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“And yet, you have not heard it directly from her father’s lips. Only the second-hand claim that he saw this from her,” Beatrice reminded him.
Perhaps she was right, but he struggled to think about it, knowing that there was still a greater risk of him getting hurt. And if Lady Mary was telling the truth?
She would never forgive him for believing that lie.
That was a strange sensation he had deep down, the idea that he had been fooled and would not live to regret it. What if he had placed his trust in the wrong woman and had utterly rejected the lady who really deserved his care and consideration?
Was it possible that he had been so distracted by his hurt that he had fallen into a trap and had betrayed the woman with whom he was falling in love?
Crispin didn’t want to think about it any further and he stood from the table.
“Where are you going?” Beatrice asked.
“I am not hungry. I have no desire to eat,” he said.
“But we have not finished, Crispin. I want to know what you are going to do. You must do the right thing. You must not give up on this woman. Not until you know for certain,” Beatrice insisted.
But Crispin walked away regardless. He didn’t want to discuss the matter anymore. He was tired and all he wanted was a chance to sleep and rest and forget that all of this had happened.
Why could his sister not see that this was hurting him so much? Did she truly not recognise that he had been utterly destroyed by the news that Lady Mary was engaged? And was it his duty to find a way to make it up to Lady Mary and fix the drama that surrounded her relationship with her stepsister?
No, if Lady Charlotte was so desperate to be courted by him that she would ruin Lady Mary’s reputation, he would know that in time. He would not allow himself to be taken in. Not again.
Crispin knew that, in the morning, he might have a different approach to all of this. He hoped that there would be better news to come. But for now, he couldn’t bear to think about it any longer.
He wanted to get lost in a book, but when he picked up the very book that he had agreed to read with Lady Mary, he found his heart aching all the more. Instead, he made his way to the library and found a different volume—this time, poetry.
Crispin flipped through the pages, merely skimming the poems. Most of them were too full of happiness and he didn’t want anything so lovely. But, at last, he found one which encompassed his emotions.
My black hollyhock,
How you grow and blossom and bloom.
You are the essence of my garden,
And the keeper of my tomb.
My black hollyhock,
How you stand so tall and sure,
You are the one who most belongs here,
But you are poison for the cure.
My black hollyhock,
How I long to touch your petals,
You are the softest of all flowers,
But in you I am unsettled.
My black hollyhock,
I have given you my heart.
But you have taken it over,
And torn this garden apart.
Crispin sighed as he read the final line. He was broken by the reality of his circumstance and wished that there was a way of escape. But there was no way out of this. Not anymore.
He had fallen in love with a woman who betrayed him, and she had torn him apart in such a short period of time that he was truly stunned. He couldn’t believe how quickly he had fallen for her or that it took her no time at all to ruin him.
And if he could be so devoted to this woman in this short time, then much about him had changed. Just a week ago, he was too frightened to speak with most people at a ball of any sort. And then she came along. Lady Mary had changed him, and now he wanted his old self back. That was a man stoic enough to keep himself away from treacherous flowers.
That was a man who could avoid hurt, escape pain, and live in the peace ofalone.
