Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Thomas did not remember getting to the ball. Everything around him seemed a long way away. It was as if he were looking at the world through frosted glass.
“Where have you been? You were supposed to be here an hour ago.” Cecily grabbed his arm and hissed, then stopped, her brow furrowing. “You look like death warmed up. What on earth has happened?”
Thomas opened his mouth, but he could not make the words come out. How could he tell her that he had failed at the final hurdle?
“Where is Vivian?” Thomas barely recognized his own voice. “I have to talk to her, to explain…”
Cecily nodded her head, and Thomas followed the movement, trailing off. His heart stuttered as he saw her. She was moving between the tables, the light of the chandeliers bouncing off the sapphire at her neck.
Her hair glittered with jewels, and her dress. How is it possible for her to be this breathtaking? He took a step toward her and then stopped.
He watched as she gently touched the arm of an old woman, laughing at something the woman said. He saw her chat to two minor nobles, saw the way they looked after her, and immediately went to the silent auction.
Everywhere she went, she seemed to pull people out of their shells.
“She really has come into her own, has she not?” Cecily gestured toward Vivian. “She is truly a marchioness now.”
Thomas nodded, his mouth dry. At that moment, Vivian looked up, and for the briefest second, her smile faltered. That split second tore at his heart with such ferocity that he feared he would be sick.
“I think she is a little hurt that you did not bother to get here on time, but I am sure if you explain, then you two can sort things out.” Cecily canted her head toward him. “Why were you late? That is not like you.”
“It is a long story.” Thomas could not tear his gaze from Andrea. “But it does not matter. This is Vivian’s night, and I will not do anything to dampen it further.”
Cecily opened her mouth as if to argue, but Thomas shook his head. He grabbed a flute of champagne and downed it. “She is every bit the marchioness she has always been. I cannot take away the fire she has found.”
“And why do you think you would?” Cecily frowned.
“I just do.” Thomas grabbed another drink and downed it. “Let her have this one night. Tomorrow, she will start her new chapter.”
And I will save her from this grief.
He did not hear what Cecily said as he made his way outside the palace. The cold air whipped at his cheeks and coat, but he barely felt it.
“I have to let her go.” He leaned against the balustrade. “It is the best thing for both of us. What future can she have with a dying man?”
“Thomas?” Her voice sent cracks through the glass that formed around his world. “What are you doing out here?”
Do not turn around. He knew that if he turned to face her, he would not be able to let her go. I am too weak to do this.
“I needed some air.”
“It is freezing.” He heard her take a step toward him and then stop. “Are you all right?”
“I am fine.” His voice held no emotion. “You need not concern yourself with me; go back to the festivities.”
“You were late.” Her voice held an edge of anger and pain.
“I am aware.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another footman walk past, and he grabbed another drink. “Something came up.”
“Urgent business?” Her voice was cold. “And you did not think to let me know ahead of time?”
“I miscalculated.” He shrugged. “We should not fight. Not tonight. You should enjoy yourself. After all, this is your new beginning.”
“You will not be joining me then?” Vivian stiffened. “Inside, I mean.”
He looked past her into the ballroom with all the smiling faces. He could hear the laughter, the camaraderie. He took a step toward her, and then he shook his head. “No. I will adjourn to the room upstairs. I think I have something of a headache.”
“If you are not feeling well, maybe I could—”
“No, Vivian. I do not want your help,” he snapped at her, unable to stand the warmth of her touch.
I cannot let myself give in to this weakness. I have to let you go.
“Just leave me alone and enjoy your party.”
“It is a fundraiser.” He saw her lips tremble, but no tears fell from her eyes.
“And if you do not want my help, then so be it. I will not force my company where it is…” She drew in a shaky breath and closed her eyes.
“Where it is not wanted. I expect I will see you in the morning, when I leave to go to the cottage.”
Thomas made a noncommittal noise and fled. For the merest second, he thought he heard a sob escape her, but he knew that was not the case.
“It is better this way.” He grabbed an open bottle of champagne as he walked past a table, tugging off his cravat and walking to the room he had planned to ask Vivian to stay with him in.
He flung open the door, throwing the rose petals off the bed. He flung the flowers at the wall and screamed into a pillow, not wanting his pain to be heard by anyone else.
