“You could not have done anything to help her.”
“You do not know that. You were not there.” Bitter pain bled into his voice.
“I do not need to have been there, Lucas,” Father pushed back. “You were only seventeen years old. One seventeen-year-old boy could not have taken on three highway robbers. They knocked your driver unconscious in a blow!”
Lucas shook his head. “You were not there,” he repeated. “I could have had us stop for the night sooner. I could have kepther within the carriage. I could have told her I would not go with her.”
“And have her go alone?”
“Have her not go at all!”
“Lucas,” Father said, leaning closer as the carriage swayed. “You must realize that would not have worked. You must realize she would simply have attended the party alone.” His voice softened. “Your mother and I blamed ourselves for years. We fought over who was the most to blame. We blamed each other, even, for one reason or another. But we never—never—blamed you. Because you were with your sister, she was not alone in her final hours. She was with her favorite person in the entire world. You did not cause her death, Lucas, but you did give her life joy. You brought her so much joy.”
Something hot and wet slipped down Lucas’s cheek—shocked, he realized he was crying. Crying. Not just a single tear or two, but several, coursed down his cheeks in rivulets.
“Please let go of the blame you hold, Lucas. Your sister would not want that.”
His father was not the first to beg that of him. Miss Faraday had. Charlie had hinted at it. Even James had shown a distaste in Lucas’s chosen way of pursuing his future.
But none of them understood.
“I tried. I tried, and look what has happened, an even larger mess. Charlie and several others hurt because of me. Miss Faraday hurt because of me. I do not deserve to leave this pain behind. I need it to remind me of what is at stake.”
“Oh, Lucas.” Father shook his head, leaning across the gap between their benches and resting his forearms on his knees. “If you have any part in this mess—and I do not believe you have nearly as much as you place on yourself—then it is not a result of some terrible act of justice by the world. It isbecauseyou carry that burden. Because of the burden of guilt you carry, you wouldnot allow yourself to seek help. You thought you had to handle everything all on your own. Lucas. Let go. Let go of the guilt.”
The carriage stopped, and Father made for the door, pausing before he opened it. “I love you, son. I wish I could take this pain from you, but only you can do that. Give yourself grace. You deserve it, not because of anything youdo, but simply because you exist. Give yourself grace, and allow yourself to be happy.”
His father stepped from the carriage, not looking back. Somehow, he seemed to know that Lucas would need a moment to himself.
It was impossible to just push aside the guilt and blame in a moment—not when he’d carried it so closely for so long. But in that conversation, he’d realized for the first time that his skewed sense of penance was causing more pain than it was helping. He’d always seen himself as trying to live for Marietta, to do service as she’d always done, but somehow, amidst it all, he’d begun living to avoid caring for anyone as much as he’d cared for his twin sister.
His father was right. That was not how Marietta would have wanted him to live. She would have whopped him on the head with a pillow if she could see him now.
He chuckled at that thought. Then froze.
That was the first time he’d had any semblance of happiness when thinking of Marietta. Good heavens. He’d been degrading her memory simply by not participating in the one thing she loved more than anything—lightheartedness.
He sat in the carriage for several long minutes, recalling happy memories. Pain twinged with each one, but he pushed through.
How she would run ahead of him when they went nearly anywhere and hide in order to jump out and scare him.
The way she hummed when she was happy.
The month she had been fascinated with America and followed him around spouting off random facts about the former colonies.
The more he recalled, the easier it became.
He blinked a few times to dispel any final vestiges of tears. It would not be easy, but he would hold on to this feeling. He would try to add some happiness back into his life—for his sisterandhimself.
Chapter 39
“This reflects very poorly onLord and Lady Cheltenham and their kindness.”
Lydia did not spare a look for Jones as she folded another article of clothing and stuffed it into her trunk. “I do not intend to slip out in the middle of the night like some vagabond, Jones. I will inform the marquess and marchioness of my departure in the morning. I simply want to be prepared to leave at the earliest convenience.”
Jones made to retort, but Lydia’s head snapped up, spearing her with a gaze. “I am decided in this, and you will not sway me. My place is in Tetbury until the new Lord Tarrington decides otherwise. I would appreciate it if you wouldaidme rather than contradicting me at every turn.”
Her maid’s mouth opened and closed, and then she nodded. Lydia could not even revel in the success at having managed to get someone to listen to her. Nor could she feel guilty for fairly yelling at the woman who truly had been kind to her, if a little heavy-handed. Her mind was attempting to feel nothing at the moment, to think of nothing but leaving, at which point she would come up with what she ought to do next. But just now, the events of the last two days were causing her to lean more toward apathy than she might have wished.
