He moved to the cupboard and saw the bottle of wine he had asked to have sent up. He savaged the cork and drank deeply.
The room spun around him, and he closed his eyes. He could hear the sound of the party, and he comforted himself with the knowledge that, at the very least, Vivian would still get her fundraiser.
“She may hurt, but it will be better this way. She has found her purpose, her passion. That is all I can ask for.” He let the darkness claim him.
Minutes later, or perhaps it was hours, he was not sure, a hammering on his door woke him. His head ached. His mouth felt like it was made of cotton wool. He tried to lift himself from the floor, but the room swayed unhelpfully.
“Elington? Elington are you in there?” Frederick’s voice was muffled through the door.
He groaned.
“Vivian is getting ready to leave. Her carriage is waiting. I have tried to delay her as long as possible, but I cannot keep her here much longer.” Thomas winced as Frederick jiggled the door handle.
“Then do not.” Thomas stumbled upward, collapsing against the wall.
“Do you not want to say goodbye?” He could hear Frederick’s confusion through the door. “Thomas, I do not understand. The two of you seemed so close, and you are just going to let her leave?”
“This was always the plan. If she wanted to stay, she would ask.” Thomas shrugged. “She has not.”
“Have you even asked her?” Frederick banged on the door again, and Thomas winced as the sound reverberated around his head. “For goodness’ sake, open up so we can have a real conversation.”
“No. Just go away. Tell her to get on the road and wish her well. No, just… just tell her to go. She should not wait for me.” Thomas’s voice cracked, and he slammed a fist against the wall. “Just tell her to leave.”
“Do not do this, Elington. Do not drive her away needlessly.” Frederick said.
“You do not know what you are talking about.” Thomas growled.
“So tell me. Help me understand.” The handle of the door jangled. “Elington we are running out of time. Surely this is not what you want?”
No.Thomas slumped to the floor. He said nothing. What could he say? Vivian was leaving, and though he ached to see her one last time before she went, he knew that if he did, he would not be strong enough to let her go.
Just thinking about it felt like someone had torn his heart from his chest and flung it across the room.
He heard footsteps, and he knew Frederick had left. He swallowed and rested his head in his hands. “She is better without me. The only thing I can offer her is pain. Suffering.”
He tugged at tufts of his hair, biting his knuckles to keep from crying out. Every part of him felt both numb and on fire. He stood up.
“I have to say goodbye.” He was being a fool.
He opened the door, stumbling into the hallway. He was missing a shoe, but he did not care. He ran to the window at the top of the stairs in time to see her carriage pulling away from the palace.
A part of him broke, and he slumped into a heap. She had left. She would not be coming back.
He wondered whether she had even looked behind. He hated that he wondered about it. He pulled himself to his feet and decided to walk back to the empty house he knew would be waiting for him.
“I see your plan to live separate lives is going about as well as can be expected.” His grandmother’s voice sounded far away.
Thomas let his eyes flicker open, surprised to find himself lying on the floor of his study. His mouth tasted of tobacco and stale whisky. His stomach roiled, and his head ached. The sunlight felt like daggers in his eyes as he blinked blearily up at his grandmother.
She wrinkled her nose. “You smell disgusting, Thomas. You are a man, not a pig.”
“I would rather be a pig than a man,” he grumbled, hefting himself up into a sitting position and only just managing not to be violently ill. “What are you doing here?”
“I have come to have tea. And to see just how sorry a state you are in.” She tapped his foot with her walking stick.
Thomas scowled at her. “I am in no mood for tea, Grandmama.”
“Clearly. But I am in no mood for self-pity. Especially as this is a situation that is both entirely of your own making and entirely avoidable.” His grandmother sat in an armchair, leaning on her walking stick for support. “Now what do you plan on doing about it?”
