Lydia promised herself she would be honest with him soon. She had nothing to lose and everything to gain. She only needed to procure a little courage first.
Chapter 31
Lucas stood at the footof the bed in Marietta’s old room, hands fisted in a physical attempt to hold back the surge of emotion he felt.
He’d come to her room seeking answers. Seeking help. Not more pain.
He should have known that he would find nothing but anguish here in this shrine to his sister. The damask paper on the wall, the plush chair by the window, the dark writing desk in the corner—none of it had changed since the last day she’d stayed here.
She had not actually spent much time in this room when they were in London for the Season. Most nights, she had managed to sneak out and join Lucas in his room, curling into a ball on the couch at the foot of his bed. He remembered putting up a big fuss. After all, he’d been a teenage boy, and he didn’t need his twin sister getting in the way of his sleep. But ultimately, he’d always given in. She was his sister, and she did not like being alone.
Lucas leaned forward, grasping the frame of the bed with both hands. Knowing that about his sister—knowing that she hated being alone—he’d agreed to accompany her to that house party. He had told his parents that he would handle all. After all, he was old enough, no need to send extra footmen.
Then he’d pushed them farther that first night of travel, thinking to get them to their destination more quickly. Pushed the coachman to drive just another mile or two in the dark.
A robbery gone wrong, they’d called it. But Lucas knew better. He knew that it was the result of him not being careful enough and not being able to protect his own sister.
His knuckles tightened.
Would that she were still here. Would that he had been a better man back then. Would that she could tell him what to donow, when his perfectly crafted existence seemed to be falling apart.
His emotions were all over the place. His club and its purpose—foundedforMarietta—was causing more harm than good. He was falling in love, and he was terrified—absolutely terrified—by what that meant for his future.
He did not deserve love when Marietta would never have it. But even more than that, he could not afford to add another loved one to his circle. He was already failing at protecting those within it; he could not handle the pain of failing anyone else.
That vision of a disappointed Marietta flitted in his mind again. He groaned, dropping his head. “Mari... please. What am I to do?” he pushed the words out between clenched teeth.
She didn’t answer, of course, but still, he could not wipe her disappointed look from his mind. His stomach clenched. “What am I doing wrong? How can I fix this?” He would do anything to regain the control he’d had.
But regaining control would mean losing Lydia.
The thought hardly seemed his own, but it was in his mind nonetheless. Would he cut Miss Faraday from his life if it meant he could regain the grasp on his sanity?
He wanted to say yes, but then he thought of her laugh, her smile, her focused determination as she did her doctoring, her kindness as she spoke with the children. Dash it all. Could he not have both? His control and Miss Faraday?
No.
But you want one more than the other.
Heat surged into his eyes. HewantedMiss Faraday. In the moment she’d said she was considering marriage, he’d wanted to sweep her up and take her to the nearest church, but his dashed control had held him back—his belief that he did not deserve happiness.
That was what he truly wanted: to be free of this burden of guilt. But how?
A drop of moisture fell onto Marietta’s bed. Another fell beside it. He hadn’t cried in years, but now the light pink of the bedding was turning dark with his tears. A strangled sob escaped his throat as he tightened his fists.
The door behind him squeaked. His head jerked toward the sound.
Miss Faraday took a step backward, surprise on her face. “I am so sorry. I did not know anyone was here. I just saw the open door.”
He tried to wipe the emotion from his mind and expression but was struggling with the collision of his current form of anguish and his history of it. Miss Faraday was so like his sister—except in how he felt about her. So prone to getting into scrapes. So desirous to help others. So headstrong.
Dash it all. He loved her.
“Lu—Lord Berkeley?” She stepped toward him. “Are you well?”
He shook his head, lifting his hand to stop her advance.
She ignored him, coming closer. “Are you hurt?” She grasped his raised hand around the wrist and looked him over, seeking a wound.
