Page 40 of Forgotten No More

Ruby was right in everything she’d said. He should return to the country. Live the life of an impoverished vicar to a wealthy, titled lord and leave her to find a place where she belonged—to find the man who would become her husband. A man who would give her a home, and children, and financial stability, all things Harold could not guarantee her or any woman.

Still, he continued to assess his glass, weighing his options. The sting of the liquid traveling down his throat would be worth the pain if he could forget—if only for the night—all that had happened, all the heated words she’d thrown at him.

Truly, he had no other viable options.

He hadn’t a clue what kept him from slipping into oblivion for the night, drowning his emotions in the fire water of the devil. He’d much prefer a night in hell to one reliving each word that had passed her delicate pink lips. The touch of Lucifer could not scorch him anymore than Ruby’s insults.

“Bloody hell!” The glass shattered against the hearth.

Before he knew what he was doing, his rage—at himself, at his father, and at her—boiled over. The decanter was the next to fall victim. Shards of glass hit every surface within range. If his blood hadn’t been pumping so fast through his veins, producing a humming noise in his head, Harold would have heard the sound of shattering glass echo through the house, and the resulting curses coming from the front entry.

Instead, Harold picked up a vase and turned it in his hands, studying the painted pattern. The piece was in mint condition with nary a scratch or chip. The thin glass would explode, unlike either the thick tumbler or the etched decanter.

He was sure the resulting shower of glass would satisfy his need for release even more effectively than imbibing large quantities of only the Lord knew what.

Neither would resolve his problems, advance his life, or in any way make him proud of his actions come morning.

“If you do not mind, that was a gift from the lovely Lady Haversham.” The vase was plucked from his hands and replaced on its stand.

He should feel shame for his outburst, and remorse for destroying Brock’s glassware.

But the fact was, he was tired of apologizing for things, of catering to others. Most importantly, he was done allowing others to direct the course of his life.

“What has gotten into you?” Brock asked.

Harold continued to stare at the shattered glass below the hearth. “I do not know what you’re referring to.”

“I’m not a dullard.” Brock stepped around Harold. “You’ve never been a man prone to violence…of any kind, and, trust me, I know you’ve been in several situations where I would not have kept my composure so gracefully.”

“Maybe I’m tired of keeping my composure and acting as if everything is as I’d wish it to be.” His friend could have no idea what all weighed on him. Harold had thought Ruby to be a simple diversion, something to take his mind off his own impending exile to the country. But she was anything but simple. Keeping track of her had turned into a full-time mission, and it was damned hard saving someone from themselves, especially when they didn’t realized they needed saving.

“You wished my fine crystal to be broken all over the floor?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

Such a simple question should have a simple answer, yet Harold hadn’t the words to express what he needed.

Brock sat in one of the armchairs facing the open hearth. “Advice?”

“Sure.” Harold shrugged and sank into the other chair. “It cannot be any worse than what I’ve been thinking myself.”

Harold lowered his face into his hands, hoping his friend would share some life-changing wisdom.

“If you want something, do what needs to be done to attain it.”

“And what if what you want does not align with what others demand?”

“Simple.”

“How so?” Harold asked.

“Stop caring what others demand of you and live the life that makes you happy. When we sit here in thirty years, I want to be content with the choices I made and have no regrets about what I’ve accomplished in life.”

“It’s easy when you are born to a title and estate.” He looked his friend square in the face. “For me, a commoner, there is much more to think about.”

“What you say is true. I have never been left without fund or a home when I needed them, but this is about much more than coin and shelter. I could live with neither of those things guaranteed as long as I have Viola and the ability to earn a decent living.”