Chapter 63 Lord Edward
My leg hurts and my hands are trembling. Is this withdrawal? Or perhaps it’s merely adrenaline leaving my body. I want to crouch beside Amelia, but I can’t; my body literally cannot make that shape.
“Amelia!” A striking woman emerges onto the terrace from below.
She’s wearing a parka zipped to her neck, and her hair is twisted into braids, gathered into a bun on top of her head.
She’s taller than Amelia, but still several inches shorter than I am.
Her walk is rushed but even; she’s wearing insulated duck boots, perfectly appropriate for the weather.
She’s slightly out of breath as she says, “What are you doing here?”
When Amelia doesn’t answer, the woman turns to me and briskly introduces herself as Dr. Mackenzie, Amelia’s care manager, then pulls her phone from her pocket.
“Just letting my colleagues know you’re here,” she explains as she moves her fingers over the screen.
“What about Sonja?” Amelia asks hoarsely. I look at her in surprise. I’d all but forgotten the missing patient.
“Sonja’s okay, thank goodness. She hitchhiked into town, but she’s all right.”
“To the Shelter Shack?” Amelia asks.
Dr. Mackenzie looks at her quizzically, but nods, then crouches beside my friend. Glancing up at me, the doctor says, “You should go inside, Lord Edward. Unfortunately, we have to send both of you home tomorrow.”
“I was already leaving,” Amelia says.
“You were?” I ask dumbly.
Amelia doesn’t answer.
Dr. Mackenzie explains, “We’re closing the facility until more effective security measures can be put in place,” she says. “Sonja’s underage, so matters are a bit complicated.”
“Dr. Rush will just lock patients on the property,” Amelia says, her eyes bloodshot.
Dr. Mackenzie looks tired. “I don’t know exactly what we’re going to do.” She pulls Amelia to her feet. “But you don’t have to worry about that. For now, let me walk you to your cottage.”
“I can’t go back there,” Amelia says.
“I understand you don’t want to be here, Amelia, but we’re on an island in the middle of the night. Everything is closed, and the ferry doesn’t run at this hour. And with the weather…” She gestures at the snow, though it’s coming down more lightly than it was an hour ago.
Amelia shudders. “I can’t spend another night on this property.” She sounds desperate.
Dr. Mackenzie must recognize something in Amelia’s tone, because she doesn’t argue. “Okay.” She nods. “We’re leaving.”
Amelia follows her doctor off the terrace. She doesn’t pause to say goodbye. I open my mouth to apologize—I should have believed her, I should have helped her sooner—but she’s gone before I can make the words.
When Harper’s parents kicked me out of her hospital room, I protested with apologies. Her parents looked as though they couldn’t believe I had the nerve to offer a simple I’m sorry after what I’d done.
All my life, I’ve had this feeling that there’s a way I’m supposed to be, a role I’m meant to play. Not the upstanding citizen Anne and my father claim to want me to be. In fact, I think, they want me to be the family fuckup; they need me to be, a distraction from their own shortcomings.
But I took it too far, played my part too well: I was meant to do poorly at Eton so the press could call me the Dunderhead Duke, not get kicked out.
Meant to get a reputation for partying just a tad too hard so the press could label me Overeager Eddie, not for falling down drunk.
Meant to casually date inappropriate girls (Lord Lays-A-Lot), not fall deeply in love with one of them.
Meant to damage expensive cars (Fender-Bender Eddie), not destroy them.
I’m supposed to be a laugh, a lark, a clown rather than a cautionary tale.
Instead, I’ve done such terrible things that I’m sorry, no matter how well-intentioned, isn’t nearly enough.