His guilt had teeth now. It gnawed at him — merciless and unrelenting. Without the blinders of anger or the armor of vengeance, it struck deeper than ever. Every word he'd hurled at Abigail returned like shrapnel, each one cutting into the raw edges of his conscience.
He had aimed his barbs for maximum damage — and he'd succeeded.
But the truth was, he had bled, too.
"You believed every word. Every touch. So very foolish."
"You are not suited to be my duchess."
"I no longer wish to be burdened by you."
Her tears haunted him. Her confusion. The way she'd whispered his name — not in defiance, but in heartbreak. And his final, cowardly blow before the carriage door shut between them:
"I do not wish to hear another word from you."
Her voice, trembling and broken, followed him into every quiet room, every dream. Her bags had remained at her feet—unpacked from the carriage. Her eyes had been full of confusion, not understanding that the man she loved had decided to destroy her.
And he had.
He hadn't just tried to shatter her trust or her heart — he had aimed to break something deeper. Something sacred.
The same fragile part he had once believed Philip had destroyed in Charlotte, when she'd claimed to have lost his child and no longer wished to live.
But Abigail had lived. She had endured his cruelty. Escaped it.
That was why, he was certain, the Everly’s had disappeared from Lyndhurst- to keep her hidden. To keep her safe from him.
He had come close — so close — to returning to Greystone Hollow after leaving her there. He had imagined falling to his knees at her feet, choking on apologies, begging for a single shred of mercy.
But before the truth had come to light, he'd lashed himself to his bitterness, refusing to yield. He had clung to the belief that he was justified. That her brother had betrayed him. That he was owed retribution.
Now he knew better.
And the truth offered no comfort—only the endless ache of what he had done.
But after the truth, after he had learned of Charlotte's lies... there was no shield left.
Only love.
And grief.
He was certain Abigail hated him. How could she not? He had destroyed their marriage with surgical precision, wielding wordsdesigned to wound — each one loosed with intent, each one a calculated blow.
And still...
He owed her — and her family — the truth. An apology. Not a polite gesture or a whispered regret, but a full accounting of all that had come to pass. His failings. Charlotte's lies. Every truth laid bare.
They might refuse to receive him. They would have every right. But he would make the attempt regardless.
His parents must be turning in their graves.
The Everly’s had been their dearest friends since youth. He could still hear the soft whispers exchanged between Grace Browning and his mother, spoken half in jest but full of hope — that he might one day fall in love with Abigail and make her his wife.
And he had.
From the moment he saw her at her debut ball, he had loved her. He still did.
But what he had done...
