Chapter 30
Alaric trudged into his office, utterly drained, and beyond mentally broken. He was a shell of the man he had been when he woke that morning, and all he wanted was to put this day behind him once and for all.
And then what? What will tomorrow bring that might improve my current state of wretchedness?
As far as Alaric could see it, tomorrow might be even worse than this one. At the very least, things were only set to continue a downward trajectory for some time. But then again, was that not the story of his life, of late? For two whole years, by his count.
So, Alaric entered his office, desperate for a drink and some time to think about what had happened, what he might do, and if any good could be found in the torrid state of affairs at which he was the center. Typically, he was not granted this wish.
“How is she?” Crispin sat in his office, waiting for Alaric’s arrival. There was no drink poured. His chair was turned to face the doorway. And he looked even worse than Alaric felt.
“Do you care?” Alaric slunk across the office and made for his chair.
“No,” Crispin said as he turned. “I do not. But I felt that I should ask.”
Alaric chuckled bitterly as he collapsed in his chair. The weight of the world rested on his shoulders, and he needed to sit so that it might not crush him. At least not right away.
“I have confined Verity to her room for tonight,” Alaric explained. “Tomorrow, we will deal with what she has done.”
“And how do you plan on dealing with it?”
“Honestly? I have no idea.”
Crispin went rigid. “She needs to be tried, Alaric. Charged with the murder of Aisling. She needs to be made an example –”
“I will decide what my sister needs,” Alaric cut his cousin off. “And I will remind you that it was my wife who is at the center of this damn chaos, Crispin. The decision rests with me.”
Crispin set his jaw. “All this time, Alaric. For two years, she has acted the mourner, making us believe that Aisling’s death broke her.
But damnation!” He slammed his fist on the table.
“How could she do such a thing? I just cannot … they were friends, Alaric. And she … for no good …” His chin trembled, and his eyes welled with tears.
It was hard to describe how Alaric felt.
He had just come from seeing his sister to her room, and while he thought to snarl, snap, and savage her for what she had done, his sister was a rotten mess of sorrow, so that her tears and wailing drowned out any chance he had of condemning her.
Alaric would condemn her, of course. He would make certain that she paid for what she had done. But then what?
He looked at his cousin, and Alaric could not help admitting that this news had a far greater impact on Crispin than it did on him. Crispin had loved Aisling, even more than Alaric had done, and to learn that she was murdered out of jealousy must have been tearing him asunder.
Did that mean that Alaric ought to feel anger toward Crispin also? The man had tried to steal his wife, or so it seemed. And that action had led to her taking the boat out, which resulted in her death. Verity was the cause, but it all started with Crispin.
I ought to hate the man for his efforts to cuckold me. Yet why do I lean toward pity instead? As if I should feel sorry for him.
“We will speak of Verity tomorrow, Crispin,” Alaric sighed.
Crispin sat up and looked to argue, and Alaric held out a hand to silence him.
“Please, nothing new can be gained from the two of us arguing. Not tonight, at least. Let us try for at least one evening of peace.” Alaric scoffed. “If such a thing is even possible.”
“I am sorry, Cousin,” Crispin said, his voice suddenly soft. “I … I never meant to try to …” He grimaced with shame. “I did not want to love her as I did. It simply was.”
“I ought to hate you,” Alaric said. “But I know too well that the heart is one part of the body we cannot control, no matter how hard we try. And while I do mourn my wife, I find that …” He sighed and shook his head.
“The more I learn, the more I realize that I did not really know her. Not as you did.”
“She did care for you,” Crispin offered sadly. “If that is anything to cling to?”
“I know she did,” Alaric said. “But it was never love. Perhaps, in some ways, that is for the best. It makes all this a touch easier, even if that is a horrid thing to say.”
“It is,” Crispin said. “But I agree with you. In that, I envy you, Alaric. To feel as I do, I would not wish this upon anyone.”
Alaric offered a weak smile in return.
“Having said that …” Crispin smiled in a way that was sad but suggested hope found in that sadness.
“I would not trade how I felt for Aisling for anything. Even unrequited love can be blessed, as it reminds us what it means to feel alive. It is a dream that we dare to think might one day turn real. All men should feel that.”
“Perhaps …”
“Which brings me to my next question.” Crispin sat up a little straighter and fixed Alaric in a pointed look. “What is to be done about Miss Kavanagh?”
