"Make a list," he said quietly. "Everything that needs addressing. I'll see it all corrected."
"Will you? Or will you return to London and forget us again for another twenty-three years?"
"I'm not leaving."
"That's what you say now, in the midst of romantic drama and Christmas emotion. But what about in a week? A month? When the novelty wears off and London society calls you back?"
"I'm staying."
"For how long?"
"For as long as it takes."
"Takes to what?"
"To make things right. To earn forgiveness. To prove that I'm not my father."
Mrs. Whitby senior studied him for a long moment, and he saw something shift in her expression; not forgiveness, not yet, but perhaps a willingness to consider the possibility.
"Marianne's locked herself in the bakery," she said finally. "Won't see anyone, won't talk to anyone. She's baking because that's what she does when she's hurt—she makes bread like she's trying to pound her feelings into submission."
"Can I..."
"No. You can't. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But if you're serious about staying, about making things right, then you need to understand what you've broken."
"Tell me."
"You broke her trust, obviously. But more than that, you broke her hope. She was starting to believe she could have something good again, something real. And then she discovered it was all built on lies."
"Not all of it."
"Enough of it. The foundation was false, Your Grace. It doesn't matter if the feelings were real when they were built on deception."
"Then how do I fix it?"
"You don't. You can't fix another person's heart like it's a broken fence or a ledger that won't balance. All you can do isshow, through actions not words, that you're worthy of a second chance. And then hope she's generous enough to give you one."
"What kind of actions?"
"That's for you to figure out. But I'll tell you this—grand gestures and dramatic declarations won't work. Marianne's had enough of performance. If you want to reach her, you need to show her something true."
She left him with that, and Alaric sat in his wrinkled clothes and emotional dishevelment, trying to figure out what truth he could possibly show that would matter.
"If I may, Your Grace," Grimsby said after a moment of silence, "perhaps the first truth you might show is that dukes are capable of basic hygiene and fresh clothing."
"That seems trivial given the circumstances."
"On the contrary, Your Grace. Appearing in public looking like you've been dragged through emotional hedgerows backward sends the message that you're wallowing. Appearing properly dressed but clearly affected sends the message that you're trying to maintain dignity while dealing with difficult emotions. The latter is more likely to garner sympathy."
"I don't want sympathy."
"Then what do you want, Your Grace?"
"I want to turn back time and tell Marianne the truth from the beginning."
"That's not an option available even to dukes, I'm afraid."
"Then I want to find a way to show her that everything that mattered was real."
