Chapter Text
“Yes. Yes! Yes! I shall be your viscountess. I shall marry you.”
The immediate effect of that moment had been underwhelming. There had never been any planning for happiness in his future. Contentment perhaps, which would come over the years as life would go on in an uninterrupted series of comfortable mornings and quiet evenings, watching his children grow up. In that moment, though, of her acceptance to his proposal what he had hoped to feel was some sense of satisfaction for the fulfillment of his duty. Instead, a vast nothingness engulfed him, which grew colder as that young woman beamed with joy at the prospect of their marriage. He replied with a forced twitch of his mouth that could pass as a smile.
Two reactions on opposite sides of the spectrum of human emotion.
That alone should have been enough to make him realize that this was a mistake he would regret. Because no matter how hard she would try, she would not be able to maintain enough excitement for both of them, at least not for long. And if he would not contribute to the effort, the fragile foundation of their union would collapse, taking them and their families down with it.
But he couldn't. Any resolve to his initial plan that had brought him to that moment, did not endure against the grief which filled his heart.
The following weeks gave him many opportunities to come to that conclusion.
Her family had to remain at Aubrey Hall for a few more days to discuss pressing matters for the coming nuptials. The reality of a betrothal was significantly different to what he had imagined. It wouldn't have been a bliss, but he hadn't expected that it would annoy him. The whole affair demanded a lot of his time and attention for one obligation or another. What was worse, however, was Miss Edwina. A continuous presence at the breakfast table, on his morning round in the garden. At luncheon, at afternoon tea and finally at dinner; the woman he had given his family's ring to was everywhere he looked, even occasionally in his study, flanked by their mothers for one more important decision in which he had no interest.
What distance had he really imagined would exist between them mere days after he named her his future wife? Her voice, her questions, her opinions, her laughter was a constant noise fighting to invade his every moment, except in the privacy of his bedchamber.
In those short pauses she occupied his thoughts, depriving him of sleep, unless it was to dream of her.
The woman he almost kissed, almost held. The woman he almost claimed. The one who could make him happy and he had almost let her.
Almost. That word should be engraved on his tomb.
“Say you do not care for me. Tell me you feel nothing, and I will walk away.”
“I feel...I feel.”
He never heard the end of it. Of course he knew how it would end, but God, did he want to hear her say it. Just once if not forever.
Perhaps she would have said it the next morning.
No.
He was sure she would have. But he walked past her and offered to her sister the words that belonged to her.
She would never say it after that. She would never say anything to him, ever again. In the course of less than a day he had become a ghost to the woman he loved and he would remain one for the rest of their lives and he had no one but himself to blame.
With everyone else she was the same she had been; kind and caring, offering interesting conversation and good advice. Her laughs had become rare, but she wore her smiles when people expected her to smile; whenever her sister would tell her how happy she was, at every toast for the betrothed couple, with every idea for the celebrations to come.
In order to achieve that unruffled placidity, it seemed that for her the house had one less resident than it actually did. Not even her gaze would fall on him, not even by accident. She went to great lengths to not be involved in anything he might be included in and she exited any room he was in if the rest of the group was not big enough to feel secure that she would not have to interact with him. And he would always look away; at his hands, at the floor, at the wall, outside the window as if it didn't kill him every time to watch her fleeing his presence.
The situation did not change in London. There were fewer occasions when she had to take measures to stay away from him, but her diligence did not falter. In fact, whenever he had called on Miss Edwina, or when he and his mother visited the Danbury House, she was nowhere to be seen. No explanation was given to them and neither he nor his mother asked of her whereabouts. She deserved her peace. That much he should give her.
If only he could.
Inside him a greedy monster of need and desire grew bigger and stronger than reason. In vain, he was lingering in Lady Danbury's drawing room, just in case she would appear but she never did. He had grown used to the lack of the warmth he felt whenever she was looking at him, but to be denied his last source of comfort of enjoying even a glimpse of her, was a penance he could not cope with. Every time he stepped out of the Danbury House, he looked up to see if he could find her figure on any window; he never did. Once, though he noticed that the moment he glanced up the curtains of a window were hastily closed, hiding whomever was inside. Perhaps it wasn't her, shielding herself against his hurtful attention. Perhaps it had been a maid; he tried to convince himself of that notion, but eventually he knew that he should not entertain that delusion.
For their audience with the Queen of England he was late. Getting out of bed for that performance was too taxing. In the carriage, his mother kept silent and did not meet his eyes. No longer did she try to persuade him to end this charade, and once her consoling words did not work there was nothing left to say. He had been lying and did so convincingly; and to none more than to himself but the lie was getting too big to escape and too heavy to bear. The wise thing to do was to take this one day at a time, but each day was becoming more difficult than the previous one. The Queen declared them a love match and all he could think of was that it had been eight days since he had last seen her and he did not know if he could manage through the ninth.
The dinner with the Sheffields, which she could not avoid, offered him one chance to set eyes upon the woman he had lost. The moment she walked in the drawing room, he nearly forgot the purpose of his visit, the promises he had made to her sister. He nearly forgot his own name or how to breathe. The only thing he could think of was the life he would not live; all that he wanted but could not have because in a moment of weakness he had denied her.
Around the table there was civility and the subject of Miss Edwina's dowry was not raised. Lady Danbury had informed him in time and he saw no reason to upset things even more. For her there could not be much conversation with Lady Mary's estranged family who had time only for their granddaughter. Except for a few short replies that gradually turned to mere nods towards his mother she kept her eyes on her plate and lifted her head only to drink her wine. More glasses, he noticed, than she used to. He did not need to wonder what she was thinking; she was thinking how quickly time could pass so that she would leave for India and finally be free of all of them, him mostly.
He only wondered if she knew, or cared about, how much he wished he could follow her.