“I am quite aware.”
“She will read them.”
“I know.”
“And she’ll see exactly what she warned you about.”
“I know.” Rhys put his head in his hands.
“I know all of this. I’ve been sitting here for hours, knowing all of this, and I cannot find a solution to rectify this.”
“Have you tried writing to her?”
“Three times. I tore up every letter.” He gestured at the wastepaper basket, which was overflowing with crumpled sheets.
“There’s no way to explain what happened that doesn’t prove her right. ‘I escorted a beautiful widow to her carriageafter drinking too much champagne and letting her flirt with me all evening, but nothing actually happened.’ It sounds like an excuse. It sounds like exactly what a man hiding behind his worst self would say.”
“It’s also the truth.”
“The truth doesn’t matter, appearances and consequences matter.” Rhys lifted his head. “She told me that the children need stability. That they need someone who will stay. And I left. I came back to London for‘estate business,’and I got drunk and caused a scandal, and now the gossip sheets will tell her exactly what kind of man I am.”
“You’re not that man anymore.”
“Am I not?” Rhys stood abruptly, moving to the window to stare out at the grey London morning.
“One week away from Cornwall and I’m back to my old patterns. Drinking. Gambling. Letting women like Mrs. Hartington treat me like a prize to be won. Five weeks of being present, of trying to be better, and it all falls apart the moment I leave.”
“It didn’t fall apart. You made a mistake. There’s a distinction.”
“Is there?” He turned back to face Benedict. “She told me that accountability requires presence. That I can’t be the father my children need if I’m not there to do the work. And I left. I came back here, to this life I was trying to escape, and I proved her right.”
“Then go back.”
“How can I go back? How can I face her, knowing what she’ll have read? Knowing that I’ve confirmed everything she feared about me?”
“You go back and you tell her the truth. You tell her what actually happened, and you accept whatever judgment she offers.” Benedict leaned forward in his chair.
“You go back because leaving would be worse. You go back because the children need you, and she needs you, and hiding here in London is exactly what the old Rhys would do.”
“The old Rhys didn’t have anything to lose.”
“No. He didn’t. Which is exactly why the new Rhys needs to be brave enough to risk losing everything.” Benedict stood.
“Go home, Rhys. Go back to Cornwall. Face the consequences of your mistakes and try to make it right. It’s what you would want your daughters to do, isn’t it? It’s what you’ve been trying to teach them.”
Rhys stared at his friend, the truth of the words settling into his chest.
Benedict was right. Of course Benedict was right. Running away to London had been a mistake. Getting drunk and causing a scandal had been a worse mistake. But the worst mistake of all would be staying here, hiding from the consequences, proving once and for all that Mel’s assessment of him was accurate.
A man who hides behind his worst self because he’s afraid his best self will fail.
“I need to finish the estate business,” he said slowly.
“Another day, perhaps two. The matters that brought me here genuinely do require attention.”
“And then?”
“And then I go back. I face whatever she has to say. I try to explain, even though explanation feels impossible.” He met Benedict’s eyes.
