She took a deep breath and returned to the seat beside his. “A part of you is ready to move on and this angers you.”
“Why should it anger me? In truth, I am desperate for it.”
“Yes, but you also believe moving on is a betrayal of Lady Jillian’s memory. Yours was a love match and her loss has left a gaping hole in your heart. You want to find someone who will fill that emptiness, but at the same time you hate yourself for even considering someone else as your wife. You think it will somehow diminish all that Lady Jillian meant to you.”
She was right, but it did not make him any less angry to hear the truth from her lips. In fact, having it set out so plainly hurt more.
He rose and raked a hand through his still wet hair.
Blast.
Droplets still streamed down his neck and into his chest thanks to her dumping that water on him. “Thank you for breakfast, Miss Ruskin. I shall endeavor to pass out in the village green next time rather than disturb you,” he said with an icy sarcasm that was completely unprovoked on her part.
But the truth struck like a spear through the heart and he was not yet ready to hear it.
She was right, but it did not mean he had to accept what she was saying. Nor was she the only one shoving this obvious dilemma in his face. His father’s letters had been filled with pleas to stop living in the past and find himself a wife. His father was the Earl of Trent and he was the earl’s heir.
No one was letting him forget this.
Everywhere he turned, his duty as eldest son was being flung in his face.
She placed a hand on his arm as he started to turn away. “What now, Miss Ruskin?”
“If you are going to rant and rage at me, then you may as well address me as Viola. Why maintain formality when what you really want to do is forget I exist?”
“That makes no sense.”
“Let us not keep up a polite pretense. You are in a very bad way and slowly killing yourself. I am glad if I make you angry because it is time you dealt with this problem obviously plaguing you. You cannot stay buried in this dark well of misery you have dug for yourself. At least try to poke your head out and see what a little bit of sunlight might have to offer.”
“Such as?”
“You are a viscount and heir to the Earl of Trent,” she said, repeating his own thoughts. “Your estate is well-managed and healthy, and you are still young and handsome. Why not venture in–”
“Do not dare say the marriage mart! I have no interest in remarrying.” Which is what he had told his family as well and received much the same reaction as he was now receiving from impertinent Viola.
Her father was the vicar.
She was just the sanctimonious vicar’s daughter.
What right did she have to pass judgment on him?
He groaned inwardly, knowing he was being a complete and utter ogre to her.
She placed her hands on her hips and frowned at him, ignoring that he towered over her and was twice her strength. “You know I am right. This is precisely why you are angry at yourself…in addition to barking at me. Stop behaving like a trapped and wounded dog. Bark all you like, but it will not fix your pain. Only moving forward will ever help. Start slowly. Do not venture into the marriage mart until you are good and ready. I am not suggesting you dive into those waters right away.”
“Merely dip in a toe?”
She nodded. “You have friends, do you not?”
“I don’t know. I’ve chased most of them away by now.”
“The true ones will return upon your invitation. You still have your brother and parents, too.”
He did not know why he was listening to her. Perhaps because she was making sense. And yet, the last thing he wanted to do was be sensible. “Your point?”
“Throw a weekend house party.”
“Have you been corresponding with my mother?” he muttered with the same icy sarcasm in his tone as before.
