“It’s not that simple.”
“Isn’t it?” Jenkins’s took a step forward. “Forgive me for overstepping, sir. But from where I stand, it seems quite simple indeed. You love her. She loves you. Everything else is just… noise.”
After Jenkins departed, Morgan sat alone with those words.
You love her. She loves you.
It should be simple.
But nothing in Morgan’s life had ever been simple. That was his normal, not peace and stability. And the thought of trusting in that love, of letting himself be that vulnerable…
His hand shook as he reached for the brandy.
Eliza stood at the window of her chambers, watching rain streak down the glass for the fifth day in a row. She’d barely slept or ate. Her body ached from crying, from the weight of misery that seemed to have settled into her very bones. She’d truly believed that she and Morgan had something real. Something worth fighting for.
But how can you fight for someone who doesn’t want to be fought for?
“Your Grace?”
Mary stood in the doorway, “Concern” all but written in bold letters across her pretty face.
“I’ve brought fresh tea, Your Grace. And perhaps you might consider coming downstairs? The fresh air might do you good.”
“I’m fine here, thank you, Mary.”
“Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but you’re not fine. You’ve have not eaten in three days. You haven’t left this room. And…” She hesitated.
“And what, Mary? You may always speak freely here.”
“His Grace isn’t faring much better.”
Eliza’s heart clenched despite her anger toward her husband. “What do you mean?”
“He’s holed up in his study. Won’t eat, won’t sleep. Jenkins is beside himself with worry.” Mary set down the tea tray. “If you’ll forgive me saying so, Your Grace, you both seem rather miserable without each other.”
“That’s his choice,” Eliza said, her voice small. “He made it quite clear he doesn’t want…”
“My mother used to say that the people we love most are the ones who can hurt us most,” Mary said after a moment. “Because we’ve given them our hearts to hold. But that doesn’t mean we should take our hearts back, Your Grace. It just means we have to be brave enough to keep offering them, even when we’re scared.”
After Mary left, Eliza sat with those words.
Brave enough to keep offering.
Am I brave enough for that? To keep loving Morgan even when he pushes me away?
She didn’t know. All she knew was that the emptiness without him was unbearable. And that something had to change. Before they both drowned in this misery of their own making.
They passed each other in the hallway the following day. Morgan was leaving his study just as Eliza was descending the stairs. They stopped. Stared at each other. Morgan looked terrible. His clothes were rumpled, his hair disheveled, dark circles under his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights. Eliza knew she looked no better.
“Eliza,” he said, his voice rough.
“Morgan.”
They stood there, three feet of hallway between them that might as well have been an ocean.
“I—” Morgan started.
“I should—” Eliza said at the same time.
