Rose.
Already, he was imagining what he would tell her, the apology that he would give, while picturing their embrace… and then the carriage doors flew open.
Alistair Locke was the first one out of the carriage. He gasped as the rain struck his face, and he was quick to hurry across the driveway and toward the home, grumbling the whole way.
Theodore Merrick was next, and he laughed to feel the rain on his face. He even stood still for a moment, his head tilted back, allowing the rain to douse him as if it was giving him life.
And Christopher, realizing now that his wife had not come to see him, that there would be no reunion or chance to apologize, reverted quickly to the same mood that he had been in all week. Severe depression.
For the best, I think. It is easy now to imagine a reunion where apologies are given and the past is ignored, but that is not reality. As much as I wish to see my wife and tell her everything, I know there is just no way.
We are, for all intents and purposes, finished.
“Christopher!” Alistair grumbled as he hurried onto the balcony, out of the wet. “Could you have chosen a more isolated location to hide out? And during a worse time?”
“I think it’s rather peaceful.” Theodore strolled through the rain, a smile on his face and a glimmer in his eye. “And the rain adds a little something extra. I like it.”
“You would,” Alistair scoffed.
“I just said as much, didn’t I?”
“Send for a towel,” Alistair said once he was out of the wet. “And have a fire made, won’t you? Before I freeze to death.”
Christopher did not know what his friends were doing here. Nor did he know how they found him. The one thing he did know, that which would not change, was how little he wished to see them right now. Not now, not ever.
“There is already a fire lit inside,” Christopher said simply. “The towel, however, you might have to fetch yourself.”
“What does that mean?” Alistair demanded.
“There are no staff here,” Christopher explained simply. “Meaning that there is no one to fetch you a towel. Sad to say.”
“No staff?” Alistair looked aghast at the mere concept.
“I was not expecting visitors.”
“Still…” Alistair looked to Theodore for support. “Not even a single valet? A chef? I don’t think I’ve ever heard such a thing.”
Christopher shrugged. “I came out here to be alone. Hard to do when there are a dozen staff waiting on you. So, if that is a problem…” He looked through the rain to where the carriage still sat.
Theodore laughed. “I told you that he would not be pleased to see us. Did I not say?”
“You did.”
“If you think some less-than-promising hospitality is going to be enough to scare us away…” Theodore strode into Christopher and slapped him roughly on the back. “I am afraid that you are going to be sorely disappointed.”
“He’s right.” Alistair gave his body a shake, dispensing some of the water. But his coat was soaked through, and his hair was matted and messy. He could not have looked more miserable. “We’re not going anywhere.”
Christopher groaned. “I suppose now is the time that I ask what in the name of all things are the two of you even doing here? And how did you find me?”
“Were you hiding?” Theodore grinned.
“That is not an answer.”
“An answer you will have.” Theodore shook his wet hair and then shrugged off his dripping wet coat. “But first, how about inviting us inside? As upset as you are to see your two dearest friends, surely you will afford us that small luxury?”
Christopher had no desire to invite his friends inside. Dammit, he had no desire to invite anyone inside. He wanted to be alone, to be given the chance to disappear and forget the world in the vain hope that it might make things better.
Alas, he knew it was not to be. That Theodore and Alistair had come all this way to see him suggested that whatever the reason, it was important. And even if it was not, they were not the types to be turned away.
“Fine,” Christopher sighed. “Let us be about it.” With that, he turned and walked inside, not bothering to wait for his two friends.
The farmhouse that Christopher was staying in was a single-story home.
It opened into a small foyer, from which sprang several rooms and a hallway that wound deeper into the house.
Most of these rooms were empty, as Christopher had not bothered with them.
The drawing room, however, had a fire burning in its hearth, so he led his friends inside.
“Ah, that is more like it.” Alistair rushed to the fireplace and started to rub his hands before the open flames.
“Oh, it is not that cold,” Theodore chuckled, even as he too approached the fire.
Christopher made for the drinking cabinet. “I suppose I could at least offer you both a drink,” he said as he started to pour one for himself.
“It is a bit early for that, no?” Alistair said.
Christopher shrugged. “For you, maybe.”
He took note of the way that both men looked at one another; the concern they held for him was written clearly in their expressions.
Once, not so long ago, Christopher would never have allowed himself to act this way in front of anyone, including his friends.
He had always been so careful to present himself properly, as a man of his station was expected to do.
He was so concerned about gossip and public perception that he was never able to truly relax or be comfortable, lest questions get raised that he did not want to answer.
With how he felt right now, he did not care.
Christopher thus took a deep mouthful of his whiskey before refilling the glass.
Then he trudged across the room and collapsed onto the couch; he spread his body across it, legs wide, his posture hunched.
And as his two friends continued to eye him with worry, he had another mouthful of his drink, making sure to slurp it.
“That is quite the beard you are cultivating,” Theodore noted. “I did not know the caveman look was back in style.”
“Oh…” Christopher touched absently at his stubble. “I was going to shave, but then thought…” He shrugged. “Why bother?”
“Why bother indeed,” Theodore mused.
“So,” Christopher began. “Are you going to tell me what you are doing out here? Or do I need to guess?”