I turned around again, but he jogged forward, grabbing me by the arm. I jerked it away and faced him. He breathed heavily, eyes searching my face. I refused to allow him to speak again, to cast any accusations at me that I did not deserve. How dare he assume that I was foolish enough to guide Margaret outside to swim in the sea during a storm?
“What do you think of me, Jonathan?” I demanded. “Do you think me a fool?”
He shook his head, a twinge of pain on his brow. “No, of course not.” He reached for me, but I took a step back. His hand dropped through the empty air.
“Do you think me a fortune hunter?”
His eyes met mine in the dim light, a flicker of doubt within them.
“I fell in love with you in Brighton!” My face burned hot as the confession spilled from my lips. “It was before I knew of your fortune, or your estate, or anything you could offer me. Charlotte knew how I felt, yet when she learned of your inheritance, she decided to pursue you herself. It infuriated me, and I felt certain I would lose.” The confession spilled out of me, and I was powerless to stop it. “That morning at the beach, I had given up. You told me you didn’t want me.” My throat ached, and I struggled to swallow. “I didn’t know you would be there swimming at the same time. And I wish you hadn’t been.”
I knew I had nothing to prove, yet the confession left me feeling lighter and freer than I had in weeks. It was Jonathan’schoice what he believed, but I would no longer wait for his approval or attempt to earn his love. Mine had been freely given all along.
I saw something like regret in his eyes, but my tears were flowing down my cheeks now, and I could hardly see through them. I turned fast, marching up the beach as quickly as I could without running.
This time, he didn’t try to follow me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
JONATHAN
Ihad never wanted to throw a facer at someone more in my life. I stared at the man across from me, a bitterness rising in my throat. Breaking the mirror would do nothing to repair the damage I had done, so I adjusted my cravat before turning away from my reflection in disgust and making my way toward the south wing.
It was still early, but Susan had planned to dress Margaret for the day earlier than usual in preparation for the guests that would be arriving soon. Guilt clawed at my heart. For three years, Margaret had been the only person I had to care for. Penelope had married, Joanna too, and Mother had left us all behind. I had been so focused on protecting Margaret that I didn’t know how to protect my own wife.
I had hurt her.
What had possessed me to think that she had lured Margaret out of the house for a swim during a storm? My heart had been raw from Lady Fenton’s observations in town, and my doubts had overtaken my judgment. Alice,sweetAlice, who hadplanned an entire ball for my sister was not capable of hurting her. I knew it, deep in my bones, so then why had I jumped to such horrible conclusions?
I put my face in my hands, exhaling a slow breath. I could still see the hurt flashing in her eyes—and the disappointment. Knowing that I had caused it made me physically ill. What could be done?
My trip to the modiste the day before had confirmed that Alice had indeed ordered several new gowns. That information had been heavy on my mind when I returned to the house to find the staff in panic over Margaret’s disappearance. When I had seen them both on the beach, my mind had drawn only one conclusion, and like a fool, I had voiced it.
Since then, Susan had relayed the true details of the story to me—how she had been the one to let Margaret out of her sight, and that Alice had run down to the beach to her rescue. I was the most boorish man alive, and I simply did not deserve a woman like Alice. Even now, as I watched Margaret twirl in a new white morning dress, my despair sank further through my stomach.
The dresses had been for Margaret.
How had I not seen it before? I had told Alice that the fortune was for Margaret’s use, and she had taken the initiative to commission her a new wardrobe. As a man, such matters rarely crossed my mind. But Alice thought of everything.
My admiration for my wife surged up inside me until I could hardly breathe. It wasn’t just admiration. It was stronger than that.
And I might have ruined everything.
My heart pounded fast in my chest, until I could hardly stand still. I needed to apologize. I had spent half the night rehearsing what I might say and attempting to predict how she might react. I didn’t deserve forgiveness so soon, but I would beg for it if I had to. I could not lose her.
My intentions for coming to the south wing were foggy now—all I could think of was Alice as I tore through the corridor toward the staircase. I had only made it two steps down when I heard a familiar voice. And then a head of golden curls came into view, large eyes shifting up the staircase in my direction.
It was Miss Charlotte Lyons.
ALICE
I was surprised to see Charlotte walk into the vestibule first, the butler holding the door open wide for her entrance. The scent of lavender followed her everywhere she went, trailing her movements like a tail on a cat.
Our eyes met as her foot touched the first black tile.
Silence fell.
“Alice?” she said in a quiet voice. I wasn’t certain why she seemed surprised—it was my home, after all. She didn’t seem certain of what to do, her fingers pinching at the sides of her skirts. The familiarity of her face and voice brought a surge of emotion to my chest. I wanted to hug her—to forget all the reasons we had fought. Wouldn’t that be much easier than holding a grudge?
