“Winston, do not say that!” she said, raising her voice slightly even though it took a great amount of effort. “Lord Langdon was a madman. He had been tormenting me for years. This was the culmination of it all, and it would have happened no matter what.”
“No,” Winston said so adamantly she was stunned into silence. “This is my fault. If I had not left you to seek my revenge—if I had not once more chosen my own dark, selfish journey over the needs of those I care about—then this would not have happened. Langdon played me so perfectly. He knew exactly what I would do because it is what I have done all my life: I have chosen the simple, vengeful path for instant gratification and risked the wellbeing of those I care about. It is what I have been doing for years to Kingsley: letting him risk his life and freedom to help me in my quest of vengeance. And then I did it to you. It is unforgivable, Vanessa.”
“It is not unforgivable!” Vanessa said. She tried to sit up, but it was still too painful, and Winston gently put a hand on her shoulder and guided her back down. “It is not unforgivable,” she repeated. “You were only trying to avenge your sister’s death.”
“No, I was living for myself,” he said, and the cold fury in his eyes scared her to the bone. “I am not worthy of you, Vanessa. I have never been worthy of you.”
“Do not say that,” Vanessa murmured. She knew, suddenly, what was coming, and although she would have done anything to prevent it, she felt too weak, too tired and broken still to do anything other than try and convince him otherwise. “You are not perfect,” she said, tears once more filling her eyes. “But none of us are. And I do not want you to be perfect. What I want is for you to be here, trying, every day with me. To work on this and fight for one another even when it is hard. I want you, Winston, more than anything else on earth. Because I l?—”
“Do not say it,” Winston snarled, interrupting her and making her flinch. “Do not say it! I do not deserve it, and I will not hear it.”
He slid his hand from hers then and stood up, his face cold and his body rigid.
“This is me fighting for you, Vanessa,” he said as he stared down at her. “This is me fighting for you to have a better life. And that is not possible with me. I have failed you so utterly and so completely that it only speaks to your immense goodness that you would not throw me from your sight at once. But I shall do it for you. I am going now to my estate in the country. From now on, we shall live apart. If you wish to go to the country, you need only send word, and I will vacate the premises. Otherwise, you will have this townhouse and all my other properties at your disposal, and you will have all the money you require to live in comfort and without want.
“But you will not see me. From this moment forward, you are free to do what you like and live how you want without anyoneholding you back—particularly me. The threat from Langdon is now gone, so you will be safe. Safe from me, most of all.”
“Please, Winston, do not do this!” Vanessa cried. The tears were now leaking down her cheeks. “Do not leave me! I love you! Please! This is not your fault!”
But Winston was backing away from her, his expression stricken. She tried to get up, to follow, but the pain in her chest was still too strong, and she fell back, crying out.
“I will send for the doctor,” he said, looking away. “Goodbye, Vanessa. I pray, and I know, that you will be well without me. You are strong, and this pain will not last long. I promise you.”
And then he turned and swept from the room.
Vanessa let out a scream of agony. Feet sounded out in the corridor, and she knew that Elaine, and perhaps the doctor, were running to attend to her. But they would not be able to fix this, she knew, because the pain in her chest from where the bullet had cracked her breastplate was nothing, nothing at all, compared to the pain of her broken heart.
It had rained for days. As Winston stared out the window of his study in Thornfield Castle, he could not believe that summer was just around the corner. It seemed as if the rain would never stop.
At least it matches my mood,he thought darkly.At least the earth is weeping as well.
It had been four weeks since he had left London and Vanessa and come back to Dorset. Four weeks that were some of the darkest of his whole life.
No, not the darkest,he reminded himself.After Clementine died was the darkest. At least Vanessa is alive. Not being with her is better than being with her and leading to her ruin or death.
Still, it had been a lonely and difficult four weeks. He had spent much of that time locked away in his study, trying to distract himself with estate business, but nothing could distract him from thoughts of his wife. He wondered what she was doing and if she was seeing Phoebe and Lady Selina. He got updates from her doctors on her health, so he knew she was making a swift recovery but still had a long way to go. The doctors did not, however, tell him anything about her mental state.
Is she furious with me?he wondered as he stared out at the dark drizzle.Relieved? Disgusted?
A small part of her had to believe he was right to have done what he’d done. Surely, she could see how he had brought nothing but misery to her life, that he was a destructive demon that ruined everything he touched.
There was a knock on the door, and he sighed and turned away from the window.
“Come in,” he called, and the butler came in, holding a silver tray with a letter on it.
“This just came from London, Your Grace,” he said, bowing low and holding out the tray. “It arrived at around the same time as a visitor who would like to speak to you at your earliest convenience.”
“A visitor?”
“A young woman… She seems intent on speaking with you about your wife…”
“Ahh.”Phoebe, probably.His heart sank. He did not want to try and justify himself to Phoebe. She was too clever for her own good, and she could always tie him into logical knots. But his decision to leave Vanessa wasn’t just logical. How could he explain to Phoebe this part of him that destroyed everything he loved? She would tell him he was being foolish and superstitious.
“Give me a moment to read this first,” he said. “Then I will see her.”
He sat down at his desk and slit open the letter as his butler bowed and shut the door. The letter was from the Sergeant of the Bow Street Runners. In the beginning, he stated that the investigation into the Vigilantes of Virtue was no longer focused on himself and Lord Kingsley, as the Magistrate felt thatLord Langdon was feeding us false information on purpose in order to settle an old score. In light of his madness, we have no choicebut to offer a heartfelt apology for our insinuations and drop all investigation into your activities. We hope you know we were only trying to bring justice to those who were harmed and meant you no personal ill will.
There is another matter that we thought would be of interest to you, if you had not heard already. About a week ago, Lord Egerton passed away in his home from natural causes. His estate and assets are now being held in trust until the next heir can be located. We thought you might know how to locate his next of kin, seeing as how he was married to your sister. If you have any information, please, do not hesitate to reach out.
