Chapter Twenty-Three
Lucas paced along the wooden floors in Miss Grey’s parlour.
While it had taken some doing, he had finally received permission from Mrs Grey to propose to her daughter.
Evidently, adding an extra zero to her monthly allowance as his future mother-in-law had made him a more amenable match.
It left a sour taste in his mouth, but at least Mrs Grey had been direct about her desires and expectations.
There was clarity in brutal truth and honesty after all.
He paused.
The notion of brutal truth and honesty made him think of Ophelia.
The familiar ache of loss when he thought of her coursed through him.
He had helped her secure a future with Dolph, her prince, by pushing her away and denying his feelings for her.
The sickening feeling in the pit of Lucas’s stomach churned over what he’d done, but he needed to move forward. He had to.
He had made a promise to his mother, to Diana and to himself that he would choose to live a life again and build a family.
He could do none of those things alone. Marrying Miss Grey would help him achieve those goals…
safely. There was no fear in losing his heart to her or her abandoning him. Miss Grey was kind, honest and loyal.
They were a perfect fit…on parchment.
Wasn’t Miss Grey exactly what he had asked for during that first meeting with Ophelia?
Yes.
So why did he feel so…damned depressed about proposing to her and so certain that he would be living a lie?
And that he’d be deceiving Miss Grey?
All at once, he stilled, tucked his hands in his pockets, and stared out the window.
Because deep down he wanted to be proposing to Ophelia and he knew that doing this, proposing to Miss Grey, was absolutely the wrong thing to do, for everyone.
Damn it all.
What had he put in motion?
And how did he stop it?
The parlour door opened and Miss Grey walked in, closing it quietly behind her.
She wore a beautiful silvery gray gown that flattered her fine collarbone and neck.
Her dark auburn hair was pulled back in a neat chignon and delicate glass bobs hung from her ears.
She was a pretty woman and he would have been lucky to have secured her as a bride.
But today would not be that day.
He would have to tell her the brutal truth instead.
‘Good morning, Charlotte,’ he said warmly and smiled. Relief over his decision sent a calmness through him he had not expected. He offered her the flowers he’d brought, which she accepted, and pressed a kiss to her gloved hand. She stiffened from his touch.
‘Thank you,’ she replied. She smelled the flowers and met his gaze. ‘They are lovely, Lucas.’ Her smile did not reach her eyes as it usually did when he saw her. Something was amiss.
Perhaps her mother told her of his intentions, and she was nervous?
‘You may not know,’ he began. ‘But I have spoken with your mother.’
‘Yes, yes,’ she added quickly, dropping her gaze from him. She set the flowers back on the table before facing him again. She clutched her hands tightly before her and pressed her lips together.
He took a step towards her, careful not to startle her. She looked as timid as a morning dove.
‘Then, you will know that I am very fond of you,’ he began, reaching for her hands, although they trembled at his touch.
‘And I believe we would have been a good match for each other and that we could have built a fine life together. But after much thought, I find I cannot move forward with my plans to ask you to marry me.’
Her lips parted and her eyes welled.
Oh, God. She was going to cry. He rushed on with the rest, feeling dreadful.
‘It is not you at all, Charlotte, but me. All this time, I have been focused on what was best for me and not what also might be the best for you. In truth, I love someone else, and I cannot hurt you by offering for your hand when I know this. You are kind and will be a wonderful wife for the right man. That man just doesn’t happen to be me. I am so sorry.’
A touch of sadness lingered in her gaze before she gave him a soft smile.
She squeezed his hands. ‘I… I am so very honoured you even considered me to be your wife, Lucas. You are such a kind, good man. I have enjoyed our time together and you have brought back my confidence after all that has happened in my past.’ She looked away briefly and then met his gaze with her own.
‘In truth…’ She hesitated and then continued, ‘I am relieved you have not proposed, for I could not, in all good conscience, marry a man who is in love with another woman. It would be a misery I could not bear. And I believe you would not have been able to bear it either, in the end.’
‘But, how did you…’ he began and then faltered.
She released his hands and wiped her eyes. ‘I have known you loved Miss Granger for some time, but I did not know how to address it with you. It is in your gaze, your voice and the way you are with her whenever she is near. And…and it is all right to love her, Lucas.’
