Chapter Twenty-Three
He wasn’t sure what was stopping him telling her that she was right, except perhaps a desire to let her finish what she had to say before interrupting.
"And then…and then there always seems to be something that makes that seem ridiculous. Your mother’s reaction, for one, or the gossips at the balls who say how plain I am, or you dancing with my sister, or—"
"None of that means anything, Constance. None of that is how I feel."
"But it was, don’t you see? When you saw me in your hallway and I was not dressed as a lady, you wanted me gone, without time to explain.
You saw nothing but a plain woman invading your space – and there will always be someone prettier, someone better suited to being a countess, who comes along.
" She blushed furiously and looked at the floor.
"If that was even what you had in mind."
He hated that she was so unsure of herself, and yet he also did not feel she was being wholly fair to him.
She had been an intruder in his home, and perhaps he had behaved more harshly than was necessary, but he did not think his response had been because of her looks.
And his mother’s reaction was not fair, and he would have to speak to her about it – but he had never said those things.
He thought she was beautiful, and the only woman he could imagine as his countess.
But there was a knock on the door before he could say any of that, and a footman entered carrying buckets and rags.
"I’m sorry, my lord. I just wanted to make sure everything was protected before any further rain."
Ezra swallowed, his mouth suddenly bone dry, and nodded. "Of course. We’ll get out of your way."
Constance followed him. "Where else is damaged?"
"It’s on the other side of the castle," he said.
"Can I see?" she asked.
He wanted to say no, but what excuse could he possibly give? "I… I suppose so."
They walked in silence, the weight of the conversation between them heavy, and all the while Ezra wondered if he ought to ask her to marry him now, this very afternoon, to make it clear that all her worries were for naught – that there was no one else for him, and it did not matter how beautiful a woman walked before him; he was never going to want to marry anyone else.
And then he reached the damaged wing – the countess’s chambers, leading to the nursery –and his hand stopped on the door.
"I… I can’t."
Constance frowned. "Why not?"
"I– I’m sorry," he said, memories flashing through his mind of the last time he had stepped into those chambers, of the nursery at the other end, of the misery that filled that wing. "Please excuse me – but I can’t."
And then he turned on his heel and left, abandoning her, unable to face the past.
And if he couldn’t even enter the countess’s chambers, how on earth did he think he could possibly remarry?
◆◆◆
Lady Constance Beaumont had never been so shocked in her entire life.
She didn’t know why Ezra could not show her the rooms, although she rather suspected they were something to do with the late countess.
But he had practically run away from her, leaving her stranded in a corridor on the far side of the castle, with no explanation.
For a moment she simply stood there, dumbstruck.
Then she began to walk back in what she hoped was the direction of the main front door. She hadn’t paid much attention to which way they were going, not intending to have to traverse it alone, and there were so many twists and turns that she was not entirely confident she was going the right way.
She did not look into the rooms that Ezra had run from; it wasn’t her place. If he didn’t want to show them to her, then that was his right – and, if his reaction was that strong, she supposed she could understand better why he had reacted as he did when she had accidentally trespassed before.
She had bared her soul to him, told him what her heart was filled with – and although he had said that he did not prefer Charity to her, he had made no declaration of love.
Well, she supposed that was an end to it. If he had been going to ask her to marry him, or at least suggest that such was his intention, surely he would have done so today.
Feeling confused and sad but resigned to the situation, she finally found her way back to the main corridor, where Soames was supervising the removal of furniture from a room – presumably one where the roof had been damaged.
"Lady Constance," he said with a bow of his head. "Can I be of assistance?"
Constance paused for a moment. How was she to answer that?
She did not wish to tell him that his master had run from her, nor that she had no idea where he was.
And she did not know whether Ezra would want his staff to know such information either.
He was, it seemed, a very private man, and she would not wish to violate that.
"I just need my horse," she said, feeling rather flustered. "I don’t know whether he was taken to the stables, although I know they are damaged at present."
"I think they took your horse and put it in one of the undamaged stalls, my lady, but allow me to check for you."
As all good servants did, he asked no questions, even though it was rather odd for her to appear alone and ready to leave, when he had last seen her in the company of the Earl.
She wanted to know if he was all right, to find him and ask what was wrong, to see if she could help. But she thought he would want to be alone right now; after all, he had run away from her. And she could not deny that her pride was slightly wounded by that.
She was in love with him, and she wanted him to be happy, even if that meant leaving things alone when she really wanted to push for answers.
And if he had been in love with her, surely he would have said so.
She needed to accept her one-sided love, and not see him again, for it would surely be too painful.
But as she left, she felt she had to say to Soames, "Would you be able to check on Lord Gracewood when I’ve gone? I believe he was feeling a little…unwell."
Soames nodded. "Of course, my lady," he said, and then the stable lad helped her mount her horse. She rode away from Gracewood Castle, for what she thought would be the last time.
◆◆◆
Ezra sat in his study, his hands shaking as he stared at the glass of whisky before him.
It was far earlier than he usually drank, but he felt he needed something to fortify himself.
Although the countess’s bedchamber was connected to his through a door, he had had that door locked and the key put away.
He had not stepped through it in five years.
The access from the other side – where he had taken Constance that day – was somewhere he never went.
He had not expected it to hold such power over him, but it still did.
He had planned to open the door, perhaps to stand back and let Constance see the damage, but he had found himself unable even to turn the handle.
He could picture Laura’s final moments – her lifeless body, the blood, and the silence that had come from the crib.
It had been the worst day of his life, and it seemed that going into those rooms would only make him relive it all with greater force.
He reached forward, took the glass in his shaking hand, and downed the contents.
He had thought he was better. He had known that Laura’s death would stay with him forever, of course, but he had thought that he was ready to face it, to move on.
He had planned to ask Lady Constance to marry him.
And yet – how could he possibly do so? He had left her in that wing of the house, unable even to explain, unable to tell her all the things that were in his heart – all the things he had planned to say about how he loved her, about how he thought she was beautiful, about how he wished she saw herself the way he saw her.
And yet he had been able to say none of it.
He thought he had at least made it clear that he was not interested in Lady Charity, but aside from that: did she know his true feelings at all?
He poured himself another glass. It was probably for the best that she didn’t. Because he quite obviously could not propose marriage – not when he couldn’t even speak of his previous wife, not when he still held himself accountable for her death.
Because what if he did the same to Constance in the end? After all, he hadn’t intended to kill Laura. They had both been excited about the prospect of the child; it had been the reason for their union, after all. And then the babe had come too early, and Laura had not been able to survive it.
He could not do that to Constance. Constance, whom he loved. Constance, whom he wanted to have a long and happy life.
And so he had to accept that he would be alone forever. That he could not continue his courtship of the woman he loved. For it would not be fair on either of them.