Alaric blinked. “That is quite the change in topic, Cousin.”
“Alaric.” Crispin looked at him flatly. “I know that you are upset with Miss Kavanagh for lying to you, but do not think to sit here and tell me that the woman means nothing to you.”
“She … that is exactly what I will tell you.”
“You are feeling hurt,” Crispin sighed. “Which is understandable. But your perception of what she did is misguided and highly exaggerated.”
“She lied to me, Crispin,” Alaric defended. “She wormed her way into my good graces, pretending to be somebody she was not. I have every right to be upset with her – not to trust her.”
“I will have you know that she wanted to tell you who she was,” Crispin said.
“When I threatened to expose her lest she help me clear my name, she begged me to stay my tongue because she wanted to be the one to reveal her truth. What was more, I sensed that this truth was not something she was proud of.”
“I am sure it seemed that way.”
“Has she asked you for anything, Alaric?” Crispin pressed. “Now that we know who she is, has there been any suggestion that she means to use her heritage dishonestly? And do you truly believe that she would do such a thing?”
“I do not know,” Alaric said. “And that is the point. I do not know her at all.”
“Yes, you do,” Crispin said. “Her birth might be a new thing. Her heritage, yes. But I have seen the two of you together, Alaric. I have seen the way you look at her –”
“I do not look at her in any way.”
“Here is what I know.” Crispin looked right at Alaric.
“These past two years, you have not been the man who I know. Ever since Aisling died, you have been …” He clicked his tongue.
“You have been lost, Alaric. Not broken. Not trapped in a state of mourning. You have been like a boat at sea without anchor, without any sense of where land might be found. You have been adrift, searching for a place to dock without knowing how you might discover it. But that changed when Miss Kavanagh arrived.”
Alaric squirmed and looked away, fearful that the truth of Crispin’s words might be seen in his eyes.
“I do not know why. I do not know how. But what I do know is that feeling …” A smile then touched his lips and found his eyes.
“I know how it feels to be drawn to another. To fight it … to not want it … but to be powerless to its pull. The only thing I do not know is the exact thing that you were lucky enough to experience.”
“And what is that?”
“How it feels to have that feeling returned.” His smile grew, and his eyes glistened with tears of happiness.
“That, Cousin, is a feeling to be coveted, and should anyone be lucky enough to find it, they ought to grab it with both hands and never let go. I did not have that with Aisling, but you have it with Miss Kavanagh.”
“No …” Alaric grimaced with shame. “She and I … it is not what you think.”
“Then what it is?” Crispin urged. “Look me in the eyes, Cousin. Look at me and tell me that you feel nothing for the woman. Do that, make me believe, and I will drop it.” Crispin raised both eyebrows in question.
Alaric could not meet his cousin’s eyes.
He did not want to feel such things for Miss Kavanagh. How much easier it would be if he could dismiss her fully and move on with his life. But even now, after all that had happened, Alaric felt that pull that Crispin described.
It was very real. Unexplainable. Seeming to come from nowhere. But from the moment Alaric had met Miss Kavanagh, he felt something between them that he refused to recognize but knew in his heart its meaning.
Damnation! Why must it be this way? Why can I not let her go?
“Go to her,” Crispin urged. “I am not saying you must embrace and forgive. I am not saying that you must forget what she did. But you owe it to yourself to speak to her one final time. To look upon her so that you might know the truth of it.”
“The truth of what?” Alaric asked weakly.
“That if you let her go, you will be able to live with yourself for doing so …”
Alaric opened his mouth to dismiss Crispin. He very much wanted to put all this behind him. But his mind turned to Miss Kavanagh, and all thoughts of betrayal and anger fled him because he knew deep in his soul that was not how he truly felt.
And then there was that near kiss … it sat in the back of his mind … it could not be forgotten … and its truth spoke loudest of all.
“Is it worth it?” Alaric’s voice was a whisper. “Tell it true, Cousin. Knowing what you know, how it ended, if you could go back in time and never meet Aisling … If you could avoid all that came to be, would you do so?”
“No,” Crispin said. “Knowing how things ended, what I would do is cherish every day I had, and I would not regret a second of it.”
Those final words, spoken with finality, settled between the two men so that they could not be ignored. Alaric knew what he had to do. What he did not know, and what he would soon find out, was what he wanted from them.
Just as importantly, what did Miss Kavanagh want, too?
***