“Would be what? Improper? Scandalous?” Daniel’s laugh held no humour. “Since when have you cared about propriety? The entire ton expects you to behave scandalously. It’s practically your defining characteristic.”
“Which is precisely why I cannot.” Tobias pulled free, pacing several steps before rounding back. “Don’t you understand? She deserves better than society’s favourite disgrace. Better than a man whose reputation would taint her by association. When she remarries?—”
“Ah. When she remarries.” Daniel’s expression shifted to something uncomfortably close to pity. “And tell me, how do you imagine you’ll feel watching her become another man’s wife? Seeing her smile at him, dance with him, share his name and his bed and his?—”
“Stop.” The word emerged as a growl. Tobias’s hands had clenched into fists without conscious thought, every muscle rigid with barely suppressed violence. “Just stop.”
“Why? Because the truth hurts?” Daniel stepped closer, his voice dropping. “You love her, Tobias. You’ve loved her for months, perhaps longer. And sitting here in London playing at being the careless rake whilst she’s alone in Kent—that’s not honouring your brother’s memory or protecting her reputation. That’s cowardice.”
The accusation struck like a physical blow. Tobias opened his mouth to deny it, to offer some cutting retort that would restore distance and propriety.
But the words wouldn’t come.
Because Daniel was right.
Every hollow evening at White’s. Every forced smile at tedious dinners. Every night alone in his study, nursing brandy whilst clutching a child’s sock like a talisman against loneliness.
All of it was cowardice.
He’d told himself he’d left to give Amelia freedom. But the truth—the devastating, undeniable truth—was that he’d fled because acknowledging what he felt meant risking everything. His heart. His pride. The careful control he’d maintained his entire life.
And perhaps losing her entirely if she did not feel the same.
“I cannot,” he said at last, the words barely audible above the street noise. “She’s forbidden to me in every way that matters.”
“Forbidden by whom? Society?” Daniel shook his head. “Society whispered about you for years, and you never cared. Your brother’s been dead nearly a year. Lady Amelia’s mourning has concluded. There’s no legal impediment, no scandal save what you create by continuing this miserable charade.”
“Edward would never have?—”
“Edward isdead.” Daniel’s voice turned hard. “And from what little you’ve let slip, he was a cold bastard who never deserved her. Would you truly let his ghost dictate your future? Hers?”
Tobias had no answer. His brother’s painted eyes seemed to follow him even here, centuries of Grant propriety and duty weighing upon shoulders that suddenly felt too fragile to bear the burden.
“The Season ends in six weeks,” Daniel said quietly. “After that, everyone returns to their estates for summer. If you’re going to do something, now is the time.”
“I cannot simply appear at Redmond Park and—and what? Declare myself? She likely despises me for abandoning her.”
“Or perhaps she’s been waiting six months for you to stop being a fool.”
Tobias shook his head immediately. Lady Amelia had married Edward. That was the man she had wanted, not him. Besides, with his reputation… she would never. Would she?
“I need to think,” Tobias said abruptly. “I need—time to consider?—”
“You’ve had nearly six months to think. Six months to torture yourself.” Daniel pulled a card from his pocket.
“So what is it you think I ought to do, dear friend?” Tobias asked tiredly.
“I want you to stop hiding behind noble excuses and take action.” Daniel clapped him on the shoulder. “Though if you prefer to continue this descent into melodramatic suffering, I suppose that’s your choice. I hear melodrama is quite fashionable this Season.”
He departed before Tobias could formulate a response, leaving him alone on St. James’s Street with an invitation burning in his hand and something dangerous awakening in his chest.
Hope.
Terrible, treacherous hope that perhaps—just perhaps—he had not destroyed everything by leaving.
Tobias did not sleep that night. Or rather, he slept in fitful snatches punctuated by dreams that left him aching. Amelia in the garden, laughing as Henry chased butterflies. Amelia across the dining table, candlelight painting gold across her cheeks. Amelia in his arms after the horse had nearly killed them, her heart racing against his chest, her eyes wide with something that might have been fear or might have been?—
He woke before dawn, his decision made with a clarity that felt like both relief and terror.
