Page 78 of A Lady’s Guide to Mystery and Mischief

“I don’t think you would have.”

Grey wondered. What would he have done, then? Dropped his pistol? Fallen to his knees in tears, begging Francis to leave him alone? To let him be happy for once?

It was hard to say.

“My grandfather pinned all responsibility on me. The way he told it, I had led Francis astray. I had brought shame to my family by even thinking to raise a pistol to my cousin.”

Farah’s mouth was pulled into a deep frown. “But you were hurt. And he’d agreed.”

“But Francis hadn’t been given a choice, had he?” Grey said bitterly. “He’d had to defend himself against his hulking monster of a—”

“Why did your grandfather hate you so?” Farah interrupted. “It doesn’t make any sense. You came to him as a child. An orphan!”

“He didn’t like the person I was. And he couldn’t mold me into the man he thought I should be.”

Her expression was stricken. “It can’t be that simple.”

“Things are, sometimes,” Grey said. It was something he’d had to come to terms with long ago—that the way of things didn’t always have to be complex. Sometimes things were painfully simple. Besides, it was pointless to dwell on the why. What did it matter? That knowledge wouldn’t change anything. Understanding didn’t always alleviate pain.

“I know,” Farah said, her voice dropping. “I just—I hate it.”

“I don’t think Francis intended to cause so much damage,” Grey allowed. “Hence the panic. He could have left me there.”

“I suppose.” She wrapped her arms around her legs and squeezed as the breeze pulled at her loose curls. “But he didn’t stand up to your grandfather. He let you take the blame.”

“And why not? It left him with a generous inheritance and gave him leave to live a life of leisure.”

“You were working as a solicitor while your grandfather was alive, weren’t you? Were you not expecting a similar inheritance as Francis?”

“It would have been foolish of me to expect any support from my grandfather,” Grey said without feeling. “No matter how well off we were, I—I thought working was the sensible thing to do.”

And it was nice to not have needed his grandfather as much as he would have otherwise. Not to mention the fact that his business had been Farah’s reason for seeking him out.

“I wish you’d told me all of this before,” Farah said, melancholy coming off her in waves. “I saw your scar the day we met. You knew I intended to marry Francis, and—”

“I thought about telling you,” Grey interrupted. “But—”

But there was no reason for you to have believed me.

But I hoped you’d change your mind on your own.

“But?” Farah prompted.

“I meant what I said about being certain he wouldn’t hurt you,” Grey said, desperate to emphasize the point. “Francis has always reserved his cruelty for me. I was his only competition. I never, ever thought—”

“I understand that,” Farah interjected. “But I wish I’d known.”

“The night of the ball, when we were in that gallery, I decided to do whatever I could do help you find the magic you’d been chasing,” Grey told her, the vulnerability of the admission piercing and uncomfortable. He willed himself to look at her, ethereal in the moonlight. “I didn’t want to ruin any chance you had at happiness. I wanted to give you what you wanted.”

“You did, in a way,” she said, her cheeks coloring. Then, quieter, as if to herself, “I’d have written Francis much earlier had I known.”

Where would that have left him? She’d have returned home, and he would have gone back to what had been an existence devoid of life. It had been dull. Everything had been dull before Farah. Even the nighttime around him seemed bright by the simple virtue of having her seated before him.

“I cannot imagine your pain, Grey,” Farah said, coaxing him out of his reverie. “I don’t understand how you came back from it.”

“I didn’t,” he said grimly. “I threw myself into work, and my grandfather died two years later.”

“And you never made amends?”