His handsome face was cast in shadows. Timothy would make a fine husband for her. Not exceptional, but fine. “Something changed in you. I respect you won’t tell me. God knows I enjoy keeping my secrets as well.”
“Yes,” she said, bringing her eyes back to the water, the invisible place where Ben remained. Even the horizon was gone to her now. “I have changed.”
“And you want to stay in New York?”
She laughed, a cackle more akin to a villain than a lady. “Yes, I want to stay in New York.”
He gave her an incredulous look. “Then why are you on a boat, leaving what you want behind?”
“Because I don’t have a choice! Men, men like you, make every decision for me, despite my being capable of deciding for myself.” True, her decision-making had proven problematic for everyone around her, but at least she was capable of it.
“What decisions, Rose? I don’t understand.”
She swung her legs until she was sitting on the side of the chair, her elbows digging into her knees. A pose she never would have been seen in a month ago but felt bloody comfortable now. “I don’t want to beprettyanymore. I don’t want my value to lie in my marriage potential, or what balls I attend, or what—what bloodyhatI wear!” With the last, she tugged the straw concoction off her head and tossed it to the deck, sending one of the silk roses that adorned the brim skittering over the edge to its watery demise.
Timothy’s eyes were wide as they darted around the deck, then back to her. “You don’t like the hat?”
“This isn’t about the hat!”
“Then what is it about? I want to see you happy, but I’m at a loss about how to help you.” He took her hand again, cautious this time. “What can I do?”
She pressed her lips together as tears spilled onto her cheeks. She wouldn’t push them away, but would let them dry on her flesh alongside the tears she’d cried earlier in the day, the salt leaving brittle tracks over her skin. “I don’t know. I-I don’t even know what I want anymore.”
A lie. She knew what she wanted, just as she knew it was impossible.
Timothy squeezed her hand. “If marrying me is truly what you want, I can cable ahead to my mother and start preparations. But I’m not holding you to a promise you made before…”
Before I fell in love with an impossible man.
She pulled in a shuddering breath and held it, hoping it would calm her. It didn’t. “It’s the best decision,” she answered, her eyes trained on her lap.
“The best decision for whom?”
Rose couldn’t reply through the lump in her throat, leaving her to communicate by shaking her head.
“I will not keep you from the future you want,” he said. “I love you too much for that.”
Timothy would make a good husband. He would be kind and fun, would shower her with gifts and solve her family’s financial woes. Being a wealthy marchioness would solidify her standing in society, make her and her sisters immune to the wagging tongues of theton. Timothy would care for her.
But she didn’t want a caretaker. She wanted Ben.
She gave Timothy—the man she would marry—a weak smile. “You’re not keeping me from a future I can’t have.”
Chapter 33
Aftersecuringtheladder,Ben climbed to the second story and prepared to once again do battle with a bird. A small part of him felt guilty about dislodging a resident of his building, but the larger, more practical part couldn’t afford another leak from backed-up drain pipes.
He thrust his hand into the tube and yanked out a soaked clump of feathers and sticks, winced, and tossed it to the curb below, listening for the satisfyingsmackbefore grabbing another handful. That sound he could hold on to, savor the moment of fulfillment before he remembered what his life had become. If he could keep himself busy, as he had been doing for the past week, he could ignore the constant buzz in his head, like a hornet had settled in his collar, anticipating the right moment to strike. As much as he had accomplished around the building—repainting the third-floor hallway even though it hadn’t needed it, refinishing Mrs. Thurgood’s floors, fixing that damn stairagain—he could barely remember a thing that had happened.
Ben thought he’d been dead inside since Aiko’s death, that his body was a shell for where his soul had been. Now he realized he had only been numb before; he had died and been buried since Rose left. The man who had lived before her arrival had at least been present, feltsomething, even if it had predominantly been disdain and annoyance. Rose had resurrected him, but without her…
Another clump of nest landed on the sidewalk with a resoundingsplat, splattering out towards the empty street. Nearly every resident of 138 Willow was gathered outside City Hall. The most important vote of his life was taking place a few miles away, and he was here, up to his elbows in bird shit. He doubted the rally had been enough to sway the results; despite a massive turnout in the rain, Ben’s mind had been far from his speech, and his heart on a boat somewhere on the Atlantic. When he descended the stairs to a roar of applause, not remembering a moment of his time on the stage, Abby wrapped her arms around him and escorted him home, where he went to his bedroom and slept for two days straight.
When he awoke—if you could call his current state wakefulness—he resumed going through the motions of his life, the endless mundane tasks that used to bring him enough satisfaction to push him through another day. But now…
splat. Splat. SPLAT.
SMACK!
