Page 141 of Regency Whispers: Scandalous Matches

Maria chewed on her lip. ‘You are set on leaving?’

‘I am, just as soon as I am packed.’

‘Then, I will come with you. It would not be right for you to travel on your own after such an injury.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course. I tire of London, especially as my girls are in Northumberland. I will return with you. Perhaps you can stay with me and the girls for a while. I do not think you should be on your own.’

‘I would like that,’ Alice said, suddenly feeling weary. She wanted to collapse on the bed and cry until she had no more tears to shed. She had allowed herself to believe Simon loved her, even if he could not bring himself to say it. She’d thought it was just because he found it difficult to acknowledge he was finally allowing himself to experience a little happiness.

‘Come, Alice. I will make the arrangements. In a few days we will be back in Northumberland, and Simon will have to deal with an empty house here when he does emerge from wherever he has taken himself.’

Morosely Alice nodded and allowed herself to be cajoled and organised into getting everything she might possibly need for a summer spent in Northumberland.

Chapter Twenty-One

Simon climbed the last of the winding stairs, gripping the handrail as his foot struck the top one. He considered himself to be a fit and active man, yet even he was a little out of breath as he emerged into the cool late-afternoon air. It had been twenty years since he had last climbed the three hundred and eleven steps of the Monument, situated close to the magnificent St Paul’s Cathedral. It had been one of his father’s favourite places in London, and when he was young his father would often pay the entrance fee for him and Simon and then race his son up the stairs to the top. Once up there they would pick a spot on the narrow platform and stare out over London.

His father used to enjoy pointing out the magnificent buildings of the city, but for Simon it was the peace and the companionship he cherished the most. This was something that was his to share with his father, a sacred place where he could feel at peace.

Robert had offered to take him up the Monument once after their father had died, but Simon declined, wanting to keep his memories unsullied.

Now he stood alone, wishing his father and brother were by his side. There had been so much grief over the years, along with so much fear. It was hard to think about both. Despite his loving family, despite the best efforts of his mother and Maria, he had suppressed both his grief and his fear, pushing them deep down inside him where they had grown and got horribly out of control.

Up here, with the wind whipping at his face, he felt a moment of clarity after a difficult twenty-four hours. When he had been out walking with Alice and the man had called over to him, it had felt like his worst fear had come true, that someone had proved Simon had stolen Robert’s life. Of course, now he looked at it rationally he could see that wasn’t the case. It was merely an old acquaintance of his brother who had been momentarily confused by a family resemblance. Yet still he felt as though it had caused a monumental shift inside him, forcing him to confront his own fears and limitations. These last few weeks he had pushed aside his doubts about his happiness and his future, but they were still there, waiting to surface.

He closed his eyes, trying to empty his mind of everything but his doubts about the future, but as always it was the past that clung on, haunting him. The memory of his father came to him, but not the happy times, not the time spent exploring the countryside or strolling along the beach. Instead he was confronted by the terrible image of his father rising from his desk in his study, smiling as Simon hurried towards him, ready to impart some important fact about his day. Simon remembered how his father had stiffened, his face becoming a mask, then without any other warning he had dropped to the ground, dead before Simon could even utter a word.

Simon felt the sting of tears in his eyes. The moment of his father’s death was crystal-clear in his mind: he could remember every expression, every miniscule movement, until there was nothing more. The period after was a blur, an overwhelming maelstrom of grief and shock that he had never properly recovered from.

Thoughts of his father’s death led his mind to Alice and the panic he had felt when she had been stabbed. In the immediate aftermath, he had functioned by seeing to the practicalities, and as the days became weeks he suppressed the fear and desperation, trying to pretend the feelings weren’t there. Yet he knew they bubbled under the surface, just waiting for an opportunity to get out. When he had seen the blood seeping through her dress he had felt a cold dread, a certainty that he would lose her just like he lost the other people most dear to him. The thought had plagued him for weeks, even as she recovered and it became clear she would not die from her wound.

‘It is all such a mess,’ he muttered to himself. He wished he were free to love without consequence, to live his life without fearing death but also in the shadow of the grief that had haunted him for years. He wanted to welcome in the love he felt for Alice, but he knew with that love there came the possibility she might one day be hurt, and one day he might lose her too.

‘What would you do, Father?’ Simon asked, gripping the railing. His father had always seemed so wise, contemplating Simon’s questions and dilemmas with a serious demeanour, but always his answers would contain a little humour, something to show his son life was for enjoying as well as doing your duty.

He knew what his father would say. He could even hear his deep, melodious voice as he urged Simon to live his life, to grab any chance at love, at happiness. Robert would tell him the same.

Simon felt the tears welling in his eyes. He did know how lucky he was to have been loved by two such incredible men. His father with his kindness and his patience, and Robert who had always been the sort of older brother everyone wished was their own.

He wondered how Robert would have coped if their lives were reversed, if Simon had been the one to die at a young age and Robert had survived. He knew the answer immediately. Robert would have gathered his family around him and ensured he made the most of every moment with his beautiful wife and children. He wouldn’t have run away or spent his time wishing for things that could never be. He wouldn’t have dwelt on questions he would never know the answer to or wasted his time worrying those he loved would be taken away.

‘You have been a fool,’ he murmured to himself, but even as he said the words he felt a flicker of rebellion inside him. For once he looked upon himself with kindness and compassion and reminded himself he had still been a boy when his father died, and although he was well into adulthood when Robert passed away, the sudden shock of his death would be enough to traumatise anyone.

Simon straightened, feeling a resolve like nothing he had experienced before. He knew it would not be a simple matter to start viewing himself with kindness, but he was going to try. There would be no more thoughts that he was less worthy than Robert, no more self-accusations that he was trying to step into his brother’s life.

The first thing he had to do was make things right with Alice. He had treated her terribly, unable to stop himself from showing her love and affection, but always holding back from telling her he loved her. It was cruel to keep her on edge and uncertain, and although that hadn’t been his intention, it was no doubt the result. He could see now he had been holding part of himself back from her these last few weeks, not only because he felt guilty for feeling so happy but out of fear of giving his heart only to lose someone else he loved. It was understandable given his losses, but he hoped she could forgive him for pulling away when she needed him the most.

Taking in the view one last time, he turned and made his way back to the spiral staircase and then descended quickly, his feet clattering on the stone steps.

Back home the door was answered by a confused Frank Smith who looked at Simon as if he had grown an extra head.

‘Where is Lady Westcroft?’ Simon said, looking to the stairs and wondering if she was still resting from their trip out that had been cut short the day before.

‘Lady Westcroft, my Lord?’ Smith said, glancing over his shoulder.

‘Yes, Smith. Where is my wife?’