Chapter 36
“The eastern drainage system requires immediate attention.”
Cartwright spread the blueprints across Aaron’s desk as morning light revealed dust motes drifting through air that smelled of stale brandy and regret. He did not comment on the empty decanters, the untouched breakfast tray, or the fact that his employer still wore yesterday’s shirt.
Aaron forced his attention to the proposed improvements, calculating costs with the part of his mind that still functioned. The rest remained frozen in that moment five days ago when Louise had walked through his door for the last time.
“The tenants have also requested repairs to the mill house roof.” Cartwright showed another section of the plans. “Before winter sets in properly.”
“Approved.” Aaron signed documents without reading them, trusting Cartwright’s judgment more than his own. “Whatever they need.”
Cartwright gathered his papers with obvious reluctance to leave. “Your Grace, if I may … the staff at Calborough Manor are concerned. You haven’t visited in months.”
“The estate runs perfectly well without my presence.”
“Perhaps. But morale suffers when the master seems to have forgotten his holdings exist.”
Aaron looked up sharply, finding unexpected steel in his manager’s expression.
“I haven’t forgotten anything.” The words were measured, deliberate.
“Haven’t you?” Cartwright straightened his shoulders. “Forgive my impertinence, Your Grace, but your mother loved that estate. She would hate to see you abandon it to memory.”
He bowed and departed before Aaron could reply. The door closed softly behind him.
By evening, the brandy had done its work, wrapping sharp edges in blessed numbness. Aaron stood at his study window, watching nothing happen in the dark garden, when voices disrupted his solitude.
“You can’t stop us from entering.” Cecilia swept through the door with Ernest beside her, both dressed for evening entertainment he had no intention of joining.
“I can have you removed.” Aaron didn’t turn from the window.
“By whom? Thornton?” Ernest settled into a chair with irritating comfort. “The man practically begged us to intervene. Apparently, you’ve been subsisting on brandy and self-pity for a week.”
“My diet is no one’s concern but mine.”
Cecilia crossed to him, her perfume too bright for the stale air. “Louise attended the Whitmore musicale last night.”
The name hit him like cold water. His hand clenched on the windowsill.
“Lord Calderley paid her marked attention.” Cecilia continued with deliberate cruelty. “As did Mr. Sheridan and young Lord Ashford. She wore amber silk. Her hair was dressed with pearls.”
Aaron closed his eyes, seeing her anyway. Amber would make her skin glow, would catch the green in her eyes, would rustle when she moved in that way she had when nervous.
“She refused them all,” Ernest added quietly.
Aaron’s eyes opened, finding his friend’s reflection in the dark glass.
“Politely, kindly, but refused nonetheless.” Ernest rose, joining them at the window. “She’s as miserable as you are.”
“Good.” The word escaped before Aaron could stop it. “No, not good. I don’t want her to be miserable. I want her happy, just …”
“Just not with anyone else.” Cecilia touched his arm gently. “My dear boy, that’s called love.”
Aaron pulled away from her touch. “It’s called selfishness.”
“It’s called being human.” Ernest moved into his line of sight, forcing eye contact. “Your father was selfish. He took what he wanted without thought of the consequences. You’re denying yourself what you want to protect her. There’s a significant difference.”
“The result is the same. Pain.”
“Yes, but whose?” Cecilia reclaimed his arm with surprising strength. “Right now, you’re both suffering. At least together you’d have the compensation of love.”
Aaron extracted himself from his aunt’s grip, crossing to his desk where the brandy waited. The decanter was empty. Again.
“She deserves someone whole.” He set down the useless crystal. “Someone who doesn’t count drinks to make it through the day. Someone who doesn’t see his father’s face in every mirror.”
“She deserves someone who loves her.” Cecilia’s voice carried maternal frustration. “Which you do, desperately, obviously, pathetically.”
The truth of it sat like lead in his chest. He did love Louise. Had probably loved her from that first night when she tried so desperately to seduce him, all false bravado and trembling hands. Certainly loved her by the time she stood in his study, fierce as a lioness protecting Emily.
“Love isn’t enough.”
“No,” Ernest agreed. “But it’s a beginning. The rest, you build together.”
Silence followed. Then Cecilia sighed.
“You think she needs rescuing,” she said. “What she needs is honesty.”
Aaron poured another glass.
Ernest pushed it gently away. “Or sobriety.”
That earned a short, humorless laugh. “You see? I’m hopeless.”
Cecilia reached for his hand instead. “Human,” she corrected.
They lingered after that, conversation circling without landing. At last, coats were fetched, gloves drawn on. Cecilia rose on her toes and pressed a kiss to Aaron’s forehead. For an instant, the gesture hurt in a way that stole his breath.
Aaron returned to the window, to his vigil over nothing. Tomorrow would bring more of the same. Estate business that barely held his attention. Brandy that barely dulled the ache. Sleep that brought dreams of copper hair and green eyes and a voice saying his name like it meant everything.
He had made his choice. Louise would recover, find someone worthy of her, and build a life that didn’t include him.
It was for the best.
He repeated it like a prayer, like a mantra, like the lie it was.
It was for the best.
The brandy bottle sat empty.
The house sat silent.
And Aaron sat alone, exactly as he deserved.