Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“It’s time to leave,” Elizabeth whispered to herself.
She had been standing in the front hall of the Redmoor townhouse for what seemed like hours, but she had not yet been able to force her feet to step outside for good.
Her eyes scanned everything, wondering if it was wise to remember every detail or if it was better that she left without many memories with her.
Her hands were folded in front of her, poised and proper as everyone expected from her. Her bonnet was in place although she had not slipped on the gloves she was gripping in her hands. At least, the crying had stopped. The trembling had, too. It was time to move on.
The sad thing was that nobody stopped her. Nobody called out to tell her to stay. Instead, it seemed that both Alasdair and she had already given up on the life they were supposed to live together.
The house felt too quiet, and it must be. She didn’t see Alasdair anywhere. When a footman assisted her to her carriage, she didn’t look back.
Why should she?
The London streets were blurry. Elizabeth was too caught up in her feelings to truly see or hear anything.
It was over.
It was not supposed to be surprising. It was not supposed to hurt. After all, it was merely an arrangement and a flirtation, but she had to admit that it was better than other people’s arrangements. There was at least fondness and friendship, or so she thought.
The carriage soon rolled in front of Marianne and Dominic’s townhouse. The butler seemed surprised but remained kind.
“It’s a pleasure to see you, Your Grace,” he said.
“Likewise. Thank you,” she responded as politely as her mood would allow.
Only a moment later, Marianne practically tumbled down the steps to greet her. Concern was etched on her face.
“Lizzie! Are you unwell? What happened?” she asked, as she hugged her younger sister tightly.
“I…I just needed some time away, Marianne,” she said, not exactly lying.
She just didn’t know when she was coming back.
Her sister didn’t ask any more questions. She simply led Elizabeth into the house, and that was that.
Meanwhile, Alasdair was also taking some time, but within the Redmoor townhouse.
He’d heard Elizabeth leave hours ago. He heard her drag her luggage, but he didn’t do anything about it. He had remained seated in his darkened study, making sure the fire was low. It was almost like nobody was there, and perhaps nobody was.
Perhaps he had always been a coward.
In front of him was an almost empty whiskey bottle. He drank the liquid not for enjoyment this time, but for punishment.
“Ye damn fool,” he muttered, as he swirled his glass and drank the last bit of spirits.
When Elizabeth approached him about choosing between duty and desire, he thought that it would be such an easy choice. After all, he went into this marriage offering himself.
Wasn’t he a hero for pulling her away from more undesirable options?
No, he wasn’t.
He had wanted her. She probably went into the marriage because he was familiar, and now she wanted a family. She demanded that he choose between justice and what they managed to form—not quite love, but more than friendship.
He had been working towards justice for years, he thought it would be an easy choice, but it turned out not to be. When she turned her back at him, he felt a hole in his chest.
Today, when she went with her luggage, the hole widened, leaving him hollow.
Seth burst in a few minutes later, looking more furious than he had ever been to him.
Red-faced, he flung his coat and threw it onto the floor.
“You absolute bastard. You mule-headed man!” he roared.
Alasdair should be shocked at his friend’s complete change in personality, but he merely grunted, “Evenin’, Seth,” while he stayed put in his chair.
Seth grabbed the empty whiskey bottle and glared at it. “Well, it looks like I’m too late. You can’t do this, Alasdair. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. If you truly want to destroy yourself, do it after you’ve cleared your father’s name or all these sacrifices are for naught. Not before.”
“Elizabeth left, Seth,” he whispered, not sounding like himself.
It felt like he and his friend had switched personalities for the evening. It might as well be.
“I am going to guess that you left her with no choice! She married you because you offered protection. You were a safe haven for her.”
Alasdair wondered if that was all he was to her. But for someone like Elizabeth, who had grown up afraid, it was everything.
“Ye ken I cannae let Kittridge win.” Alasdair growled, rising from his seat.
“I meself daenae hae a choice in this. I cannae live another month pretendin’ me faither wasnae disgraced, tortured, and murdered!
It’s been weighin’ on me chest for far too long.
I cannae live me life properly till I’ve done somethin’ about it. ”
“You could still fight Kittridge without putting Elizabeth aside,” Seth said, calming down a little.
He was still flushed and panting, but he was watching Alasdair as if he was more willing to listen now.
“She left. Of her own accord.” Alasdair’s tone was sharper now, more defensive.
He turned away, as though putting distance between himself and the guilt.
“I said that already, didn’t I? I’m nae the one who—”
He broke off. The rest of the sentence caught in his throat.
I’m not the one who gave up.
I’m not the one who walked away.
Except… hadn’t he?
Seth exhaled, the sound short and bitter.
“There you go.” He pushed away from the edge of the desk, lifting his hands in surrender. “You know what you did. I don’t have to say another damn thing.”
And with that, he walked out, leaving Alasdair alone with the silence—and the truth.
For a time, Elizabeth thought that she’d finally found a place where she belonged without any limitations. Alasdair had made sure that she knew she had rooms in his home, both in London and in Scotland.
Now, she was back in a guest chamber at her sister Marianne’s home.
She sat by the window and wondered how the sky knew what she was feeling. It was overcast and grey.
“You need to eat,” Marianne cajoled, nodding at the tray of food and tea that she’d brought earlier.
Elizabeth had only taken a sip of tea, and that was it.
“I will. Just give me a moment,” she said, forlornly.
“You don’t have to say anything, Lizzie,” Marianne said gently, as she sat next to her. She rubbed her younger sister’s back in circles. “But know this. I will always be here when you need me.”
Elizabeth knew that Marianne was telling the truth. There was a time she felt her older sister had escaped their father’s oppressive rule when she got married to Dominic, but she realized that the move was to appease their father. It also helped that she had fallen in love.
“I thought I wanted freedom, Marianne. A marriage to someone who wouldn’t care where I was at any given time of the day. With Alasdair, I knew I’d be safe, and that would be it. I thought I’d be happy,” Elizabeth lamented.
“And you’re not?” Marianne asked, eyes wide and tearful.
“I thought I was, for a time. I felt safe and happy with Alasdair,” Elizabeth admitted. “B-but I am not so sure as of late. He’s leaving and may not come back.”
Marianne quietly listened to her, holding her hands in hers. It was just like when they were children.
For a moment, she felt safe again, only to be reminded that her sister had a family of her own now. She could no longer demand the same thing from her.
“Shh, he’s coming back,” Marianne whispered after a long pause. “Wait, I think I know what you need. I’ll be back soon.”
When she returned, her arms were full of art supplies: canvas, paint, pencils, sheets of paper, and more. Seeing her sister’s efforts, Elizabeth could only nod politely.
When Marianne finally left her, she sat in front of her desk. A large sheet of paper lay on the wood, waiting for her to create magic on it, but she just stared at it. It remained pristine even as the clock continued ticking.
She sighed heavily.
It had not happened before. Yes, she would sometimes sit for a while. There would be lines of pencil sketch outlining some invisible idea, but eventually the lines would be filled with detail.
Today, she had no luck.
How could she when she kept seeing Alasdair’s face? She would not draw him.
No. Not again. Not ever.