A much-needed reminder.
The lighthouse keeper, a gruff man named Mr. Samuel Pickford, came to join him, an unlit pipe jutting out of the side of hisgrizzled mouth. “Storm’s coming,” he commented. “Going to be a bad one, aye.”
Sebastian nodded. “Always are.”
“Suggest ya go back home, Your Grace.”
“I shall shortly.”
Back home, back to his life and his wife.
The problem was, when he didn’t feel this guilty, he felt something approaching happiness. And that was far worse a sin.
Mr. Pickford tipped the cap on his head. Of everyone in the surrounding area, Pickford seemed most at ease with Sebastian. At least, he had never shouted at him or thrown rocks and called him a murderer.
That was where his standards had fallen.
Alone once again, Sebastian watched the horizon and the way the darkened clouds swallowed it. Yes, there would be a storm—and it would be a bad one. He could only imagine how bad it would get out here, right on the edge of the cliff, sitting in a lighthouse with the wind howling around, doing its best to unseat everything in its path.
He remained there several more moments before finally turning back along the path home. The wind dug at his clothes, vicious and demanding, and by the time he reached the house, the rain came down in sheets.
“Fellows,” he muttered as his butler arrived to take his coat. “Tell me, have you made any progress on finding members of Her Grace’s family?”
“Nothing substantial yet, sir, but I believe that we are making progress. The investigator will write a report of his findings when he is certain of what they are.”
“Good.” At least when he cast Aurelia off, she would have somewhere to go and someone to care for her. Perhaps, as a sign of his dedication, he would house them all in one of his properties. An apology, of sorts. Then she would have someone, and perhaps she would not despise him for his betrayal.
No, she would mostcertainlydespise him.
As though summoned, Aurelia gusted through the drawing room and into the great hall where he stood, her eyes widening at the sight of his sodden clothes.
“What happened?” she demanded. “Why did you go out when you knew the weather would be bad?”
“I’m all right,” he coaxed, catching her hands before she could reach for him. “Don’t get yourself wet, Aurelia.”
“But—”
“I’mall right. The rain is coming down hard now, but I returned before it became too bad.” As he spoke, lightning forked the sky. The light had dimmed, thanks to the darkness of the clouds, and the flash of light lit the room with a brief, eerie glow.
Aurelia shuddered, and he had to resist the urge to sweep her into his arms. “It looks scary out there,” she murmured.
“I’m sure it is,” Sebastian shrugged with one shoulder. “But I’m not out there.”
“Come on, let’s get you dried off.” She took his arm despite his protests. “I had Mr. Fellows bring your papers to your bedchamber, too.”
He recalled that he had not read through them all that morning at breakfast. She had noticed and brought them up for him.
Now was not the moment to inform her that he was primarily checking to see if there was any mention of him after the masquerade. So far, there had been nothing, and he fancied they had emerged from the event unscathed. Not that he minded so much for himself; it was easy enough for him to bar the doors to all visitors and to stop reading the papers.
Yes, there would inevitably be some letters from busybodies who thought it their duty to pass moral judgment, but he always consigned those to the fire.
No, he worried about Aurelia.
She did not have his power, and if the world turned against her, he would be unable to protect her. He couldn’t even protect himself.
“You are so dedicated when it comes to staying abreast of the news,” she said as she led him upstairs. “My uncle was quite the same. He said a man ought to know what his country is doing, and the ways in which he can act to improve matters for himself and his community.”
“Your uncle sounds like he ought to have gone into politics.”
