“Let me ring for them! And how about some warm milk to go with it?”
“Ye have read me mind. I am so glad I came here, Verity.”
“Another one, Your Grace?” the barkeep asked, wiping a dirty dishrag along his sweaty brow.
“Keep them coming,” Hugo responded sharply, throwing coins on the table. “I will tell you when I am done.”
He had found himself in a dimly lit inn on the outskirts of London later that afternoon, after aimlessly wandering the streets. A mug of ale was his only company, which was fine with him. He drank it steadily, the bitter liquid doing little to numb the sharp ache in his chest. At least it filled his empty stomach more than liquor would.
He did not see Aaron approach until he was already standing beside him.
“Thought I might find you here when your butler told me you were not at the townhouse,” Aaron said. “Hiding away, Your Grace?”
Hugo grunted, taking another long sip. “Leave it alone, Haynes.”
“I cannot do that. Not this time.” Aaron pulled up a chair and sat down, his gaze fixed on him. “You are doing to her what he did to you. You are shutting her out, shipping her off.”
The words were a punch to the gut.
Hugo’s hand tightened around the mug. “Do not go there.”
“No,” Aaron insisted, his voice low. “You need to hear it. You are running from your feelings and your past, and it is going to turn you into your father. Do not be so cold that you shut out the world. You are going to blink, and suddenly you will be a bitter, lonely old man who chooses duty over everything else. You are going to end up just like him.”
The mug rattled as Hugo slammed it down on the table. He said nothing.
“You are allowed to want something real, Hugo,” Aaron pushed. “For once in your life, let yourself be happy. Let yourself want something just foryou. Something beautiful.” He stood up and threw a few coins on the table. “She is not Mary. And you are not him, at least not yet. Do not ruin your life because of a ghost.”
Silence hung in the air. Hugo still could not bring himself to respond. He simply stared off into the distance.
Aaron clapped him on the shoulder, and then he was gone, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the mug of bitter ale.
The quiet of the nearly empty inn was deafening, filled with the echo of his friend’s words and whispers of his past.
A ghost.
Hugo was still lost in his thoughts when a voice, light and melodic, cut through the haze. “A man as handsome as you should not be drinking alone.”
He did not turn around at first, the words barely registering. He simply stared at the amber liquid in his mug. He heard the rustle of a dress, and a moment later, a woman slid into the chair Aaron had just vacated.
He finally looked up, and his breath hitched.
She had the same fine bone structure, the same hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth, and long red hair. She looked… she looked like Mary. Not exactly, but enough to make the air in his lungs grow thin.
What is it with me and ghosts?
“I prefer my own company,” he gritted out.
He turned back to his drink, his hand trembling slightly.
The woman laughed, a sound that grated on his nerves. He hated being laughed at more than anything.
“A man of few words, I see. My name is Maria. And you are?”
“Occupied.” He lifted the mug to his lips, but his mind was a whirlwind.
Mary.
He saw her face, laughing at him from across a ballroom on the evening they had first met all those years ago. She was teasing him about his serious nature, all but throwing herself at him. He had been so young then.
