There was amusement in his voice, a flicker of mischief behind his eyes, as though Dominic’s marriage were some grand joke at the end of a long tale.
“I did,” Dominic replied simply.
His uncle crossed the room and handed him a glass. “And here I thought you were determined to die a bachelor. A noble recluse—so tragic, so misunderstood.”
Dominic took the glass and offered a half-hearted chuckle. “Things change.”
“Not that much, in my experience.” His uncle gestured to the two wingback chairs near the fireplace, where flames crackled softly behind a brass screen. “Come. Sit.”
Dominic settled into the chair, the leather creaking beneath him. He took a sip, letting the brandy burn its way down his throat. “I married Haverleigh’s daughter,” he said after a pause.
His uncle’s eyebrows rose with interest. “Haverleigh? As in your former commanding officer?”
“The very one.”
“Well,” his uncle drawled, swirling his drink, “that’s bold. Even for you.”
Dominic sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “To be honest, I don’t recall every detail of how it happened. But regardless, I now have a wife. At least until I can get it annulled.”
His uncle studied him over the rim of his glass, the lines of his face shifting into something more serious. “And how does your wife feel about this… plan?”
“She doesn’t know,” Dominic admitted.
There was a sharp cluck of disapproval as his uncle set his glass down on the nearby table. “Do you mean to tell her? Or shall she learn about it secondhand—perhaps in one of those delightfully cruel Society columns?”
Dominic looked into his drink, shoulders hunched. “I intend to tell her. But the timing has never felt… right.”
His uncle gave a snort. “Timing rarely cooperates when it comes to the truth. Do you think it ever will?”
Dominic hesitated. “Dorothea is… she’s kind. Considerate. Too good for me by far. I don’t deserve her.”
“And so,” his uncle said, “your solution is to cast her aside? As a favor to her?”
Dominic met his gaze. “You don’t understand. I’m not the man I used to be. I’m broken, Uncle. I wanted to die on the battlefield. And yet here I am. Alive. While braver, better men are buried in shallow graves far from home. How is that fair?”
“You fought. You bled. You survived,” his uncle replied, his voice firm. “That is not a crime.”
“I was wounded while my men fought valiantly around me. I fell, and then they fell. And still I was the one given a title—as if my sacrifice was somehow greater than theirs.”
His uncle leaned forward, eyes steady. “You were given a second chance at life.”
Dominic’s jaw clenched. “I don’t want it.”
“Want it or not, it’s yours,” his uncle said, sitting back. “And with it comes responsibility. You must move forward and let go of the past.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Dominic snapped, his grip tightening around the glass. “You didn’t see what I saw. You didn’t hear the screaming, the endless gunfire, or the pleas of the dying men.”
His uncle nodded solemnly. “You’re right. I didn’t. And I cannot pretend to understand that pain. But I do know you. You gave everything you had to your men. To your King and Country.”
“Not everything,” Dominic muttered.
His uncle’s gaze sharpened. “Who, pray tell, are you angry with?”
There was a long pause before Dominic answered. “Myself.”
His uncle exhaled, slow and deliberate. “You’ve been given much, Dominic. More than most. Don’t waste it by clinging to what can’t be changed. Embrace what you’ve been given. Go home. Go to your wife.”
“I can’t.” The confession fell from his lips like a weight. “She smiles at me… and all I feel is guilt. Crushing, suffocating guilt.”
