“Thank you, Aunt Margaret.”
“Do not thank me.” She sipped her wine. “Travel is an excellent remedy for many things, Lily. Restlessness. Curiosity. The particular variety of loneliness that comes from living with someone who is present in body and absent in every other respect.”
Lily’s hand tightened on her glass.
“I did not say that.”
“You did not need to.” Margaret set down her wine. “When your uncle was alive, God rest him, there were years when we occupied the same house and barely spoke. Not from anger. From the stubbornness of two people who loved each other and were too proud to say so.” She paused. “Travel helped. Not because it solved anything, but because distance has a way of clarifying what proximity obscures.”
“I am not sure there is anything to clarify,” Lily said.
“Then you will enjoy the scenery.” Margaret picked up her wine. “And if, somewhere between Calais and Rome, you discover that there is, you will know what to do about it.”
Hugo knew something was wrong when Edward poured him a second brandy without being asked.
They sat in the study of Heatherwell House, the fire burning low. Hugo had come to discuss an investment in a shipping venture. Edward had listened, nodded, asked three questions, and then produced the brandy decanter.
“Lily visited Sophia three times this week,” Edward said.
“She enjoys her sister’s company.”
“She enjoys her sister’s company the way a drowning person enjoys a piece of driftwood.” Edward swirled his brandy. “What have you done?”
“Nothing.”
“Hugo.”
“I have done nothing. That is the problem, and I am aware of it, and I do not wish to discuss it.”
Edward regarded him across the desk.
“She is leaving for the Continent.”
“I know. I am arranging it.”
“You are arranging your wife’s departure from England.”
“I am honoring our agreement. She wanted freedom. I am giving it to her.”
“You are driving her away and calling it generosity.”
Hugo drained his brandy. The burn did nothing to dull the accuracy of the observation.
“She deserves better than what I can give her, Edward.”
“What you can give her, or what you are willing to give her?”
Hugo said nothing. Edward did not press. They sat in silence, and the fire cracked.
“I am not good for her,” Hugo said. The words came out low, stripped of charm. “I am not built for this. She wants a man who will open every door and let her walk through, and I cannot do that.”
“Cannot, or will not?”
The echo of Lily’s question from weeks ago cut like a blade. Hugo flinched.
Edward set down his glass. “I will not tell you what to do. But I will tell you this. She has been fighting for you since the day she met you, Hugo. The question is whether you are going to let her leave believing she lost.”
Hugo stared at the fire. Edward’s words settled over him, quiet, devastating, and true.
