His younger self, twenty-four years old—the most handsome he’d ever been, but perhaps the most foolish as well—waited nervously for a romantic tryst. His romance with Grace Hollybrook, one of the estate’s upstairs maids, had been an act of reckless defiance against the life mapped out for him by his father.
He had loved her in a way he’d never loved anyone before or since. She’d been more than an object of lust; she’d been his best friend, someone with whom he’d shared his deepest thoughts. He’d believed he could somehow make it work with Grace, that his father, who’d never cared about anything but wealth and position, would allow his son—his heir—to marry someone of his own choosing, even though society considered her so far beneath them.
They’d snuck around for nearly a year, meeting in the garden and empty rooms, their friendship and passion growing with each passing day. He’d made her so many promises... He’d said he’d stand up to his father, and at the time, he’d meant it.
A rustling sound drew his attention, and then he saw her. Grace moved swiftly toward his younger self, her face filled with joy and love.
It had been Christmas Eve. And he’d had a ring in his pocket. It should have been the best day of his life.
Instead, it had been the worst.
The older Silas was conscious of every detail, the delicate frost etching Grace’s golden hair, puffs of her breath mingling with the moonlit shadows. He marveled at the courage in her gaze, the unspoken invitation that drew his younger self closer.
“I thought you weren’t coming,” Young Silas murmured, catching her up in his arms and hugging her tightly beforepulling her into the scant protection of the gazebo, trying to infuse her with some of his warmth.
“It was hard to get away,” she said, nestling against him, her soft curves molding to him perfectly. “The house is full of guests, and I’ve been running non-stop since dawn.”
“I’m sorry,” Young Silas murmured. “So bloody sorry that you’ve had to work so hard. But one day, you’ll be my countess, and all of this will be but a bad memory.”
She looked up at him, her blue eyes troubled. “Will it?”
His foolish younger self did not sense her heartbreak or realize she was already starting to doubt him, but his older self saw it clearly. Young Silas was so starved for the taste of her, for her body pressed against his, that he did not soothe her fears. Instead, he simply lowered his lips to hers, kissing her with youthful abandon.
Silas remembered how the urgency of their stolen moments had pressed upon him, every second a gift wrapped in peril. They lingered in the moonlight, kissing passionately. It was a beautiful madness, and Silas had embraced it, but perhaps he’d known it could never last, even though he’d promised her it would.
She’d tasted like strawberries, he remembered, longing shooting through him, stirring a hunger he’d nearly forgotten. What he wouldn’t give to trade places with his younger self for just a few moments so that he could taste love one more time...
Then, with the snap of a brittle branch, the spell was broken.
“Silas.” His father’s furious voice came from somewhere behind them. It cut through their embrace like a blade, the finality of it undeniable.
Panic flashed in Grace’s eyes, and Silas remembered how the world had constricted around him. He’d known immediately that the time had come to choose—the path his father had laidout before him or the dangerous, uncharted territory of his feelings for Grace.
The earl burst into view, his face twisted with rage. “Your guests are looking for you,” he snarled. “And I find you out here in the cold with a housemaid?”
“Father, I—”
“Silence,” his father barked, giving Silas a look so icy it melted everything he’d just been feeling. “I heard rumors that you were debasing yourself in such a way, but I didn’t believe it. Didn’t believe you could be so stupid and thoughtless.” His imperious gaze moved to Grace, judging her as though she were a dockside whore instead of the wonderful woman his son loved. “And you... Do you not value your position here? Are you not grateful for everything this family has provided you?”
Grace turned scarlet, and his older self saw how much his father’s words had hurt her, how frightened she was that she was going to lose everything, including her livelihood.
Before she could reply, his father turned his attention back to his son. “Do you imagine that she will still love you if I cut you off?” He laughed bitterly. “Do you believe that you could survive one day on the streets of London without my money and name to fall back on?” His younger self visibly wilted, and his father shook his head grimly. “Unless you want to find out, you will follow me back into the house and never speak to this woman again.”
Without waiting for an answer, he strode away.
“I’m sorry,” Young Silas choked out, the words torn from him as if from a wound. Because in that moment, he’d known he could not survive without the wealth and privilege he was accustomed to. The mere thought of living without them terrified him.
He turned his back on her, but every step he’d taken away from Grace had been a betrayal of his own heart.
“You fool!” Silas found himself shouting at his younger self. “Go back! Fight for her!”
“They can’t hear you,” the ghost reminded him softly. “You can’t change this. It is in the past.”
As the younger Silas disappeared after his father, Grace stood motionless. Tears glistened in her beautiful, pale eyes, and her quiet sobs followed him as he and the ghost left this place. Her pain resonated with a depth he could only now fully fathom.
“She truly loved me, didn’t she?” he asked the spirit, regret nearly drowning him.
In response, the spirit merely showed him an even sadder scene.
