“How many beds might we find at the Castle?” he asked carefully.
His question was entirely in earnest, but she must have thought he was being flirtatious, for her smile contained a hint of wickedness as she said, “One, of course.”
Part of him wanted to agree.When may we leave and how long may we stay?
But then he thought of the fragile peace between them. The hard-won peace within his own heart. The peace that had inspired him to come here in friendship, to tell her about the changes he was planning to make in his own life. He had no doubt that if they went to Southend-on-Sea, that peace would be upended. They would have a wonderful time. She could wear her decoy wedding ring, and they could pretend to be husband and wife. He would, for a time, be allowed to love her.
But then what?
They would come back, and he would have to start anew the process of mending his broken heart. Archie and Simon told him that bones that have been broken knit back together stronger, but that must only be true the first time. It defied logic to think a person could keep breaking in the same place, in the same way, and not eventually stay permanently broken.
“And then perhaps in the summer, when the July and August issues are combined,” she went on, “we could make another trip. Somewhere further afield. Lyme Regis, perhaps.”
A trip where he would break again, and have to knit himself back together upon his return.
How curious it was to be offered exactly what one thought one wanted and to find it not enough.
He spoke carefully: “I thought you said you hadn’t time for an affair.”
Her lips quirked upward. “I find myself inspired to make time.”
Right.
“And honestly . . .” Her tone had dropped, grown more serious. “I missed you. I began to question why I had been so adamant, in Brighton, that there could be nothing further between us. Wasn’t being away from London—from life—so lovely? What if we could do that once or twice a year?”
Effie was suddenly so tired. So sad. Not sad in the way he had been in recent weeks, not gutted and desperate. More that he was resigned to being at the beginning of a long journey, a reinvention. He had thought he could share that journey with Julianna to some degree. As friends.
Her proposal had forced him to peer even deeper into his weather-beaten heart and to face the fact that she had been right, that last night in Brighton: this thing with them, whatever it was, had to end. It had to end entirely.
He thought about letting her down gently, about saying something vague. He didn’t have time to make a trip to the sea. He had to spend Christmas with family.
A lie would have been so easy.
“I won’t go to Southend-on-Sea with you,” he said, because some part of him knew that the truth, no matter how much it hurts, sets you free.
Chapter 17
Manic Pixie Dream Earl
Julianna had not expected Effie to decline her proposal. She was set back on her heels. Perhaps she had misunderstood him. Had he said “Ican’tgo” or “Iwon’tgo”? There were nuances there that led to disparate interpretations.
“I exist for more than your gratification,” Effie said quietly.
Her mind began to spin. He had saidwon’t.
How? Why? What had changed? Could he lose his regard for her so quickly?
She took a breath. “I beg your pardon? Where is this coming from?”
He rested his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. “I am not a character you invented.”
“Of course you aren’t. If I was any good at inventing characters, I’d be a novelist, not an editor.”
“You are being glib, and I’m trying to say something important. Something that’s important to me, in any case.”
He might as well have thrown cold water on her, so shocked was she. She, seated across from him, physically recoiled, leaning back in her chair as far as was possible. Once there, the cold turned hot as shame flooded in.
“By all means, speak.”
