“Good morning,” he replied, his voice flat. He cleared his throat awkwardly as he took his usual seat. “I have something I need to tell you.”
The smile on her face disappeared as she sat back down slowly and delicately set a napkin on her lap. She picked up her teacup and took a small sip, as graceful as a ballerina on a stage.
Grandmother’s lessons have done her so well. She is the picture of grace.
“Oh?” she murmured, bringing him back to the matter at hand. “What is it?”
“Yes. After the charity event,” he began, carefully buttering a piece of toast to have something to do with his hands, not making eye contact. “If you receive no acceptable proposals, or if the offers made are not to your liking, you may go back home, to Inverhall. I have decided it.”
Elspeth’s teacup clattered against her plate as she dropped it.
“I—I beg yer pardon?”
“I will let you have it, Elspeth.”
“I daenae understand. What did I?—”
“The estate, and a generous allowance to live out the rest of your days comfortably. I trust you will find that suitable.”
The rest of your days…
The words felt like ash in his mouth. He should have been happy to give her back her freedom, especially after everything she had been through in the city. Better yet, she should have been overjoyed to hear it.
Instead, he watched as the light died in her eyes, leaving them dull and lifeless.
She should be grateful. It has to be this way. Can she not see it?
“Does this not please you, Elspeth? Is this not what you wanted from the very start?”
“That is very kind of ye. A bit unexpected, especially after last night.” She lifted her napkin to her nose and patted it gently. “I just, I daenae understand where this is comin’ from. It seems terribly sudden. Did I do somethin’ wrong? Erm, I mean last night. Was I nae to yer likin’? Did I?—”
“We cannot be together, Elspeth,” he cut in. “That is it. It is not personal.”
“It feels very personal,” she countered, leaning forward in her seat. “Why are ye doin’ this just as we’re growin’ close?”
He knew this; this was the final, cruel blow. He had to, to solidify their break.
“I have made a vow—you know this now more than anyone. I will never fall in love, you see. It is just not in the cards for me. I am sorry if I made you feel there was a possibility. It is not the case. You were mistaken.”
Hugo watched as a tear pooled at the corner of her eye. She quickly dashed it away, blinking her emerald-green eyes as if there was a speck of dust in them. He pretended not to see it, reverting to his usual aloofness.
It must be this way.
“Of course. How foolish of me to think otherwise,” she said, her voice a low whisper. “Why would ye ever fall in love with an untouched widow like me? A wild Highlander with an unsavory past, no matter how hard I have tried to overcome—to show ye—to fit in with those vultures!”
With that, she rose and pushed her chair back with a sharp, grating thud. She bolted out of the room, leaving her breakfast unfinished.
Hugo did not follow her. His heart thudded against his ribs as her footsteps echoed through the empty hall outside the room.
After a few moments, he got up from his chair and slammed it against the mahogany table. He stormed down the hall to his study, where he promptly buried himself in work.
It would have been better to go fencing, to spar with a partner to exert himself and exhaust some energy, but he was afraid he would hurt someone. The papers on his desk were a safer and welcome distraction from the hollow ache in his chest.
At least this would be more productive than drowning his sorrows in drink, which he could always do later.
He worked so hard that his eyes burned until the words on the page blurred into a meaningless mess.
He had done the right thing, he told himself. He had protected himself, and he had given Elspeth a way out. He should feel relieved.
