Chapter 16
Tobias shut his door and leaned against it, breath still uneven, Miss Marwood’s kiss still warm on his lips. His hands trembled. He pressed them flat against his legs, trying to steady himself, but the rush inside him only grew sharper.
He closed his eyes for a moment, hoping the darkness behind them would help him regain some sense of order. The attempt did little. His thoughts moved too quickly, circling the same moment again and again. He drew a slow breath, aware that he needed to think clearly, yet clarity felt out of reach.
Tobias crossed the room slowly, careful to keep his movements steady as he tried to regain his composure. When he reached the bed, he sat down heavily. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.
What have I done?
He knew the line he had crossed, and he knew the consequences that could follow.
Yet the memory of her closeness refused to fade.
He could still feel the light pressure of her hands guiding his across the keys, the steady way her fingers shaped his, the warmth of her touch lingering longer than it should have.
He remembered the brief moment when her shoulder rested against his as she corrected his hand, and the quiet closeness of it. Even now, the memory of her nearness felt too clear, too present.
And then the kiss. The warmth of her mouth. The way she had leaned toward him without hesitation. The startled look in her eyes afterward, as if neither of them had understood what they had allowed to happen until it was already done.
He had wanted to speak. He had wanted to keep the moment from slipping away, to explain himself, to say something that might have eased the confusion in her face.
But instead, he had watched her leave, then snuck out the side door.
He had left her to herself. Left her alone to encounter anyone who might have been in the hallway, anyone who might have questioned why she was there.
Guilt twisted through him.
He leaned back, feeling the weight of what he had allowed. He had spent years trying to avoid repeating the mistakes of his family, yet tonight, he had acted without caution. The realization left him unsettled. He wished he could undo the moment, even as part of him clung to it.
His family had destroyed hers. His father’s loan had crushed her father’s business and crushed the man himself.
Tobias had seen the numbers. He had seen the truth.
He had seen her father’s name written in his father’s handwriting, knowing that it was the very transaction that had forced the grieving sisters to need to work.
And still he had allowed himself to want her.
You are no better than him.
He dragged a hand through his hair and blinked away the tears threatening to form.
He pushed himself up from the chair and began to pace the length of the room. The thoughts came one after another, sharper with every turn he made.
It is not only my father that I have become.
I have also become Lionel.
I am making the same mistake my brother did.
I am falling for someone for whom I should not be falling.
I am letting my feelings take the place of duty.
He stopped near the window, pressing his hand against the cold glass before moving again.
I know how that ended. I watched it happen. I watched him walk away from all of us, and I did nothing to stop it.
He took a deep breath, but it did little to calm him. The guilt was suffocating.
He died alone. Cut off. And I let it happen. I let Father push him out, and I let the distance grow. I never tried to reach him.
He turned again, pacing more quickly now, unable to stay still.
And now I am standing in the same place he once stood, wanting something I have no right to want. Wanting her.
He closed his eyes, wishing the admission had not formed so clearly in his mind. He had tried to deny it, to push it aside, but the truth remained. He cared for her in a way he had not intended. He stopped in the center of the room, his hands braced on the back of the nearest chair.
I cannot do this. I cannot repeat his life. I cannot repeat his end.
But even as he told himself so, the memory of her face, her nearness, and her quiet trust rose again with a force he could not push aside.
He began to pace again, resuming his path from one end of the room to the other, his steps slow and controlled, although his hands repeatedly clenched and unclenched at his side.
Father would have known exactly what to do. He would make the practical match with Viola, and he would tell me to do the same. It would secure the Stanhope fortune. It would strengthen the estate. It would keep everything orderly and acceptable.
He considered the familiar expectations placed upon him.
They had shaped every decision he had made since inheriting the estate.
Yet tonight those expectations felt heavier than usual.
He wondered when the shift had begun, and why he had not noticed it sooner.
He stopped near the mantel, took in a deep breath that did little to calm him, and then resumed pacing.
He would never have hesitated. He would never have allowed himself to feel anything that did not serve the family.
Tobias paused again, his stare fixed on the far wall, though he was not truly seeing it.
