25. Chapter 25
CHAPTER 25
A lice should not have done it.
The dowager and Lady Fairfax had worked tirelessly to salvage her reputation after the incident at Violet Cottage. Yet here she was, making her way alone through the darkened hedge maze, guided only by moonlight and an inexplicable pull toward its end. Her thoughts spiraled as she navigated the twisting paths.
What would she find there? She did not fully know.
But she had to go—even if it meant risking everything her family had worked for, everything she and her mother had sacrificed. But something in his posture had drawn her to him like a moth to flame. She owed him at least a conversation—if not her life—for saving her on the road.
The hedges loomed above her, their shadows stretching across the gravel path like slabs of obsidian. Each turn could lead to another dead end or bring her closer to her destination. The night air held a chill she could not shake.
Just when she thought she must have lost her way completely, the maze opened before her. Moonlight flooded the clearing, illuminating the gazebo that overlooked the lake. Beyond its elegant white columns, she could make out the dark shape of Violet Cottage in the distance.
And there he was.
“Victor,” she breathed.
He straightened at the sound of her voice, quickly wiping at his face with one hand. Though the darkness obscured his features, she could sense his distress in the rigid set of his shoulders.
“You should not be here,” he said, his voice rough. “We cannot be caught together.”
“I do not care.”
“You should.”
Victor looked away from her, his attention fixed on some distant point across the lake. Alice approached slowly, carefully, as though he might spook like a nervous horse if she moved too quickly. When she reached the gazebo, she took her place beside him at the railing, her hands resting on the smooth stone as she followed his gaze out over the water.
“Speak to me,” she finally urged. “I beg of you. I cannot take this silence any longer.”
He turned his head to study her, and something in her expression seemed to crack his facade. His perpetually arched brows drew together, creating deep furrows in his forehead.
“At the cottage,” he began haltingly, “I know I did not act gentlemanly. But there is a reason I acted thus.”
“Violet.”
The name seemed to freeze him in place, every muscle going rigid. His hands gripped the railing until his knuckles showed white in the moonlight. Alice’s fingers twitched with the urge to cover his hand with her own, to offer that simple comfort, but propriety held her still. Even so, something in her expression must have reached him, for the tension drained from his frame as he released a long-held breath.
The carefully constructed walls around him crumbled, and at last he spoke.
“I was married.” He let out a bitter laugh. “ Married. It seems strange to say it now. She was not a typical beauty, a spinster when we met, despite having a matchmaker as a mother. She had a wit about her that drew me in completely. It was a love match—as Elias would say, ‘the love match to end all love matches.’ We were ensnared in a short whirlwind of a romance that shocked everyone. I suppose that is the only way I know how to fall in love.”
He turned his face from her, his gaze fixing on the distant cottage.
“Being the fourth son, I was hardly the preferred choice for an earl’s daughter. But it happened, and eventually her family warmed to me. Henrietta especially. Her brother never did, the cad. But I made my stake in the military, bought my commission. Was a cavalry officer and enjoyed every moment of it. But then I had to leave Violet for the Continent and the war.”
Victor’s voice softened as he continued.
“She sent me letters every day, and I wrote back just as often. She was with child and moved into the dower house across that lake while I was away, to be with her mother. I was bereft to be gone, but I held onto thoughts of our future together. And then ...”
He fell silent, his profile sharp against the night sky as he tipped his head back, lost in memory.
“The letters stopped. Not even family wrote. Everything came to a deafening pause. After some days, I finally learned what had happened.”
Alice watched as grief transformed his features, aging him before her eyes.
“Fever. At eight months along ... it was too much for either of them to bear. And so they left this world, for someplace better, I suppose. They both died in that house. Violet Cottage, now.”
His fingers worried at something in his pocket—the small poetry book, Alice realized. She remained silent, allowing him space to continue.
“I received the letter a day before Waterloo. Could not parse it properly. They said I could leave the front, but it had not yet sunk in. And so I went to battle, and there I dealt with their deaths. I left every part of myself on that battlefield. I tore my soul apart fighting the French.” His laugh held no humor. “I wished to die there, on that stupid farm. But I survived.”
He shook his head slowly.
