Chapter Sixteen
Sophia couldn’t sit still. She paced her bedchamber, still in her dinner gown, her mind spinning with everything that had happened. The dinner. Constance’s cruelty. The revelation about the sanatorium. Henry’s face when his mother exposed his deepest shame. And then he’d pushed her away.
I need to be alone.
She understood. Of course she understood. He was humiliated, exposed, vulnerable. But every instinct screamed at her that leaving him alone was the worst possible thing she could do.
A soft knock at the door made her turn. “Come in.”
Mrs. Shaw entered, her face etched with concern. “My lady. I came to help you undress.” She paused, taking in Sophia’s pacing, her obvious distress. “Though I can see you’re not ready to retire.”
“I can’t.” Sophia pressed her hands to her face. “Mrs. Shaw, did you… did the servants hear what happened at dinner?”
“Some of it, my lady.” Mrs. Shaw’s voice was gentle. “Word travels quickly below stairs. We know the Earl and Countess left rather abruptly.”
“His mother—she said terrible things. Revealed things about Henry’s past that he hadn’t told me. Things that humiliated him.” Sophia’s voice broke. “And now he won’t let me near him. He sent me away.”
Mrs. Shaw moved closer. “Where is he now?”
“His study, I assume. Alone. Perhaps drinking.” Sophia looked at her maid helplessly. “I don’t know what to do. He asked me to give him time. But Mrs. Shaw, I’m afraid of what happens if I leave him alone with those thoughts.”
“Then don’t.”
“What?”
“Don’t leave him alone.” Mrs. Shaw’s expression was fierce.
“My lady, Mrs. Bromley has shared Lord Montrose’s troubles—how they nearly lost him.
How long it took him to act a little like himself.
But it was not until you that he truly came back to life.
Lord Montrose has been alone with his demons for too long.
He needs you. Even if he pushes you away, you must remain resolute.
The two of you have a great love, even if it surprised you both.
Go to him. Reassure him that you are his wife and that you love him, no matter what happened in his past.”
“But he asked me to leave him be,” Sophia said.
“Because he’s ashamed. He thinks he’s protecting you by pushing you away. He doesn’t believe he deserves comfort.” Mrs. Shaw took Sophia’s hands. “You must force him to talk to you. Make him see that he’s not alone anymore. You must go now.”
Fear shot through Sophia. “You don’t think he’d—” No, it was too much to think about. He would not leave her. He’d promised to protect her. To love her.
“You’re right. I’ll go to him now,” Sophia said. “Wish me luck.”
“You will not need luck, my lady. You have love in your heart. It will be enough.”
Sophia stepped into the corridor, her heart pounding. The house was quiet—the servants had likely retreated to give the family privacy after the scene at dinner. She walked down the stairs, through the entrance hall, toward the study.
Light showed under the door. She paused, gathering her courage. Then she knocked.
No answer.
She knocked again, louder. “Henry. I’m coming in.”
Still nothing. She opened the door anyway. The study was dim, lit only by the dying fire. Henry sat slumped in a chair, a whiskey glass in one hand, an empty decanter on the table beside him. He didn’t look up when she entered.
“I asked you to leave me alone,” he said.
“I know.” Sophia closed the door behind her and moved closer. “But I am unable to do so.”
“Sophia, please. Just… go.”
“No.” She knelt beside his chair, forcing him to look at her. His eyes were red-rimmed, unfocused. “No, Henry. I’m not leaving you alone.”
“You should.” His laugh was bitter. “You should run as far from me as you can. Before it’s too late. Before I drag you down with me.”
“It’s already too late.” She took the whiskey glass from his hand and set it aside. “My love, I am your wife. There is nothing you cannot share with me. Nothing that will taint my opinion of you.”
He put his face into his hands, speaking through his fingers. “I should have told you. But I carry such shame.”
“You mustn’t feel that way. Not with me.” Her voice was fierce as she placed her hands around his wrists, gently tugging his hands from his face. “Please, talk to me. Tell me everything. I am here to listen, not judge.”
He lifted his gaze to hers. The pain in them took her breath away. “I am not worthy of you. But I will tell you everything, if that is truly what you wish.”
“Please.” She rose to sit in the chair next to him.
He closed his eyes. “The guilt consumed me. I stopped going out. Stopped managing the estate. My brother Edward and Charlotte’s husband Thomas had to step in on my behalf because I couldn’t leave my rooms.”
“How long were you like this?”
“Months and months. Time stopped meaning anything.” He opened his eyes, staring at the embers in the hearth.
“At night, when the rest of the house was asleep, I started going to the cliffs, looking at the sea that had taken her life. I’d stand there for hours, looking down at the rocks and the water.
Wondering what she’d felt in those last moments.
Wondering if she’d been afraid. If she’d thought of me.
If, as the water filled her lungs, she regretted what she’d done. ”
Sophia’s heart ached, but she kept her expression steady.
“One night, Davies followed me. I do not know how he knew that I had decided I would jump, down to the craggy rocks below. It would be my punishment for what I had done to Eleanor.”
“Oh, Henry.”
“But just as I was gathering the courage to jump, Davies called out to me. He ran to me and yanked me from the edge. And then he told me about his father. He had ended his own life when Davies was fifteen years old. There were no practical reasons. No debt or scandal. He had a good job as a valet for a wealthy family. Yet it did not seem to matter. He left a wife and several children without means of support. Davies said, to this day, he could not understand why, but he had come to understand it was not his fault. Or his mother’s.
