Page 87 of To Steal a Duchess

Dorian did not need the reminder, and just stared at the server. When he spoke, his voice was flat. He needed to escape his mind, so he said, “Two brandies. I do not care for ice.”

“Very well, Your Grace.” The server ducked away, and Dorian stared out of the window. With each blink, he saw Eloise’s eyes, pretty and curious. He saw how her mouth would part in wonder at the Maporium, or the main lighthouse room, as she beheld his collection.

His chest tightened when he thought of her recalling his stories, or how he had felt an unexpected happiness when he bought her a model boat, naming it the Lady Eloise. He had asked Mr. Brannon to do it personally, of course, but he had smiled and offered the model to Dorian.

Dorian had never told her that he had sat in the tent’s curtained-off room, his hand steady, hoping he did not ruin the delicate lettering.

But Mr. Brannon had commented on how Eloise and Dorian had looked at one another, even back then, and now Dorian could only wonder: how long had he denied himself proper attraction to his wife?

Shortly after his drinks were set down, boots clipped lightly on the floor, not heavy enough to be somebody having a problem with Dorian. Nonetheless, he did not want company, but his eyes pulled upward to find Gideon.

His friend sighed, pulling out the opposite chair, a glass in hand already. He eyed the two glasses Dorian had drunk from, the first one almost empty.

“I have been sent strict instructions from my wife,” Gideon said, “and I have traveled from Langford village to London to find you. She is distraught, for apparently, you have walked away from your wife, and the duchess does not know what to do.”

“What do you know?” The question came out dry and flat.

“Enough, but not specifics. And I know that I have not seen you look so miserable in my entire life, so something you have chosen is not making you happy.”

“I am fine.”

“Fine is not happy, Dorian. Fine is not living, but surviving. I will not press you if you do not wish to be pressed, but…” Dorian looked up at Gideon’s hesitation. “I will sit with you and drink with you because you are my friend and I know you do not make decisions without careful contemplation prior. So, no, I will not push you to speak, but I will say this: take your time, think, let yourself feel, and then we can talk, even if we sit here all day. We shall empty the bar before I leave you on your own.”

Dorian wanted to smile at that, but he couldn’t muster it. Yet a surge of appreciation welled in his chest at Gideon’s softened voice. Not angry, not adamant, but just patient.

Because he was right: Dorian did not make choices without thinking them through, and though this decision had made him miserable, he did not know what other way to navigate his marriage. His wife with her waiting question; his wife with her endless hope and her beautiful smile and interest in the things she loved.

Just—his wife.

As Gideon had allowed him, Dorian did take his time. In his mind, the pieces of the puzzle shifted and came back together in careful composition. Only once he could see all the pieces did he speak.

“All right,” he said, his voice less flat. “I am ready to speak.”

“Tell me why you are here, drowning your sorrows. Tell me why you have been spotted at the London docks, enquiring about a long merchant journey.”

Dorian frowned, thinking of the conversation he had had after his office meetings a couple days ago. He had walked away, knowing it was not the right choice.

“I wanted to get away,” he murmured. “I wanted to feel the water spray on my face again, as I have in the past, and I wanted to know if physical distance would help the emotional distance I need but cannot find.”

“And yet you did not get on a boat.”

Dorian shook his head. “No. Nothing will get her out of my mind. I could sail to Europe and every time I close my eyes, Eloise would be there.”

“So why are you here? I understand there has been a big discrepancy between you both, but what is going on? Help me understand so I can be here for you.”

“It is not your role⁠—”

“Do not speak to me about roles, Dorian.”

Gideon’s words were harsh but his tone was kind. “I can sit here and tell you it was not your responsibility to help me through the grief of losing my father, but still you remained at my side, no matter what. We drank, and we spoke of everything but that until I found the words. So, let me give you the same grace because I want to. Because you are my closest friend, and I care for how you are feeling. I care that you are upset and drinking and you look as though you are not on this plane of existence.”

“Because I do not feel it,” Dorian agreed quietly. “Because I hurt my wife. I told you she was potentially with child, and I was terrified. She ended up not being.”

“Nancy said as much.” Gideon nodded slowly.

Dorian’s throat tightened. “And I—well, I think we were both relieved when we found out she was not. She… Eloise told me that one day she does desire a family, and asked me what I want. I told her I cannot give her an answer, and I do not know when I can.”

Gideon looked across the table at him. “So you have given up your life with her for something that has not happened. Dorian, you deal in certainty and if you will give me the allowance to say: you do have a certainty. You love your wife. You love Eloise. But will you let yourself admit that?”