Chapter 30
Sebastian’s foot tapped violently under the table. His eyes flicked nervously around the tavern. Hands spread before him, he could not keep his fingers from drumming on the table as each second he waited stretched out such that it felt as if he had been sitting there for hours, rather than minutes.
The tavern was empty, just a few daytime drunks tucked into corners and minding their own business. But that was also the point, as Sebastian had chosen this location specifically so he would not be seen by anyone he knew.
He wanted this to be done quietly and quickly. And he needed the anonymity, in case he lost his temper and the worst happened.
As if it has not already happened. The worst? How could things get any worse?
As if to answer his thoughts, the door to the tavern swung open, and in walked the arbiter of all the bad that had occurred in his life these past few days.
Sebastian’s expression hardened, and he bared his teeth subconsciously, like a wolf eyeing prey it was desperate to charge at and kill. But this ‘prey’ either did not notice the antipathy or did not care.
“Ah, Your Grace.” Mr. Ramsay swept across the tavern, seeming to float, such was his good mood. “You made it.”
“Did you think I would not?”
Mr. Ramsay chuckled. “I suppose I wasn’t entirely sure. With your reputation, who knows what you might have done? Tricks and traps and misdirects. We can’t be too careful now, can we?” He slid into the booth, across from Sebastian. “A drink, perhaps?” He looked for the bartender.
“I would prefer we get this over with,” Sebastian growled.
“So formal.”
“It would be better for you if we get this over with quickly,” Sebastian said, not wasting time on pleasantries. “If you wish to leave here in one piece.”
“Is that a threat?”
“A reality.”
Mr. Ramsay beamed, delighted by how upset he made Sebastian. No fear. No sense that he had crossed a line. He held all the power here, and he knew it.
“As you say.” He turned to face Sebastian, still smiling, still vibrating with unmasked glee. “I do not wish to keep you. I am sure you are a busy man.” Then, he exhaled and folded his hands on the table. “I presume you have brought what I asked for? You would not waste my time now, would you?”
“I have.”
“Well?” Mr. Ramsay cocked an eyebrow. “Let me see it.”
Sebastian had thought long and hard about this.
And even now, he could not say if it was the right thing to do.
He told himself that he had no choice. That in the long run, it would work out better for Helena.
That, despite the fury she was certain to feel when she found out, she would eventually understand.
None of those justifications made him feel better, and all he could do to get through this most horrible decision was remind himself that he had no choice.
If not for me, if not for Helena, then for the children.
“Here.” On the seat beside him sat Helena’s manuscript. He snatched it up and tossed it onto the table. “As promised.”
Mr. Ramsay’s eyes sparkled with triumph.
“Ah, very good.” He picked it up gingerly and then flipped through the pages quickly as his eyes scanned them.
“Oh yes, this is…” He giggled. “This is quite wonderful. Your wife is a superb writer, you know. And it will be an honor to see her work published.”
“Under your own name,” Sebastian snarled.
“Better that than it never seeing the light of day at all,” Mr. Ramsay said as if he truly believed it. “Think of this as a mercy. I am doing your wife a favor.”
“You really believe that, don’t you?” Sebastian hissed. “Lies told so often that they start to look like truths.”
“You should know.” Mr. Ramsay put the manuscript down on his lap. “You are an expert liar, after all.”
Sebastian winced, but to that accusation, he had no response.
“As to the other thing,” Mr. Ramsay continued merrily. “Concerning your wife and her writing. I take it that she has agreed? I am not going to open the paper one day and see a story written by a Henry Monroe, am I?”
“She has agreed,” Sebastian said with a grimace.
“Nor will she write under any other name,” Mr. Ramsay pressed. “I know her writing. I know what to look for. If I have even an inkling that she is still writing…” He clicked his tongue. “I hate to think that you would betray me like that.”
“I told you that she has agreed, didn’t I?” Sebastian snapped. “And I do not appreciate my word being questioned by the likes of you.”
He had not spoken to Helena about such things, of course.
Nor would he. Sebastian planned to simply keep an eye on her while she stayed with him, ensuring that she did not write anything new to send to the papers.
That would give him time to pass his bills, by which point nothing Mr. Ramsay said would make a difference.
And once he found out that she was still writing, if Mr. Ramsay decided to expose her, Sebastian would take the blame and fall on his sword. His reputation might be ruined as a result, but Helena’s he could save.
“Well…” Mr. Ramsay exhaled and looked around. “This was rather productive. A success, as I see it.”
“We are done?” Sebastian asked. “You have what you wanted. So, I can safely assume I will not be hearing from you again.”
“Of course.” Mr. Ramsay pretended to look offended. “I am a man of my word, and I will not go back on what was promised. And if your promises hold, chances are we will never see each other again.”
“I pray for it.”
Mr. Ramsay chuckled as he stood, making sure to take the manuscript. “Oh, and give my best to your wife, will you? And make sure to thank her.” He chuckled further and then hurried out of the tavern.
Sebastian did not leave once he was alone.
He found the bartender and asked for a drink. And then another, and a third after that. He tried to tell himself that he had done as he had to. He tried to justify it because there was no other way. But at the end of the day, nothing said would make him feel better.
And worse than that, because of what had happened, he and Helena were finished. She hated him, as he needed. She was already doing her best to avoid him, as was the plan. And come another month, she would move out, and he would never see her again.
Of all the tragedies that had befallen Sebastian lately, that was the hardest to reckon with.
He would never know happiness. He would never know love. He would die as he lived—alone. And not a soul in this world would care.