“I survived. And I was without her. A dead man walking. But, I came back home as a hero. A widower. I fell into drink, into debauchery, into anything that could numb the pain. I haven’t even visited their graves—have not stepped foot in our church—not in three years. I could not bear the thought of them in the ground. Sometimes I wonder if I ever will.
“Then one day, I was out with a group of old friends. Elias was there.” Victor’s voice grew distant. “And suddenly I realized I wasn’t for this world anymore—that I could not be part of their laughter, their joy. So I watched them, forcing them into my memory, soaking in every last moment. Then I slipped out. The bridge called to me, and I heeded it.”
His hands tightened on the railing again.
“I basked in the peace it offered. The water seemed like a friend. A final embrace. And then I would be with them again. I would be free from this mortal coil.” He took a deep breath. “But Elias had other plans.”
Victor turned to face her fully, his expression raw with pain.
“He took that choice from me. And I can never forgive him for it, but I will forever be in his debt.”
“I am so sorry, Victor,” Alice whispered.
He looked down at his hands, shoulders slumping.
“That day, when you quarreled with Elias, I saw parts of myself in you. And it frightened me. I followed you on horseback, and when I found your rose pin on the ground, I somehow knew I was right.”
The look he gave her was that of a man shattered and then broken again, held together only by sheer force of will.
“Elias pulled me from the depths. He dragged me from that bridge the night he saved me. I owe him a life debt. As I found bits of myself in you, I thought maybe he could heal that darkness in you, too. He could drag you from your own bridge.”
Alice stood speechless for several moments, processing his words.
“Victor,” she finally said, “I do not believe it is fair to place such a burden upon Elias.”
He looked away, obviously distressed by her response.
“You must understand,” Alice continued. “I do not know why I stood before that carriage. Only that ... I am tired. Oh, so tired. My family’s future has rested upon my shoulders since I was a girl. Every movement I make, every breath, every thought even, is measured again and again and again. And I am done . I cannot do it any longer. On that day, on that road, it seemed the easiest way out. And now, it feels foolish but?—”
“You are not a fool,” Victor interrupted firmly. “Do not say such things. You are simply hurting.”
“Nevertheless, I cannot marry a man just to mend a wound.”
“Please,” Victor said, taking her hands in his. “Do not make me beg like the dog I am.”
He fell to his knees before her, grasping her hands, the raw desperation in his voice making her chest constrict painfully. It was almost as if he were about to ask for her hand.
“Swear to me,” he continued, “that when he proposes to you, you will say yes.”
Victor truly believed Elias could heal her, just as he had done for him. But as he knelt there staring up at her, clasping her hands, unbidden memories flooded her mind—the way he had looked at her beneath the oak tree, his eyes blazing with something deep and unending, the countless moments when the world had seemed to narrow to just the two of them.
“What about … you?” The words escaped her before she could stop them, barely more than a whisper.
His grip on her hands loosened slightly, and something in his expression closed off.
“I-I have no part in this. My ...” He paused, his voice growing distant. “My heart is blackened. It has nothing left to offer.”
His words pierced through her. The wound that Violet’s death left was still too painful, the loss too deep. Heat crept up her neck at her own presumption. That he would ever harbor such feelings for her—or anyone for that matter.
“Please,” he said again. “Promise me.”
Looking down at him, seeing the desperate plea in his eyes, she knew she could not deny him this. Even if every fiber of her being rebelled against it.
“I swear,” she whispered, forcing out every syllable as if it pained her. “If His Grace proposes, I will say yes.”
The relief that flooded his features made her release a shaky breath, but it felt all wrong, like a key turning in the wrong lock. She pulled her hands from his grasp.
“I—I must go,” she stammered, and though he rose quickly to his feet, she was already turning away, fleeing into the maze. The hedges seemed to close in around her as she ran, branches catching at her dress and hair.
She did not want Elias’s gentle healing, his perfect sunlight. She wanted iron. She wanted the darkness that recognized her own. She wanted ...
But she could not finish the thought. It was too dangerous, too destructive. It would ruin everything—her family’s hopes, her mother’s dreams, her own chance at respectability.
So she ran, leaving her heart behind in the moonlit gazebo with a broken man who thought he could save her by giving her away.