It was simply something from which he could not be saved.
Davies said his family never fully recovered.
He told me, fairly bluntly, that if I were to do this, I would leave behind many people who loved me.
Who would have to live with what I’d done. ”
“And did this help you?” Sophia asked.
“Yes, it did.” Henry sighed, continuing to look into the fire.
“Davies led me home. Ran me a bath. Put me to bed, as if I were a child. The next day, Thomas and Edward came to me. They wanted me to go to a sanatorium. An inquiry had led them to a Dr. Morrison. He ran a private facility for people who could no longer cope with life.” He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at his drink. “I agreed to go.”
“What was it like?” Sophia asked, even though she was frightened to hear the details. “If you can bear to tell me.”
Henry was quiet for a moment. “It wasn’t what you might imagine.
Not like the public asylums you may have heard about.
There were no chains or cells or screaming.
Dr. Morrison ran it as a rest home. A country estate in Hampshire with gardens and walking paths.
There were perhaps a dozen patients, all from good families. All dealing with their own demons.”
“What did they do for you?”
“They gave me structure when I had none. Routine. We’d wake at the same time each day, take breakfast together.
Then walks in the gardens—supervised, of course.
Afternoons were for reading, or occupational tasks.
Simple things—tending plants, woodworking.
Things to occupy the hands and mind. Dr. Morrison would meet with me several times a week.
Just talking. About Eleanor, about my guilt. About how to move forward.”
“Was it peaceful? After everything you’d endured?”
“It was. That’s what made it bearable.” He looked at her.
“If it had been one of the horrid places you hear about, I think it would have broken me further. But Dr. Morrison believed in gentle treatment. Rest. Fresh air. Time. He said melancholia of the mind was like an illness of the body—it required care and healing, not punishment.”
“I dare say, I agree.”
“He was a wise man. He saved my life. We spent many hours speaking about my mother. Her part in all of it. He helped me see that Eleanor’s death wasn’t my fault.
That my mother had manipulated her. That grief was normal, but that what I was feeling had gone beyond grief into something darker.
” Henry’s jaw tightened. “He helped me to understand that the way my mother had been my entire life played a big part into this darkness I felt. That I had never felt worthy of love because of her treatment of me. He helped me see her for who she really is.”
“That was good, surely?”
“Yes. It allowed me to let go of some of my guilt and put the blame where it belonged. On my mother.” He took a shuddering breath.
“When I left, I was better. Functional. But I was never the same. There’s always this…
this shadow. This fear that I could slip back into that darkness.
And it doesn’t take much, as you can see, to make me doubt myself all over again. That maybe it was all my fault.”
“I can understand that. But why do you feel such shame? Why did you not share this with me before?”
“Because I was so weak I had to be sent away. Had to be watched to make sure I didn’t hurt myself. That this is the man you are married to.”
“But you got better. You are here now, Henry. Loving me. Loving Amelia. You fought past the shame and sadness to keep living. For that you must be commended. My heart bursts with pride when I think of who you are. What you’ve overcome.
If you had not gone to the sanatorium, you would not be with me right now.
You would not have been around for Amelia.
And I cannot bear the thought of life without you.
Thus, it is not shame you should feel, but pride. ”
“None of that will matter. My mother’s going to use that to prove I’m unfit. We could lose Amelia. My actions could make you lose Amelia. My past could break your heart.”
“We are not going to lose Amelia. Your mother will not win.”
“If she does? You would never be able to forgive me.”
“You will not need my forgiveness because Amelia is not going anywhere. You, perhaps, are not thinking straight, because of fear. In a day or two, you will see that your mother’s threats are empty.
She put on a great show for you tonight.
She wanted you to spiral. To suffer. And as for thinking any of this would affect how I feel about you—it does not, nor will it ever.
I, too, have had moments so dark I prayed to God that I not wake the next morning.
There have been times I no longer wanted to live. ”
“When?” His eyes were suddenly focused intensely on her face.
“After my brothers left to fight in the wars. I was without them for the first time. All alone at the Langstons, working as a scullery maid. Abused by my cousins. Despised by the other servants. I missed my brothers terribly. In fact, I was convinced I would never see them again. That they would be killed. And it all made me so tired. Wishing for an eternal sleep.” She squeezed his hands.
“I know what that darkness feels like. I know what it is like to think the world would be better off without you in it.”
“Come here,” Henry said, holding out his arms.
She let him pull her to him, sat on his lap, her arms circling his neck.
“I am sorry,” he whispered into her hair. “For all the pain you have felt. For pushing you away tonight when you tried to help me. Because, God knows, you have saved me. I don’t feel alone any longer. Not with you by my side.”
“We agree, then? We will fight. As a team?” She kissed his forehead, her fingers in his thick hair. “And you will have a little faith that all will be well?”
“I will try.”
“We found each other despite everything in our pasts,” Sophia said. “That must tell us something.”
“What exactly?”
She chuckled. “I cannot say with confidence.”
That made him laugh, pulling her close. “My darling wife. How can I make you happy? Tell me what you want. What you need.”
“You have already made me happy,” Sophia said. “I want and need you. And Amelia. And our wonderful staff. I have everything I’ve ever dreamed of having. And now, you will come upstairs to my bed and sleep off all this whiskey.”
Like the drunk docile lamb he was, he took her hand and let her lead him out of the room and up the stairs to her room, albeit on somewhat wobbly legs.