Page 121 of Regency Whispers: Scandalous Matches

Simon nodded. His brother had been the perfect earl, the right mix of family man and imposing figure of authority.

‘Then he died, and you were thrust back into mourning again, but this time there was no beloved brother to pull you out of it, and what was more you were expected to step into his shoes, to take his place.’

‘I could never take his place.’

‘But you were forced to. You became the earl, you took his seat in Parliament, you inherited all his properties, you were made to live the life which, only a few months before, your brother had.’ Alice’s voice softened, and she reached out and took his hand. ‘Your mother thinks it was too much for you to bear, the idea that you were taking the life that should have been Robert’s.’

‘It was his life.’

‘And she believes somewhere deep down you don’t think you deserve to be alive when two great men, your father and your brother, were snatched away from this earth so early.’

Simon didn’t say anything. It felt as though his heart were being squeezed inside his chest, and with every passing second the pain became more intense.

‘It is why you will not even countenance a traditional marriage with me,’ Alice said, her voice so low it was barely more than a whisper. ‘You think that is a step too far. You have no choice but to be the earl and to take your seat in Parliament and to be the landlord to your tenants, but you can choose not to allow yourself any happiness, not to take that final part of Robert’s life, the role of husband and father.’

‘You have clearly thought about this a lot,’ he murmured.

‘I have thought of little else this past year. Your family have been struck by such tragedy, it is impossible to fathom the sorrow you must feel, yet I pity you not just for the loss of your father and brother but for your resolution that you do not deserve the happiness that they once had just because only you now survive.’

‘I do not want your pity.’

Her fingers danced over the back of his hand, and he glanced up involuntarily. Alice looked agitated, as if she were about to burst into tears, but he did not have the emotional reserve to even think about comforting her right now.

With an air of desolate determination, she blinked back the tears. ‘You do not want anything from anyone, Simon. You want to walk through this world without your troubles touching anyone else, but we do not live in isolation. Every time you push people away, every time you run away from your problems, you are hurting someone else besides yourself. I don’t want you to suffer, Simon, but I also want you to see that when you suffer so do the rest of us, each and every person who cares about you.’

Ever since his father’s death, he had not wanted to be a burden. He had seen how the bereavement had devastated his mother, how much more responsibility his brother had had to shoulder. He had wanted to make their lives easier, and here was Alice showing him he had done the complete opposite. He knew she was right, that whilst he had tried to push away his own pain, he had inadvertently made things harder for the very people he was trying to protect.

Quickly he thumped on the roof of the carriage again, waiting for it to slow before he threw open the door and jumped out. It had not completely stopped, and he startled a couple who were strolling arm-in-arm down the street, but he found he could not bring himself to care. He slammed the carriage door shut and without another word strode off, desperate to put as much distance between himself and Alice as possible.

His head was spinning, and he drew in deep ragged breaths, wondering how she had so thoroughly summed up everything he felt about his brother’s death and the life he now lived.

Chapter Fifteen

Alice hated the silence in the house as she paced the floor of the drawing room. She had not meant to upset Simon, but once she had started trying to make him see what he was doing to himself she had been unable to stop.

Now it was eight hours later and Simon was still not home.

‘You’ve probably made him run all the way back to Italy,’ she muttered to herself.

Alice wished she had held her tongue. Simon was still grief-stricken from the death of his father and brother and reeling from the uncertainty of whether he suffered from the same condition that might strike him down at any moment. What she had said in the carriage was like sticking a knife in an already-wounded man. She was not proud of her actions, even though her words had been true.

She groaned. It had come from a selfish place, a need to lash out, as she had realised that Simon was never going to see her as anything more than a burden. Perhaps one he could develop a friendship with, but a burden all the same. When he had been quietly supportive in the orphanage, she had understood how much she yearned for a deeper relationship with this man. As much as she could tell herself she wished to safeguard her independence and protect herself from him hurting her by disappearing again, deep down she knew she wanted more.

‘You are a fool,’ she chided herself. Her outburst had only served to push him away and hurt him.

There was a noise from outside, and Alice stopped her pacing immediately. She had sent the servants to bed long ago, resolving to wait up herself to see if Simon returned. It was past two o’clock in the morning, and she had almost given up hope.

Alice rushed to the front door and opened it, jumping back as Simon half stumbled, half fell inside. He twisted as he fell and landed on his bottom, looking up at her and giving her a lopsided smile.

For a moment Alice didn’t move, too stunned to do anything more than stare.

‘Good evening, my beautiful wife,’ Simon said, slurring his words.

‘You’re drunk.’

‘I may have had one or two little glasses of whisky.’ He tried to stand, but his feet got tangled, and he ended up where he had started on the floor.

‘I have been so worried about you.’ She took a deep breath, knowing she would have to apologise again in the morning when he was sober, but needing to get the words out now as well. ‘I’m so sorry for what I said, Simon. It was unforgiveable.’