“I was an idiot—”
“But I’m not,” Ellie interrupted. “Perhaps I was an idiot, pining for you for so long, but I won’t any longer. I am putting myself first.” She slid her glove from her left hand with trembling fingers. “I can’t let you hurt me again.”
“No,” he said. “Please don’t—”
Ellie slid his grandmother’s ring from her finger, letting her eyes linger on it for one more moment. Thinking of the love it represented, one she was not destined to have. “I’m sorry, Henry,” she whispered before taking his hand and pressing it into his palm.
Chapter 28
Theceilingwasspinningagain. A nauseating kaleidoscope of crown-mullioned molding, several cracks, and the smoky byproducts of generations of London’s finest cigars swirled and undulated in his gaze. Henry slumped lower in his seat, hoping the soft leather would absorb his body entirely. His hand reached out for his tumbler of whiskey, his fourth in as many hours. He released a humorless chuckle, one that shook his abdomen and made the ceiling spin faster. When he was at the height of his debauchery, four tumblers of liquor would be a prelude to his evening’s entertainment. Now the smell of the amber liquid made his stomach turn.
He took another drink, wincing as it slid down his throat. When his train had arrived in London, he’d hired the first hack he found to take him to the home of the Marquess of Warwick. A well-placed bribe to a groom confirmed the Dowager Countess Ashby had arrived safely in her childhood home earlier that evening. Confident in her physical well-being, Henry proceeded to get completely knackered and had kept himself in such a state for the last three nights, spending his days sleeping off his excess.
He had become an intoxicated owl, a brandied bat, a…Ellie could have named another alliterative nocturnal creature. Ellie would have laughed before holding his hand, kissing his brow…He released a low moan.
The other members of the club largely ignored him; while the inebriated Viscount Morley had not made an appearance in nearly two years, his return was welcome, providing the men with another form of entertainment. Henry had once tolerated their jabs, ignoring the razor cuts they left on his pride. Now he welcomed the pain, a penance for his sins.
A celebratory roar lifted, followed by laughter and hearty congratulations. Henry let his head loll to the side, his vision clearing enough to see Mr. Thomas Woodstock, his ruddy face even more flushed than usual, receiving a glass of champagne.
“I can’t believe she said yes,” someone—Sir Roland perhaps?—called out, clapping him on the back.
“Neither can I,” Woodstock replied. “But reading the debtors’ reports is the best way to find a willing bride!”
Henry wrinkled his nose as a crass laughter rose.
“Rich or poor, they’re all pink on the inside!” Henry sat up at these words, recognizing the speaker as Lord Seaton.God, I used to speak like that,he thought, a wave of nausea causing him to fall back against the chair and groan once more.
Woodstock turned towards the noise, fixing Henry with a sneer. “Ah, Morley, come celebrate with me. Did you hear? I’m going to have Chumleigh as a father-in-law.”
Henry remembered the Marquess of Chumleigh’s daughter Emily as a timid girl who must be in her third season, skinny as a rail and terrified to speak because of a debilitating lisp. Woodstock would destroy her. Lifting his glass with a trembling hand, Henry nodded Woodstock’s way but did not drink. “She’ll be a lovely bride.”
Woodstock clapped his hand on Henry’s shoulder as he laughed, the blow making Henry lean forward, elbows on his knees, to regain his equilibrium. “She’ll be willing, at least,” Woodstock said, “at least willing to look the other way when I run from her bed to the nearest bawdy house!”
Five years ago, Henry would have made the same joke. Just two years ago, he would have laughed along. Now it made him ill. Sneering, Henry turned his face away. “Fucking bastard,” he grumbled.
“Ah, Morley,” Woodstock said with a laugh. “I am grateful your matchmaking attempt went sour. Remember how you shoved the Warwick chit my way one Christmas?” His mocking laugh made a muscle in Henry’s jaw twitch. “At least with this one, I’ll be able to find her pussy on our wedding night. With that cow, I would have been digging for days—”
Woodstock was fortunate Henry had already consumed three whiskeys and was nearly finished with his fourth. In full possession of his faculties, his hours of training in the boxing ring would have meant the blow to Woodstock’s gut was enough to send him clear into the next room, or at least a hospital bed. But in his current condition, Henry merely swung wildly, sending his whiskey flying and catching Woodstock’s side before both of them crashed to the floor.
“Don’t you dare speak of her, you bastard, you don’t deserve to have her name on your tongue—” Henry struggled to find the words to capture his fury, the intense hatred he felt for this man, for every man who had ever made Ellie feel less than worthy, less thanperfect.
He would have to count himself among those men.
Only a moment passed before someone wrenched Henry off Woodstock and tossed him to the rug, heaving and gasping. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Woodstock spat, nose wrinkled as he stared down at Henry, raising his weak chin. He gestured towards Henry and released a mocking laugh. “Areyoulusting over her now? Does she oink when you’re pounding her?”
Henry lunged forward but missed, slamming back to the floor, Woodstock’s laughter echoing in his ears. “How could anyone not love Eleanor Warwick?” Henry mumbled, his eyelids drooping.
How could these bastards miss what he saw in her? He felt like Galileo the first time he set sight on the heavens and witnessed the majesty of faraway galaxies, or prophets who experienced visions that changed their faith. How had Henry not shouted in the streets, begging others to witness what he had seen?
How had Eleanor—incredible, passionate, beautiful Eleanor, the woman who contained legions—escaped everyone’s notice until his? How was he lucky enough to be the first to glimpse it, even hold it in his hand for a precious moment?
He didn’t deserve such luck.
“Morley.” Henry turned at the sound of his name, then blinked, unable to believe what he saw.
Ellie’s eyes, liquid silver, wide and holding his gaze.
He gasped as his mind chased the image, even as unconsciousness tugged at the edges, blurring his vision.
