Page 88 of To Steal a Duchess

“I do not know.”

“Then figure out how to know, because you have given up a life that I have seen make you the happiest you have been in some time, for a thing you do not know for sure. So bet on those certainties, Dorian. Bet on your wife. You know it, deep down, do you not?”

Dorian didn’t speak for a moment.

Gideon did not sigh, either. He truly was not exasperated; he just wanted to be there for Dorian.

“Do you not?” he asked again gently.

“That is the awful thing,” Dorian admitted quietly. “I do know. And I do not know how to give her what she wants.”

“And has she asked you?”

“She has asked me for a timeframe.”

“But has she asked you for something tangible right now?” Gideon asked.

“I do not want to be my father.” Dorian’s voice snapped, that hollow flatness finally exploding into something more. “And I cannot risk that.”

“So you will risk your life and happiness for a potential conclusion?” Gideon asked, and Dorian stilled. “Dorian, listen to me. You are not him, and you never will be him. Yes, you can be angry when you do not have control, and you can be a miserable bastard at times, but you are not cruel. You are not careless. You are not heartless, either. You care about people. You care for your wife, for me, for her lovely little dog against all odds.”

“Yes, but⁠—”

“No buts,” Gideon said. “Not this time. Even with her dog, which you swore you did not care for, I have seen you take care of him. I have heard of how you have further stayed by his side. Dorian, you are a man you do not even see in yourself.”

“Gideon,” Dorian said quietly, “I think that my fears are controlling my life.” He paused, lifting his eyes to his friend. “Are they not?”

Gideon did not hesitate to nod. “They are. You are so much more than your father, Dorian. His blood just means you are the result of him with your mother, but you are not him. You do not carry his tendencies, and if you ever worry that they begin, write to me, and I will be there as soon as I can. Heavens, I care for you, Dorian. You are my friend, and I hate seeing you in pain, but you have spent your life trying to control everything, but you cannot. You cannot stop everyone from hurting or pain. You can restrict it from your hands delivering it, of course, because you are a good man, but you cannot control everything.”

“I do not want to be within an inch of someone that resembles my father,” Dorian admitted quietly.

“Listen.” Gideon moved forward, almost an embrace, had the table not been between them. “You are my friend. I will never, ever let you be him, but I do not think you are even capable of it. You can be his son, but that does not mean you are like him, or will become him. Do you hear me?”

Dorian nodded. “I hear you.”

“John Reed was a fine father figure from what you have told me. Remember him, think of him, be him. When you think of a child of your own one day, see yourself as him, rather than your own father. Think of being a man with your passion, your love for the sea and the feel of waves beneath the planks under your feet on a boat. Think about how much more you have already done for Oldcliff than your father ever did.”

“He was everything I wanted in a father,” Dorian whispered.

“I know. So imagine yourself with your child, whoever they are, excited and looking at your nautical collection. Think of them having yours and Eloise’s combined passion. Think of that, Dorian, not the things that haunt you.” He leaned back finally, his face serious. “What sort of man do you want to be?”

“I want to be worthy,” Dorian said. “I do not want to hurt Eloise. Even if my fear continues to exist, I want to manage it without it controlling me.”

“Then stop looking back.” Gideon nudged his glass against Dorian’s in a toast of sorts. “Look forward, Oldcliff. I do believe it is time for you to go back home.”

Eloise was pacing her chambers when Mrs. Hale appeared in the doorway, giving a swift knock.

“Your Grace,” she said, “I do not mean to disturb you, especially in such a time, but you are needed at Oldcliff lighthouse.”

“I am not needed there.” Her tone was cold, flat, for she had let go of her upset and just receded into herself. She did not need to know her heart, or her feelings, or her mind. She just needed to survive, and, without Dorian, without her family, without purpose, Eloise had nothing left.

“But you are, Your Grace.”

“I am not.”

Mrs. Hale stepped further into her room. “If I may say, Your Grace, if you do not visit the lighthouse now, I do not know what will happen.”

“And who is there?”