Chapter 22
In the days since the debacle at the theatre, George had tried his best to keep himself busy. Taking time to handle the affairs of the dukedom, spending time with Walter and Elizabeth, and drinking copious amounts of liquor.
In truth, he was not himself at all.
And in the top drawer of his desk, Cecelia's locket with its broken chain burned a hole, practically crying out to him to be given the attention it deserved, she deserved.
But how could he do so after all that had been said, after all that had been broken between them?
He was so intent upon his thoughts, or rather the effort it took to keep her from his thoughts, that he did not hear the pounding upon the front door.
Nor did he truly register the footsteps approaching his study until he heard the knock upon the door he had left ajar.
Even before he could compose himself, the door creaked open, and Walter took a hesitant step inside.
“May I come in?”
Cringing, George leaned back in his chair and ran a finger through his hair. Adjusting the buttons on his waistcoat for something to do, he gestured Walter inside.
“I was not aware we had made plans,” he said, raising a brow as his friend entered.
Walter shook his head. “I do hope you do not mind my dropping in unannounced. I insisted I could see myself to you.”
George pursed his lips. At least he did not have to suffer his butler's concerned expression nor his manservant's questioning.
“Please, sit,” he insisted, gesturing to the armchair opposite his desk. “Do you need something?”
Walter settled down into the chair without argument, straightened his own jacket, and cleared his throat.
Something about his friend's expression left George feeling uneasy, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
“You're certain you do not wish to make intentions known towards Cecelia?” Walter asked, and George struggled not to gape at his friend.
“If you have come to try and change my mind, then I am sorry to say that you have had a wasted trip,” George said firmly, unable to allow himself even a moment to think.
Walter leaned forward in his seat, his expression somewhat uncomfortable. “I have come to make a proposal.”
A shiver ran down George's spine.
“If you have spoken to Cece, I do not wish to—”
Walter raised his hand to cut him off.
“I am not here on behalf of Cece but rather Elizabeth.”
George blinked, surprised.
“Elizabeth?”
What does she have to do with any of this? he wondered.
Walter nodded.
“The two of you have always shared a fondness for each other,” Walter said, meeting George's gaze. “She needs a husband, and you need a wife. The pair of you could be quite content together.”
The laughter that burst from George's lips was entirely uncontrollable. Yet, when he saw his friend's seriousness, he bit it back uncomfortably.
“Surely you jest?”
Walter continued to meet George's gaze.
“Is it such an amusing idea to you?”
“Yes! The very notion is absurd!”
George regretted the pain that swept across his friend's face.
They had always been open with each other, always told each other the truth.
“Where is this coming from, Walter?”
His friend glanced down before meeting his gaze again. “I wish to see you happy. I wish to see my sister happy. I see no reason why the two of you couldn't come to some arrangement that might suit you both.”
George's blood ran cold.
He shook his head.
“Walter, I could never give Elizabeth what she deserves,” he insisted, his hands tightening to fists upon his lap. “She deserves a man who will care for her. A man who will love her. Not an arrangement that merely suits everybody's needs where the ton is concerned.”
“I cannot believe that you do not care for her,” Walter said, raising a brow. “You have spent a great deal of time together of late. I have seen you laughing together. Our own parents have hinted at the idea many a time.”
“Our parents merely wish us to keep our obligations.”
“Is that such a terrible idea, considering you will not keep such obligations out of love?”
George recoiled from his friend's words.
Unsure what to say, he gritted his teeth.
“If you cannot marry Lady Cecelia, whom you clearly hold affection for, then how do you ever hope to continue your lineage if not for an arrangement?”
George closed his eyes, the truth of his friend's words sinking in painfully.
“Elizabeth is beautiful, intelligent, and she has a good fortune behind her,” Walter continued in his argument. “You would be a fool not to take such an arrangement unless you had plans elsewhere.”
“I have no plans!” George snapped, slamming his fist down on the desk. “I shall not be hounded into making any.”
“Then you truly are a coward!” Walter hissed back at him.
George's eyes flew open, and they met Walter's where his friend now stood over his desk.
“You shall remain alone, unhappy, and disconnected from all else if you continue down this path, George,” Walter insisted, tapping his finger on the desk. “I, for one, do not wish to see it so!”
“So you come here and you offer up your sister on a silver platter!” George retorted, disgusted by the very notion, his insides twisting at the word coward.
“I merely wish to make you see the truth, George!”
“And what truth is that, Walter?”
It was painful to meet his friend's gaze as he watched it harden.
“You are too cowardly to admit that your heart lies elsewhere,” Walter insisted, shoving his hands into his pockets as if he knew not what to do with them.
“You fail in making plans because you cannot see a future for yourself. I understand, truly I do. The war changed us. It hardened us. It made us hard to love. But we are home now, and life continues. Do not let it move forward without you.”
Frustrated, angry, and confused, George sighed. “You do not understand.”
Walter removed his hands from his pockets and laid them on the table, leaning over the desk as he encouraged, “Then help me understand.”
George's eyes fluttered shut, his agony at how to answer Walter's pushing unfathomable.
“I do not have the words.”
The desk creaked a little as Walter pushed himself off it, but George kept his eyes firmly closed.
“Then open your heart, George, open it and admit the truth to yourself, to all of us,” Walter insisted, “or I fear you shall be lost to yourself.”
George quivered. The thought of getting lost didn't seem like such a bad thing. If indeed it saved him from having to decide on anything wrong in his life, being lost sounded positively wonderful. Yet, a small part of him remained unwilling to give up.
Silence filled the room, and George began to hope that it would urge Walter out of his study. If he remained still as stone, if he failed to speak, if he buried his head, he might be left alone.
But Walter did not leave.
Instead, he asked, “To whom does your heart belong, George?”
Cecelia …
Her beautiful, radiant face plagued him every waking moment, following him into his dreams, hounding his nightmares in which he saw her lost to another, left just out of reach forever.
He opened his mouth to admit the truth. Closed it again.
No matter how he tried, he could not bring himself to voice the words.
Walter let out an exasperated sigh.
“You truly are a coward, George.”
The words bit into George's gut. They tore at his heart and left him feeling hollow.
He had not the words to argue back, for he knew his friend spoke the truth.
He remained silent, listening as Walter escaped the room, escaped him.
He only paused at the door to utter, “I no longer recognize you, my friend, and it saddens me greatly.”
There, Walter left him utterly alone, trembling with the effort of not going after him. A part of him wished to beg for his help, to gain the confidence of his truest and oldest friend and finally see a way out of his misery.
Yet, how could any of that be accomplished if he could not even admit the truth aloud? How might one ask for help when he could not even voice the problem when sitting alone in his room at night?