Dash simply nodded. Taking Sebastian’s place had never been a question. And despite everything, he could never regret doing so.
“And once their daughter moved away…” Beatrice began.
“Loin des yeux, loin du cœur.” Dash gave a small, weary shrug.
“Far from the eyes, far from the heart,” Beatrice murmured, staring down at her hands. “That’s not the case here, with us.”
“No,” Dash agreed.
“Here, at least, she had both a kind husband and a family who held her dear.”
“You were a good friend to her.” Dash met his sister’s eyes. “Thank you.”
“You needn’t thank me. I loved her. And with Lark as well, it felt for a time as though I had two sisters.” Beatrice hesitated before adding, “She told me she is leaving tomorrow.”
Hannah’s companion—and Beatrice’s friend. Lark Montague was the one good thing Lord Beresford had ever done for his daughter. Loyal, discreet, not a single complaint. The young woman had been there through every turn of Hannah’s illness, but had also been good for Beatrice. Lark had a way of making herself a calm center in the middle of storms—a quality Dash valued without ever thinking of her in any other way.
“I told her she could remain here indefinitely,” Dash said. “She earned that, many times over.”
Beatrice gave a faint smile. “She’s determined to make her own way. Has been, ever since her father’s death, you know. She’s accepted a post at Barrington Willows.”
“For the Marquess?”
“With his daughter, Lady Theodosia. I think Lark wants to keep busy. Not to forget, but…”
“I understand.” Lark had been more than a paid companion to her young charge; she had loved her. Dash imagined there’d be ghosts in every corridor, in the rooms they’d spent Hannah’s final days.
And he understood the feeling all too well.
Dasborough Park already held its collection of ghosts—memories of his parents pressed into the walls, lingering in the scent of a particular room or the creak of a familiar floorboard. Some he would not part with for the world; others caught him unawares with an unpleasant jolt like he’d missed a step going downstairs or with a sudden swell of grief. They all managed to leave a hollow ache in their wake.
And then there were the ghosts one carried in the heart, the ones that followed you no matter how far you tried to run.
Beatrice exhaled slowly. “Things won’t be the same now, will they?”
“No.” Even moreso since, if he departed for London, Bea would be totally alone.
He let out a long, heavy sigh—one Beatrice didn’t miss.
“How are you holding up, mon frère?” she asked.
Dash barely lifted one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. He was… numb. Relieved. He wouldn’t deny some relief in that Hannah no longer suffered.
But he was also… a little lost, oddly. Adrift.
“Free?” his sister answered for him, causing him to nearly choke.
That was what Hawk had said as well. And although Dash was perhaps not quite there yet in his mind, the fact remained that he was, in truth, free. After two long years. Not that he’d ever admit to such a thing aloud. It felt cruel.
But Beatrice wasn’t a fool. And although his sister knew the nature of his marriage to Hannah, she believed he’d entered into it out of the goodness of his heart.
She didn’t know about the guilt. About the fact that it was his fault Lady Hannah was ever in that position in the first place. Cleaning up his own mess, as Grimm had once put it.
Dash sent her a disapproving glare. But his sister…
“Will you go to her?”
…would not let this go.
