She looked down. “I’m sorry. If there had been any other way...”
“I know, but that doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it. Let me grieve the loss of...”
Daisy came to mind. He’d never feel like that again, would he? Not without ignoring his marriage vows—if he couldn’t find a way out of this arrangement after all. He didn’t think he’d be a man who’d want to keep a mistress—not that he’d disgrace Daisy by asking her to be his mistress, but it would be impossible to ignore this yearning for her, even if he vowed to cherish another. Once he re-entered society, how much longer would Mrs. Dove-Lyon wait before she dragged him to the altar?
He’d once asked his father, at the curious age of eight, why he’d never remarried, and Sam had never forgotten what his father had said.
“I could never love another woman the way I love your mother. That is a love so rare that it cannot be replicated. A once in a lifetime love. Anything else pales in comparison, and that is not something I wish to experience. I have you and Amelia, and that is enough.”
Sam was not a romantic by nature, but he’d still rather marry for love. And he was only twenty-two. He had so much time to fall in love that he hadn’t been looking for it yet. And he was not fool enough to hope that this mysterious woman the widow intended for him could somehow be the one for him, one he would love, not when he resented the very thought of her. What kind of marriage began with dislike? A miserable one.
“Where’s Daisy?” Blakewood asked quietly.
“She’ll be up shortly,” Amelia replied.
Daisy.
Just her name speared him through the heart. If ever there was a woman who could inspire the sort of devotion and love his father had held for his mother, it was Daisy. And he couldn’t have her.
“If you two wouldn’t mind, I’d like to be alone,” he said.
Amelia and Blakewood shared a worried glance but nodded and left him.
“My lord?” Petrov peeked out from the dressing room. “Do you still wish to move rooms?”
“Yes. As soon as possible.”
“I’ll have everything ready by this evening. It’s time, I think, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
“No. It’s time. You’re right.”
Petrov went back to work. Sam looked at his bed and then turned his back to it. He’d never sleep there again. Looking around the room, Sam’s skin began to itch. The walls pressed in, and he couldn’t bear to be in there one more moment.
He was done with this. He had to leave. Sam stood and took his cane in hand and went for the door, a flicker of doubt about his own stamina only pushing his rage further. He reached the handle, turned the knob and stepped out into the hall.
He exhaled with relief. He was in the hall. After weeks, he was standing in the bloody hall, and he’d never seen a sight more beautiful. He walked toward the back stairs, taking his time, admiring the carpet, the walls, the paintings of hunting dogs rambling through the woods. When he got to the end he turned back and hesitated. The master suite was here. The double doors were polished to a shine, the brass handles smudge free. Sam put his hand on the handle, the brass warm under his palm like it was welcoming him.
“Alston?”
Daisy was there on the landing of the back stair, likely shocked to see him out of his room.
“What are you doing out here? Are you all right?”
“I am.”Now that you’re here.Daisy was everything that was bright and new in his life. A new beginning.
“I’m switching rooms. Would you like to see?”
She nodded and came to his side. Sam twisted the handle and pushed the door wide. The smell of linseed oil and lemon hit hisnose. The curtains were pulled back, light spilling into the room. This side of the house looked over the back garden.
Sam waved her in, and she entered slowly, looking around the room. “Is this the master suite?”
“It is.”
“Why haven’t you taken it before?”
“I didn’t want to. I’d spent most of my boyhood in the other room, but now I can’t bear another minute in there. I’ll be sleeping here tonight.”
Sam entered, taking a deep breath and inhaling the scent of his father. The spicy scent of his shaving soap still hung in the air like he’d just been here. Sam’s throat tightened as he approached the desk where his father had worked at night.