He stood, dumbfounded.
‘It is not too late to make things right. To tell her. To allow yourself to be happy and in love.’
He moved to the sofa and sat. She settled in beside him.
‘And we can still be friends, you and I. I feel as though we have helped each other through a very challenging re-entry into Society, and we will always share that bond.’ She smiled at him again, the relief brimming in her eyes.
‘When no one dared court me, you did, Lucas. You are a fine man. You deserve happiness, and so do I. But, it seems we are not to find it with one another.’
He looked at her. The light and belief in her gaze and in him made some of the darkness and self-hatred he had held on to for so long loosen slightly.
‘When did you become so wise on matters of the heart?’ he teased gently.
She shrugged. ‘I think I just finally started to listen to my own mind and trust in myself. I believe it is as simple as that. And I believe you can do the same, Lucas, if you choose to.’
But did he dare try when he didn’t even know if Ophelia loved him? When he didn’t know if he could be the husband she deserved?
Doubt rose inside him like a giant wave, and suddenly it seemed far simpler to revert to his old hermit self and be the beast once more.
She was too late.
Ophelia looked at the clock in the parlour at Barnett House and realised Lucas was probably already sharing a celebratory drink with his bride-to-be.
She held her head in her hands and stared at the carpets.
It was past two in the afternoon, and Yates had said he had been gone since early this morning with a specific purpose.
Well, there was no confusion as to what that purpose was or that Ophelia had failed to intercept him before he’d left. She knew she should have just turned on her heels and returned home when Yates had told her this when she had arrived, but instead she’d asked to await his return in the parlour.
To his credit, Yates only raised a single eyebrow. Ophelia was alone, with no chaperone, and most likely looked as if she had been chased there, although she had no looking glass to confirm her suspicions. But she had been crying and she was quite sure she did not look her best.
She did not care a whit.
All she cared about was seeing Lucas and telling him how she felt in a way that would leave him and herself in no doubt that she had tried to secure her prince, beast that he was, by telling him she loved him beyond all reason.
She owed it to them both to be truthful. They were a perfect match, and she knew it in her heart. Now she just needed for Lucas to dare to believe it, too.
Minutes later, the front door opened, and Lucas came into the parlour.
‘Is something amiss, Ophelia?’ he asked, his gaze scanning her. ‘Yates said I was to come in here as soon as possible.’
Where did she begin? The sight of him was filling her with love and contentment, but she needed to know if he was an engaged man first. ‘I was eager to hear how your visit with Miss Grey went, my lord.’ She was indeed eager, but for the opposite reason she should be. She held her breath for his answer.
His gaze fell away. ‘We are not engaged.’
Her heart soared. ‘Oh?’ was all the reply she could muster.
‘I have decided she is not to be my bride after all. No one shall be. I was a fool to think I could be a match for anyone.’
‘Why?’ she asked, following him back to where he was serving himself a drink from a decanter. He poured one for her, even though he had not even inquired if she wished to partake in one. Although she did. She needed something to make her steadier on her feet.
He threw back the entire finger’s worth of whiskey and tugged his cravat loose. ‘Because I am meant to be the beast, Miss Granger, not a husband.’
Her blood cooled. ‘Why would you ever think that?’
He sneered at her. ‘Because you and I both know it is true. I cannot have what I want, which is you, or what I need, which is Miss Grey, without hurting everyone, including myself. So, I am best staying as I am: alone.’
‘You do not truly believe that.’ She dared step into his space. He bristled, but didn’t move away. His gaze studied her icily.
‘I do,’ he replied, his tone low.
‘You are lying to yourself,’ she challenged. ‘You could choose love and all the joys of the life you desire, but you won’t take such a risk. It is far too inconvenient for you.’
He groaned, the agony evident in his pained expression. ‘You do not understand, Ophelia.’
‘And I am sorry I ever met you,’ she argued. As she started to walk away, Lucas grabbed her hand.
‘I am not.’ He pulled her close to him, his body resting against hers, igniting a thousand points of awareness and longing in her that she had tried so hard to suppress for so long.
‘And I am not sorry we kissed. Or that we met. Or any of the thousands of words and thoughts we have shared with no one else but each other. Are you?’