Page 95 of This Marquess of Mine

“Father gave you ten years of happiness. And fifteen years of missing him. Fifteen years and counting.” His gaze dropped to the floor, his heart thudding in his chest. “What if I do the same to her? What if we marry and have children and then I—” He broke off, working his jaw. “I care for her too much to risk hurting her like that. The way Father hurt you.” The way he hurt us.

“Oh, Griffin…” His mother reached for his hand, and he sat up, meeting her pained gaze.

“I wouldn’t trade those ten years with your father for anything in this world,” she said quietly. “When we first lost him, in my grief, I did sometimes wish I had never met him, but that feeling didn’t last. Yes, I still miss him every day, even now, but I know how lucky I am, too, to have had those years with him.”

She squeezed Griff’s hand. “He gave me his love—a love I never thought possible—and he gave me you and your sister. How could I possibly regret knowing him?”

She held his gaze, her blue eyes unflinching yet gentle, and he could see the truth of her words staring back at him.

His throat tightened and he looked out across the lawn, swallowing hard as memories and feelings assailed him, even as the knot between his shoulder blades began to ease.

His mother did not regret knowing his father.

“You cannot let fear dictate what you will or will not do, darling,” Lady Keswick said. “Life is a risk. Marriage is a risk. It’s a frightening thing, binding oneself to another person, not knowing what the future will bring. But, Griffin…”

She gave his hand a tug, seeking his gaze, and he turned to look at her.

“Even if you avoid all risk,” she said, “the future will always be unsure. And wouldn’t it be worse living with the regret of what might have been? Of watching the woman you love bind herself to someone else?”

Griffin drew in a deep breath as his gaze found Olivia again, and he thought of her marrying another man, of living with him and bearing his children. He thought of her gone from his life.

His chest hollowed. He could think of nothing worse.

But it wasn’t his own future he was thinking of. It was hers. He cared for her.

Damn it all, he might even love her.

Could he really ask her to marry him, to give him her love, her years, when he knew he might leave her one day? When he knew he could not promise to keep her happy, no matter how desperately he wanted to?

On the other hand, could he live with himself if he didn’t try?

Hours later, Griffin satalone in his study, slumped before the fire in a leather wingback chair, an untouched glass of brandy cradled in one hand on his knee.

It was well after midnight—the rest of the party had gone to their beds ages ago—but here he sat, wide awake, gazing into the fire as if it might reveal the answers he sought.

Wearily, he rubbed at his eyes and let his head fall back against the chair’s supple leather. His gaze flicked to the large portrait hanging above the fireplace, and he stared up at his father’s face, at the mischievous half-smile so perfectly captured, the kindness in those warm gray eyes peering down at him.

“What should I do, Father?” he murmured, his low voice mingling with the snap and crackle of the fire. “What would you do?”

No answer came, of course, but then, he didn’t really need one. He already knew what his father would say. He would tell him to face life’s challenges without fear, and to fight for what he wanted. He would tell him to go after the girl.

Griffin blew out a frustrated breath and drank from his glass. Go after the girl.

It was what everyone seemed to want him to do, what they all seemed to think he should do. Were they right? Should he go after Olivia?

Did he even want to?

He cared for her a great deal, of course, and there was no denying he wanted her. He wanted her to be happy; he could admit that. After all, he’d gone to see her father, hadn’t he? He’d gone to Surrey on her behalf, to secure her freedom and ensure her right to make her own choices. He’d done it because he cared for her, and because it was the right thing to do.

Could it be you want her for yourself? That you went to her father in the hopes it would end her betrothal and leave her available for you?

James’s words slithered through his mind, and he shifted in his chair, his gaze slipping from his father’s portrait to the fire. Uneasiness pricked at the back of his neck.

Could James be right? Had he been fooling himself this entire time, telling himself he’d gone to Surrey for unselfish reasons when, in fact, he’d gone because he’d hoped Olivia would wait for him?

Uncertainty warred within him, even as a guilty flush bloomed in his cheeks.

Damn it all. It was true, wasn’t it? He hadn’t gone to Surrey for her at all—at least, not entirely. He’d gone there for himself, too, in the hopes she would wait until he was ready to marry her.