Page 87 of From Unwanted to Duchess
The words hit him harder than the earlier slap.
“I am nothing like my father.”
“No? He died alone and miserable. And here you are, doing the same thing.”
James flinched. “That is not fair.”
“Life is not fair, James. But love—love is a gift. And you are throwing it away out of fear.”
“Then that is the consequence of my action, and I must live with it,” he said with a shrug.
Aunt Eugenia nodded. “Very well. If you insist, I will not force you. But I know that there is something you’re not telling me. This is not your typical behavior, and I will not watch you throw away the best thing that has ever happened to you without a proper explanation.”
He walked her to the door.
“I know you won’t,” he replied. “But for the time being, there is something else I want to ask you. Frances will not accept any money from me.”
“Foolish, prideful girl.” Aunt Eugenia shook her head.
“No, I do not think that she is prideful in the least.”
She looked up at him and scoffed. “I suppose not. Heartbroken is more like it. The girl adores you. You must know that.”
“I do,” he replied. “That is part of the problem. In any case, I want you to keep the money for her so that she cannot return it.”
“Very well,” she relented. “I will.”
She already had one foot through the front door when he called out, “May I ask you for one more thing?”
“One more, one less. What’s the difference?” she said with a shrug. “What is it?”
“Look after her for me, will you?”
She turned and looked at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read. Pity? Disappointment? Both?
“I will look after her, James. But you should be the one doing so. You are her husband.”
“In name only. And not for much longer.”
“By your own choice. What of Somerset Trust?”
He shrugged. “Another decision I have to live with. I will see if they can give me an extension. If not, then I shall have to find a way.”
At that, she gave a curt nod and stepped out into the night.
James stood in the doorway for a long moment, watching as her carriage pulled away. Then he closed the door and leaned against it.
The house was silent. Cold. Empty.
Just as he had wanted it.
He made his way to the study and poured himself another glass of whiskey. His hand was shaking.
He had done the right thing. He had protected Frances. Protected himself. This was better. Safer.
So why did it feel like his heart had been ripped from his chest?
