Theodora closed her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. “I do not understand why it hurts so much.”
“Because you cared for him, Theo,” she said softly. “Even if you did not want to.”
“I did not mean to.”
“I know.”
Her mother pulled her into another embrace, rocking her gently as though she were a child again. Theodora clung to her, feeling small, fragile, and utterly defeated. After a while, Lady Dowell helped her sit up, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
“Come, darling. You need some sleep.”
Theodora nodded weakly. She let her mother guide her down the hallway, her legs unsteady beneath her. Every step felt heavy, as though she were walking through water.
When they reached her room, her mother sat her on the edge of the bed. “Lie down and rest.”
Theodora shook her head. “I cannot. If I lie down, I will think about him—” Another sob rocked through her.
Her mother squeezed her hand and laid a kiss on her forehead. “I will bring you some tea.”
She briskly left the bedchamber and Theodora tried not to think about Alexander. She really did. But her mind kept replaying the moment he said that he could not marry her. She had not expected him to confess his love for her or anything of that sort. But she had hoped he would do what was proper and right and true to what she believed was their friendship.
Theodora curled onto her side, pulling her knees to her chest. She stared at the wall, her eyes burning, and her throat raw. She knew for certain that all men were the same. That once a woman gave her all, which was nothing but her body, then they would pack up and leave. She stared at the crumpled-up handkerchief in her hand. The Duke’s initials had been stitched in the corner of the cloth.
Why did he come at all?
The answer would remain a mystery because she vowed to never see the Scarlet Duke again.
Theodora did not truly know what love was or if it even existed in a world run by lust.
I surely will not believe in it anymore.
She threw Alexander’s handkerchief onto the floor.
But I know of one thing that exists, for certain.
Her mother entered her chamber with a tray of tea and biscuits. Theodora knew that Lady Dowell made it herself because of the way the biscuits were lined up perfectly together.
Heartbreak.
Her mother, although exhausted, smiled sweetly at her. Then she handed Theo a cup of steaming hot tea.
The evidence of heartbreak is greater than the evidence of love. Afterall… my father was the first to break my heart.
* * *
“I cannot marry her.”
Alexander’s own words haunted him, and he felt sick the entire journey to Wiltshire. There was a slow, gnawing dread that sat low in his stomach and refused to ease. He had slept barely an hour, replaying the moment in the Dowell library over and over again until he wanted to tear the memory out of his skull. He had walked away. He had left her standing there with her father’s accusations ringing in the air. He had done what he always did when things became too real—heran.
“We have arrived, Your Grace,” the driver announced.
Finally.
The carriage rolled to a stop and Alexander peeked through the window at Wiltshire estate. Rosalind was already waiting at the front door, waving ecstatically.
“Alex!” she yelled.
He grinned at her but even the sight of his little sister did not ease the throbbing pain in his chest.
