Aaron’s hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. Violence hummed through his veins, seeking an outlet, finding none that wouldn’t prove he was exactly the monster he feared.
“She left.” The words came out broken. “I told her to go, and she went.”
“Because you gave her no choice.”
“I gave her every choice! I could have taken her that first night when she threw herself at me. It could have ruined her completely. Instead, I protected her virtue, gave her shelter, and saved her brother.”
“And then abandoned her when she needed you most.” Ernest pressed a handkerchief to his split lip, the white linen blooming red. “You did everything perfectly except the one thing that mattered. You didn’t fight for her.”
Aaron sank into his chair, the fight leaving as quickly as it had come. “I don’t know how.”
“Yes, you do.” Ernest perched on the desk edge, informal and insistent. “You fought Wigram’s men. You fought to find George. You fought everything except your own fear.”
Through the window, he could see Cecilia returning with Buttercup. The dog’s head hung low, tail dragging through mud that would horrify the staff. Even from this distance, Aaron could read dejection in every line of the beast’s body.
“She deserves better than what I can offer.”
“What you can offer?” Ernest’s voice rose with frustration. “You can offer her wealth, status, security. More importantly, you can offer her love if you’d stop being so bloody terrified of it.”
“Love.” Aaron tested the word, finding it sharp as glass. “My father loved my mother. It destroyed them both.”
“Your father was obsessed with your mother. There’s a difference.” Ernest slid off the desk, crossing to the brandy cabinet. He pulled out a fresh bottle, pouring two glasses despite the early hour. “Love requires equality, vulnerability, trust. Your father only knew possession.”
He handed Aaron a glass. The amber liquid caught the light like Louise’s eyes in candlelight.
“Every day you waste is a day you can’t get back.” Ernest raised his own glass in mock toast. “Every night she spends crying over you is a night stolen from potential happiness.”
“How do you know she’s crying?”
“Because Cecilia told me. Because I have eyes. Because anyone who’s seen you together knows you’re two halves of something that should be whole.”
Aaron drained the brandy in one burning swallow. It did nothing to fill the hollow space where his heart used to be.
“It’s been five days.” The admission emerged raw. “Five days, three hours, and approximately twenty minutes since she left.”
“You’re counting.”
“I can’t stop.” Aaron pressed his palms against his eyes. “Everything reminds me of her. This morning, Thornton tried to serve me eggs the way I’ve eaten them for years, and I nearly threw the plate because Louise takes hers differently.”
Ernest set down his glass with deliberate precision. “Then go to her.”
“And say what? ‘Forgive me for being a coward’? ‘Please come back so I can continue being terrified of hurting you’?”
“How about ‘I love you’?” Ernest moved toward the door. “Novel concept, I know. Actually telling someone how you feel instead of brooding in dramatic isolation.”
He paused at the threshold, looking back with something between pity and exasperation.
“She won’t wait forever, Aaron. Someone else will see her worth, offer her what you won’t. And then you’ll spend the rest of your life knowing you had everything and threw it away because you were too afraid to be happy.”
The door closed with finality, leaving Aaron alone with empty glasses and bitter truths.
Outside, the garden lay dormant under gray skies. But beneath the frozen ground, seeds waited. Spring would come whether or not he wanted it. Life would continue its relentless forward motion while he sat frozen in this moment of self-imposed exile.
Somewhere across London, Louise was probably helping Emily with her lessons. Maybe braiding her hair. Maybe pretending everything was fine while her heart broke a little more each day.
Aaron poured another brandy, raised it to his lips, then set it down untouched.
Ernest was right. Every day was a theft from potential happiness.
