Page 68 of The Duchess’ Second Chance

“No,” she said patiently. “Measure them vertically. That’s where you’ll find the difference. Try it and see.”

Having already been proven right by his first measurements, his confidence had increased. He made the second measurement…and frowned.

She was right.

She had overestimated how large the discrepancy was, but she was right that it existed. The difference she had spotted was very small on the map, but it would amount to several square feet of land in real life, and it was the kind of thing tenants would notice. “I never realized,” he said.

“It might be the kind of thing that requires a fresh set of eyes looking at it,” she said. “You’ve seen this map many more times than I have, I’m sure.”

“And that’s a very old piece of land,” he said. “This area is newer, but that part…it’s been that way since before I was born.” He sighed. “I don’t relish the idea of having to tell the man living there that he has to give up a part of his land. And what am I going to do now? I have to redraw all of this to make sure that each place is still the same size. Everyone is going to have to sacrifice parts of their land and take on new parts…what a nightmare.”

“You don’t actually have to do any of that, you know,” Amanda said, sinking down in the chair opposite his.

Sampson’s heart raced at her closeness. She was still staring at the map, though. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re looking at things in a very black and white way,” she told him. “But in reality, there are almost always options. You don’t have to handle things so directly like that. If you wish to, you can explore different solutions.” She glanced up at him. “There might be something that can make everyone happy without causing so much…upheaval.”

“And what would you do, if you were in my shoes?” He held her gaze. Were they still talking about land at all? It didn’t feel like it.

She waited a very long time to answer.

Then she looked back down at the map. “I would leave the land the way it is,” she said. “Let this tenant have a slightly larger parcel.”

“You don’t think that people will complain? Say it’s unfair?”

“They might. Sometimes life is unfair,” she said quietly. “I suppose they’ll find a way to accept it. Or perhaps, if you’re very worried about it, you can raise this tenant’s fees a nominal amount—not enough to cause him hardship, but enough to honestly tell his neighbors that he pays more and that’s why he gets a bit more.” She inhaled deeply. “The one thing I don’t think you should do is disrupt everything over this. I think you should find a way to work with the situation you have, not try to destroy it because you found…an imperfection.”

“I see.” He regarded her. Was it fair to assume that this was about their marriage? It probably wasn’t. Whether she would have said the same things about that situation or not, the differences did matter. “Thank you,” he said at last. “I appreciate your insight on the subject. I’ll consider what you’ve said.

She nodded and got to her feet quickly, clearly taking that as dismissal. “I understand,” she said. “Thank you for…letting me look at it, I suppose. It was interesting.”

He nodded. “It was my pleasure,” he said, even though pleasure wasn’t the word he’d have chosen to describe what had just happened here. He didn’t know what word would be better applied, though. The whole thing was unfathomably complicated.

She let herself out, leaving him alone with his dinner, but without any appetite to speak of.

He looked down at the tray. It was fish, which he liked, and the cook had served it in a white sauce that looked very appealing. If he had felt more relaxed, it would have been delightful to take a break from his work and indulge in this dinner. But right now, he couldn’t find a way to allow himself to do that. He felt as though he had to keep working. A fundamental flaw had been exposed in this map, and he couldn’t rest until it had been resolved.

Was Amanda right? Could the imperfection simply be accepted and worked with? Maybe not everything needed to be fixed.

Maybe it’s not the end of the world that we kissed. It could just be an error in judgment that we’re able to move beyond. Maybe we can accept that something foolish happened between us and let it go.

In that moment, looking at his map and considering how easily the solution to the problem had seemed to come to her, it was almost possible to believe it.

But then he thought of George.

He thought of the way George had looked after the gunshot that had taken his life. The way his body had grown cold and heavy in Sampson’s arms. Amanda was the woman he had left behind, a representation of the life that should have been his. That would have been his, if he and Sampson had never met one another.

I just can’t do this. I can’t live with the knowledge that she should have been his, and she is now—in any way—mine instead. Everything I have should have belonged to George. He should be the one alive, and I should have been cold in the mud. The knowledge sickened him, and yet there was no denying that it was the truth.

I just don’t think there’s any way forward that will allow me to feel anything good about this. I don’t think I can walk away from that kiss without shame, whether I remain married to her or not. And more to the point…I don’t think I can walk away from what happened with George without regret. I’ll carry that regret for the rest of my life.

If only there was a map he could redraw to neatly parcel away his feelings about those things. But no such map existed, and he knew that he was going to be grappling with the way his mistakes had left him reeling for the rest of his life.

I can never make myself happy or satisfied, so I have no choice but to make my decisions based on what could bring the most satisfaction to others. I have to try to do right by Amanda and by George. Those should be the only factors I consider.

And if what was right for George or Amanda felt like doing the wrong thing for himself, he would just have to let that go.

Nothing he did had felt right since the day George had died, and it was time to concede that nothing ever would.