“I’m sorry,” Phoebe said again, her words thick and wet. “I just… Oh, God, I never thought I would be like this,” she lamented. “I never wanted to be someone who let amanmake me miserable like this. I wasn’tsupposedto let myself get into this situation. But—but here I am.”
“Tell me what happened,” Ariadne encouraged.
And so Phoebe did. It took several handkerchiefs and more than a few fingers of whisky, but she muddled her way through the explanation of the fight with Aaron and—after swearing her friend to secrecy—Hannah’s pregnancy.
“I wanted to matter to him,” Phoebe explained, feeling pathetic with the admission. “I wanted him to care about me more than the potential for scandal. Is that stupid?”
“No,” Ariadne said without hesitation. “It isn’t stupid at all.”
“Not even if ours was just a marriage of convenience?” Phoebe pressed. David’s liquor cabinet was well stocked, and her head was feeling fuzzy. It was, she found, far preferable to the gut-wrenching sadness she’d been experiencing earlier.
She would have a headache in the morning, she knew, but that consequence felt too distant to bother her now.
“Not even then,” Ariadne confirmed kindly. “No matter how you’re feeling now, you did a good thing, Phoebe.”
“Publicly fighting with my husband at a Yuletide ball?” Phoebe asked.
“Letting yourself be yourself,” Ariadne clarified patiently. “You were vulnerable and open. And that matters. Your courage matters, no matter how it all ends up.”
“Even if I wasted it?” Phoebe asked bitterly. She’d crossed over into the bitter side of her intoxication, which likely meant that she should stop drinking. She took another long swig instead.
“There’s no such thing as wasting it,” Ariadne said, taking the glass from Phoebe’s hand. “Now, let’s put that away before I have to pry you out of bed in the morning with a lever.”
Phoebe thought she was out of tears, but she felt her eyes prickle again at this gesture of friendship—though that was very likely the whisky talking.
“You don’t mind if I stay the night?” she asked.
“Stay as long as you need,” Ariadne assured her. “You’ll always have a place here with me.”
There was only so long that Aaron could spend sulking around his own house like an itinerant ghost before it started to become pathetically clear that he was, in fact, moping.
But he hadn’t expected Phoebe tostaygone. Yes, he had as good as told her to leave him—at the very least, he hadn’t objected when she indicated that this was her design.
And yet, on the second day, when he still expected to see her around every corner, he had to admit it.
He’d thought she would return.
It was sostupidof him, though. Had he given her any reason to return?
He must be spoiled, he decided in a particularly sharp fit of self-loathing. He was spoiled by Jacob and Clio, who seemed to care for him despite his many overwhelming, obvious flaws.
On day three, he became aware that his best friend and his sister would likely try to make him feel better if he allowed himself to be cornered by them. As he did not deserve to feel better, he had no choice but to avoid them at all costs.
Instead, he went to the rehabilitation home, which he felt certain would make him feel worse, which was what he merited. He would be forced to face all the men he had failed and know that they were suffering because of his own inadequacies as a commander. This fit his mood perfectly.
In the end, though, the visitdidmake him feel worse… just not in the way he’d expected.
“Admiral!” called an Irishman with an arm in a sling whom Aaron vaguely recognized. Ball, perhaps. Something like that. “Er, that is, Your Grace. Have you brought your wife with you today?”
Aaron felt the puzzled frown cross his brow, though the emotion felt far more distant than the expression. He’d spent enough time shoving back his emotions these past few days that something as shallow as confusion failed to penetrate his defenses.
The Irishman looked nervous when Aaron didn’t immediately respond. “She’s the best fourth for cards we’ve had in ages,” headded by way of explanation, shifting his weight from side to side. “I thought mayhap she would be interested in another hand if she came along with you again today.”
“No,” Aaron said, his voice sounding distant to his own ears. “I… She isn’t here this time.”
“Ah, right,” the fellow said. His discomfort was palpable. “Right. Well, Lieutenant Grand—ack, he’s titled too: the Earl of something—he’s here. He’s usually good for a hand.”
“Dowling?” Aaron asked, blinking in surprise. Jacob washere?
