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Chapter Fourteen
Nothing to Fear
Marlow stood at the edge of the vast, manicured garden overlooking the west side of the palace. The Tuscan sun glowed on mid-morning grass, turning it from green to gold while birds flitted through the hedges.
His formal, royal wedding was tomorrow, but his mind was on his first wedding, when everything had been warmth, and relief, and wonder that they were alive and together. Together, just the two of them, with no worries of the future.
“I found him.” August’s voice cut through his silent memories. “Our honored bridegroom-to-be.”
He turned and saw that August was not alone. Townsend was with him, frowning as he walked across the terrazzo. Marlow looked back out at the gardens, feeling ill at ease, which made no sense because they’d always been so comfortable with one another. “How are you fellows today?” he asked.
“I could get used to living in a palace,” said August. “The breakfasts alone…”
“Why are you off here on your own?” Townsend asked. “Nervous about the wedding?”
“Not at all. I’m overjoyed to marry your sister.” He turned to face his friend. “Thing is, we’re already married. This whole rush to make something honorable of our union… It feels insulting, a bit.”
“You know what’s insulting? Running off with Rosalind in the first place.”
“Come now.” August cut in before the tense conversation could become a heated one. “I brought you out here to make amends with Marlow, not to antagonize him.”
“I’d just like to know what he was thinking,” said Townsend. “How he thought it might work out.”
“I had no idea Rosalind planned to steal away to India. I didn’t even know she was on the ship for weeks. We did not plan anything.”
Townsend crossed his arms over his chest. “You expect me to believe it was all Rosalind’s idea then? Rosalind’s fault?”
“Love makes people act out of character and do impulsive things.” He narrowed his eyes at his friend, now his brother-in-law. “I seem to remember you storming into Wescott’s marriage proposal, starting a brawl, then running off to France.”
“Here, now—”
“And immediately upon your return, betrothing yourself to the wrong woman only to get back at him. Rather impulsive, wouldn’t you say? Maybe it’s something in the Townsend blood.”
His friend launched at him with fists raised, but Marlow expected it and shoved him off. Another brawl? Fine. He was ripe for it after enduring the stringent “acceptance” of his wife’s family this past week. Townsend was bigger but he was angrier. He threw a punch, then ducked Townsend’s answering one and tackled him down on the hard marble stone.
“No, you won’t,” August said through gritted teeth, pulling them apart by brute force. “It’s bad enough Wescott had to marry with a couple shiners. Townsend, help him up. He’s your brother now.”
“Curse him.” Townsend shrugged off August’s grip. “I’m not ready to forgive what he did.”
“He didn’t do anything,” said August. “Aside from save your wayward sister’s life and bring her back to you and your family in one piece.”
Marlow stood apart from his friends, watching them argue about him. Pointless, at the end of it. He would never be good enough, had never been good enough. He wanted to find Rosalind and huddle in her arms because she was the only one who made him feel like anything worthy, but that would be weak.
He had to be strong for her.
“Do you know how much I love your sister?”
He shouted it as they argued. August and Townsend turned to him in surprise.
“Do you know how much I adore her, how much she has taken up residence in my soul? When I thought she would drown, the world seemed as nothing. What if she had died? What if I had lived, and she had drowned? I would have had to—”
His voice caught in his throat. He felt close to breaking down. He was so weak without her. He was nothing.
“She didn’t drown.” August’s practical voice grounded him, pulling him back from the edge. “She might have, without you.”
“She wouldn’t have been in that water if not for me. I understand.” He looked at Townsend. “I understand why you’re angry. It was my fault, even if it wasn’t my fault. I wouldn’t have wished any of this for her.” He swallowed hard. “Brittingham should have married her, I know. He would have been better for her.”
Townsend stood with his arms across his chest. Marlow knew all of his expressions save this one. Did he want to forgive? Did Marlow want to be forgiven?