“I do not deserve sympathy. I do not deserve comfort.” He shook as he curled up onto the floor. “I will not be my father.”
He rolled onto his back and pressed the champagne to his lips. He drank deep, willing it to numb the ache within him. Liquid spilled over him, and still he kept drinking.
He moved to the cupboard and saw the bottle of wine he had asked to have sent up. He savaged the cork and drank deeply.
The room spun around him, and he closed his eyes. He could hear the sound of the party, and he comforted himself with the knowledge that, at the very least, Vivian would still get her fundraiser.
“She may hurt, but it will be better this way. She has found her purpose, her passion. That is all I can ask for.” He let the darkness claim him.
Minutes later, or perhaps it was hours, he was not sure, a hammering on his door woke him. His head ached. His mouth felt like it was made of cotton wool. He tried to lift himself from the floor, but the room swayed unhelpfully.
“Elington? Elington are you in there?” Frederick’s voice was muffled through the door.
He groaned.
“Vivian is getting ready to leave. Her carriage is waiting. I have tried to delay her as long as possible, but I cannot keep her here much longer.” Thomas winced as Frederick jiggled the door handle.
“Then do not.” Thomas stumbled upward, collapsing against the wall.
“Do you not want to say goodbye?” He could hear Frederick’s confusion through the door. “Thomas, I do not understand. The two of you seemed so close, and you are just going to let her leave?”
“This was always the plan. If she wanted to stay, she would ask.” Thomas shrugged. “She has not.”
“Have you even asked her?” Frederick banged on the door again, and Thomas winced as the sound reverberated around his head. “For goodness’ sake, open up so we can have a real conversation.”
“No. Just go away. Tell her to get on the road and wish her well. No, just… just tell her to go. She should not wait for me.” Thomas’s voice cracked, and he slammed a fist against the wall. “Just tell her to leave.”
“Do not do this, Elington. Do not drive her away needlessly.” Frederick said.
“You do not know what you are talking about.” Thomas growled.
“So tell me. Help me understand.” The handle of the door jangled. “Elington we are running out of time. Surely this is not what you want?”
No. Thomas slumped to the floor. He said nothing. What could he say? Vivian was leaving, and though he ached to see her one last time before she went, he knew that if he did, he would not be strong enough to let her go.
Just thinking about it felt like someone had torn his heart from his chest and flung it across the room.
He heard footsteps, and he knew Frederick had left. He swallowed and rested his head in his hands. “She is better without me. The only thing I can offer her is pain. Suffering.”
He tugged at tufts of his hair, biting his knuckles to keep from crying out. Every part of him felt both numb and on fire. He stood up.
“I have to say goodbye.” He was being a fool.
He opened the door, stumbling into the hallway. He was missing a shoe, but he did not care. He ran to the window at the top of the stairs in time to see her carriage pulling away from the palace.
A part of him broke, and he slumped into a heap. She had left. She would not be coming back.
He wondered whether she had even looked behind. He hated that he wondered about it. He pulled himself to his feet and decided to walk back to the empty house he knew would be waiting for him.
“I see your plan to live separate lives is going about as well as can be expected.” His grandmother’s voice sounded far away.
Thomas let his eyes flicker open, surprised to find himself lying on the floor of his study. His mouth tasted of tobacco and stale whisky. His stomach roiled, and his head ached. The sunlight felt like daggers in his eyes as he blinked blearily up at his grandmother.
She wrinkled her nose. “You smell disgusting, Thomas. You are a man, not a pig.”
“I would rather be a pig than a man,” he grumbled, hefting himself up into a sitting position and only just managing not to be violently ill. “What are you doing here?”
“I have come to have tea. And to see just how sorry a state you are in.” She tapped his foot with her walking stick.
Thomas scowled at her. “I am in no mood for tea, Grandmama.”
“Clearly. But I am in no mood for self-pity. Especially as this is a situation that is both entirely of your own making and entirely avoidable.” His grandmother sat in an armchair, leaning on her walking stick for support. “Now what do you plan on doing about it?”
“Nothing.” Thomas shrugged. “What is done cannot be undone.”
“Then you do not love her?” His grandmother narrowed her eyes at him.
“It does not matter how I feel about her.” Thomas’s chest ached. “She is gone now.”