Chapter Fifty-Three
Nathaniel left Sutton House because had he gone up to his chambers, knowing Frances was no longer in residence, he would have kept drinking until the bottle somehow ended up smashed against the fireplace, along with a great many other irreplaceable items. It was best for everyone if he removed himself from the situation, as Frances had.
He hated himself more with every step. He’d tried so hard to be a good man, to live up to his father’s example, but Frances was right: all he caused was pain.
“Lord Lark, what a lovely surprise.”
Nathaniel was startled to find he’d ended up at the Fergus residence, where Lydia had just alighted her carriage.
“Would you like a ride home?” She motioned to the carriage, where the driver was waiting for instructions.
“No, I was enjoying the fresh air,” he assured her. “Unless you were offering…”
He raised his eyebrows in what might have been a seductive manner had he not been knackered.
Or if he’d had the remotest interest in anyone other than Frances.
But as she’d clearly recovered from any misguided infatuation she’d felt for him and saw their marriage as a cage preventing her from happiness, he would probably be better off ending his unhealthy obsession with his wife.
“I was at your wedding, my lord,” she reminded him with a playful slap, but there was less of a warning and more her trying to figure out where his head was at. If he was teasing or breaking down. She’d always been good at that.
“Yours never stopped you,” he tried. Maybe that was the mistake.
Promising Frances his faithfulness. Lydia and Jack gave each other everything they had to give, but none of the things they couldn’t, and they were happy.
But the idea of anyone else touching Frances made his blood boil, and he wanted to give her everything. Even if it killed him.
Lydia didn’t like the comment either, as the look she gave him—pain mixed with anger in her eyes—hit him harder than a slap ever could.
“I apologize, that was—”
“Go home to your wife, Lord Lark,” she said pointedly, no longer caring about his mental state.
“Lady Fergus—”
“No, you don’t get to judge me. My marriage never stopped me, because Jack didn’t want it to.
Lady Lark doesn’t know that you are here, and it would break her heart if she found out,” she said incisively.
“I know that you love her, Nathaniel. That she’s the one you want right now. And I know she loves you.”
“Love doesn’t—”
“I know that better than anyone,” she said bitterly. “But she’s the one you’re either seeking, or trying to forget. My husband agonizes over the fact that he can’t give me everything I need, but here you are, perfectly capable, yet refusing to.”
“You have no idea,” he argued.
“Of course I do. We’ve done more talking than anything else, my lord,” she reminded him, then said softly, “If you’re not careful, I’m afraid you’ll lose this one too.”
The horror must have shown on his face as he wrestled with the fact that he might have already lost Frances, in spite of his keeping the fires lit, having Sarah watch over her, and doing everything in his power to keep both Frances and his heart protected.
“There are many ways to lose someone, Nathaniel. I pray you never go through something like Jo’s loss ever again, but you still might get the very marriage you promised Lady Lark.”
“She left,” he admitted. “I think she’ll be back, but maybe she shouldn’t, because everyone I love dies.” The tears burned his eyes as the fight went out of him. “You were there, you know how—”
“Does she?”
“She knows that I lost Jo, but not that it was my fault. Then Frances had this fever, and I knew that the closer I got the more it would tempt the fates to take her from me and I…I can’t lose her, Lydia. I won’t survive it.”
“I know,” she said, taking him in her arms and rubbing his back. “I know it feels that way, but I promise, not risking anything, keeping her at a distance, it hurts infinitely more.”