But I am not him.
He felt trapped, as if every path before him led to ruin.
If he pursued Miss Marwood, he risked repeating the tragedy that had destroyed his brother.
If he turned away, he condemned himself to a life he did not want, with a woman he did not trust, for the sake of an estate that had already taken too much.
He turned and crossed to the window. Rain lashed against the glass, the storm outside matching the one inside him.
A flash of lightning split the sky.
For an instant, the fields were illuminated, stark and silver. And in the distance, a figure moved through the rain, struggling toward the house.
Tobias’s heart lurched. In his raw, frayed state, fear seized him with a force he could not reason away.
Father! Or Lionel! They have come back to chastise me. They have come back to drag me from this path.
Sweat ran down his back as his fingers tightened on the window frame until his knuckles ached.
Another flash of lightning.
The figure was closer now, the shape clearer.
It was Silas Creed, Viola’s silent manservant.
Tobias stared, confusion flickering through the haze of emotion.
Why is he out there? What is he doing?
But the questions slipped away as quickly as they formed. His thoughts were too tangled and too heavy. The storm raging inside him drowned out everything else.
He let the curtain fall back into place and stood there for a moment, his forehead resting against the cool glass. He waited for clarity, but none came.
After a moment, he pushed himself away from the window and moved through the room without thinking, his hands going to the lamp, his coat, his boots, each action automatic.
He undressed and got into bed, lying on his back with his eyes open, the darkness offering no comfort.
Sleep finally came in brief, broken stretches, but never deep enough to refresh him.
When dawn finally broke, he felt completely exhausted. He rose and dressed without stopping, going through the routine without taking time to think. He left his room and walked the long corridor toward the breakfast room.
Weatherby found him just outside the room, appearing from the adjoining hallway. Tobias nodded politely, but he was too fatigued to say anything more.
“My Lord,” Weatherby said, studying Tobias’s face with the perceptiveness to which Tobias had grown accustomed. “You look unwell.”
“I am fine,” Tobias replied, although the words sounded unconvincing to his own ears. “Walk with me.”
They walked toward the far end of the hall where the morning light fell in long stripes across the floor. Tobias stopped there, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes fixed out the window but staring at nothing.
“I need your counsel,” he said quietly.
Weatherby nodded. “Of course, My Lord. Always.”
“I find myself conflicted,” Tobias said, his voice low and uncertain.
Weatherby waited.
Tobias looked at him, searching for the right words.
He trusted Weatherby more than anyone in the house, yet speaking openly felt difficult.
He hesitated, unsure how much to reveal.
The silence stretched between them, and he finally forced himself to continue, knowing he could not carry the burden alone.
He cleared his throat and continued, “There is a part of me that wants something I have no right to want. Something that would be unwise, and possibly dangerous.”
Weatherby’s voice was gentle. “Your heart is not a danger, My Lord.”
Tobias closed his eyes. You do not understand, he thought. Or perhaps you understand too well.
“My father destroyed her family,” he said. “And my brother died because he followed his heart instead of his duty.” His voice tightened. “I cannot repeat their mistakes.”
“You are not your father,” Weatherby said, his expression softening. “And you are not your brother. You must choose the path that is yours.”
Tobias looked out the window again as he felt the words hit someplace deep inside him. For a moment, he wanted to believe them.
It would be a relief to think that was possible, he thought. It would be a comfort to think I could choose what I want and let that be enough.
But the moment passed.
“No,” he said. “I cannot.”
Weatherby looked at him with quiet concern. “Are you certain, My Lord?”
“Yes. I must be responsible,” Tobias said, forcing the words out. “I must shut this down immediately. Whatever part of me thinks otherwise must be silenced.”
Weatherby’s jaw tightened, but he did not argue.
Tobias turned away and once again looked out the window, but saw nothing.
You cannot have her. You cannot ruin her. You cannot ruin yourself.
“Pretend I never spoke of this,” he said.
Weatherby hesitated. “If that is your wish.”
“It is.”
“Then it will remain between us,” Weatherby said, bowing his head.
Tobias nodded once, sharply, and walked away before he showed any other emotion.