“Do not fret about that,” Rosalind said with a smirk. “You just concentrate on your own issues.”
He smiled at his sister.
Rosalind got up and took the glass from his hand, setting it aside. “Brother… you are not failing anyone. Not anymore. But you will fail yourself if you keep pretending that you do not feel anything for Theo.”
He looked up at her, eyes red, and voice hoarse. “What if I am too late?”
Rosalind squeezed his shoulder. “Then you will face that. But you will not face it drunk, silent, and hiding in this study.”
He let out a weak laugh. “You sound like Mother.”
“I know,” Rosalind said with a small smile. “Her ways rubbed off on me.”
He leaned back in the chair, exhausted. “What if I do marry her? And end up ruining her life?”
“What if you do not ruin her life and you both live happily ever after?” Rosalind asked bluntly. “Besides it would be frightful if I married before you…”
Rosalind raised her brows at him and Alexander laughed.
“Anyway, I have riding lessons to attend to. If I see another glass in your hand, I will send you back to London,” she threatened him before she spun around and left him alone with a lot to consider.
* * *
Alexander startled awake that evening with a headache that felt like someone had driven a spike behind his eyes. He had fallen asleep in the study again, slumped in the armchair with an empty glass on the table beside him. The fire had burned low, leaving the room cold. He rubbed his face, trying to force himself awake, but the exhaustion clung to him like a second skin.
He had barely slept for days.
Rosalind’s words from the night before still echoed in his mind, refusing to leave him in peace.
You are hurting because you care.
He had tried to push the thought away, but it lingered stubbornly in his mind.
He reached for letter on the desk. Rosalind had written to Theodora again. She had written every day, and every day she had received nothing in return. Alexander had read the latest letter three times already, each time feeling the guilt twist deeper.
My dearest Theodora,
Are you not writing to me because Alexander hurt you?
He closed his eyes and silently blamed himself. He had caused Rosalind’s worry and Theodora’s suffering. He folded the letter and set it aside, rubbing his temples. He needed to think and breathe. He needed?—
A knock at the door interrupted him.
“Your Grace,” the butler said from the hall, “you have visitors.”
Alexander frowned. “At this time?”
“Yes, Your Grace. The Duke and Duchess of Wutherton.”
Alexander blinked.
Spencer and Anna? At Wiltshire? Without warning?
Something was wrong if they have travelled all this way.
“Send them in at once,” he said, straightening in his chair.
Mr. Carson opened the door and Anna stormed in first with a thunderous expression. With one hand laid protectively over her swollen abdomen, she already looked like a mother who was ready to defend her child. Spencer followed closely behind her and gave him an apologetic look.
