His uncle leaned in, his voice gentler now. “Would it be so terrible to smile back?”
“Yes,” Dominic said without hesitation. “Because it would give her hope.”
“And what,” his uncle started, “is so wrong with hope?”
Dominic drained the last of his brandy, his gaze fixed on the flames. “Hope is only for the foolish.”
His uncle spread his arms. “Then you must consider me a fool, Dominic. Because I still believe hope is one of the finest things a man can possess.”
“I do not. I never have.”
Leaning forward, his uncle picked up his glass and took a slow sip. “Your father was a cruel man.”
“I know. You don’t need to remind me since I lived through every moment of it.”
“And yet,” his uncle replied, setting his glass down with a click, “you’ve learned nothing.”
Dominic stiffened in his chair, the words cutting deeper than he’d expected. “That’s not true. I learned that I wanted to be nothing like him.”
“As you should,” his uncle agreed. “But despite your good intentions, your father still managed to take something from you. And you’ve never gotten it back.”
Dominic glanced heavenward. “Let me guess. You’re going to say he stole my ‘hope.’”
A knowing look softened the lines of the older man’s face. “I always said you were clever.”
Dominic exhaled, frustrated. “Uncle, I know what you’re doing. But I’ve already made my decision. I cannot—will not—be the cause of dimming the light in Dorothea’s eyes. She doesn’tdeserve that. She doesn’t deserve me.Staying married wouldn’t be fair to her or to me.”
“And what if the annulment doesn’t come through? What then? What happens when Dorothea finds out she was never wanted?”
Dominic shifted in his seat, uncomfortable under the weight of the question. “She’ll manage. I’ll see to it she’s provided for. She won’t want for anything material.”
“That’s not the same as being wanted.” His uncle held up a hand and pointed to the simple gold ring on his finger. “Have you ever noticed this?”
“Yes. You’ve worn it every day for as long as I can remember.”
“I have,” his uncle said, removing it and holding it out. “Because it holds a lock of Deborah’s hair. I had it made after we wed. Do you know why?”
Dominic took the ring gently, turning it over in his hand. “Because you loved her.”
His uncle’s voice thickened with memory. “Yes. I loved her with every beat of my heart. But more than that, I wanted to keep some part of her with me. Always. It’s the little things I miss most. The way she’d toss her hair over her shoulder in the mornings. The way she’d fall asleep at the opera, no matter how grand the production. Even how she’d chide me for reading the newssheets at breakfast. Her presence filled every corner of my life, and now, those corners feel empty.”
Dominic could hear the pain in his uncle’s voice. It was a pain that came from a love so deep that it didn’t die with the person.
His uncle gave a sad smile. “Do you know when I really started to love Deborah?”
“Wasn’t it from the moment you met her?”
His uncle chuckled. “Heavens, no. I thought she was an insufferable debutante, and she thought I was a rake and a bore.We argued constantly. Then one day, I realized… I didn’t want to argue with anyone else, ever again. That’s when I knew.”
Dominic turned the ring between his fingers. “I’m glad you found her, Uncle.”
“I tell you this,” his uncle said, “because I know how hard your life has been. You’ve seen horrors most can’t even imagine. But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve love. You do. You deserve someone who sees the man you are now and loves you all the more for it.”
“Uncle…”
He raised his hand to stop his nephew. “No. It’s time, Dominic. Time to stop hiding behind walls of grief and guilt. Let someone in.”
Dominic rose slowly and placed the ring on the table between them. “I’m sorry. But I can’t.”
