Page 9 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

“I am sorry about Mariah. I am sorry I was selfish and cruel. I am sorry that you both paid the price for my behavior. I am sorry I did not do the right thing all those years ago and set her free. I am sorry it has taken me so long to admit just how awful I was to you both. I am sorry for all of it. Everything. And I am even sorrier that I cannot go back and do the right thing. But I cannot, Drew. I can never fix the damage I caused. Not only to you and Mariah, but to Sarah Creighton and Lady Selina and anyone else who has been caught between us. How many more people need to get hurt?”

Andrew stared into the eyes of the man who had once been a brother, best friend, mentor, and idol to him.

The man who had married the woman Andrew loved.

And then allowed her to die in childbed.

With your child.

The quiet accusation sent a shudder through his body and Andrew’s vision turned blurry.

Mariah and your son. You were the one who got her pregnant, not Sylvester. It was because of you that she was weak and sick with worry and brought to bed a month early. You are the one who killed her.

A hand landed on his shoulder and Andrew jolted at the touch. He tore himself away from grief that was old—ancient—and yet as sharp as the day the blade first cut.

He met Sylvester’s anguished gaze.

“I am so sorry, Andrew, and I will never stop regretting what I did. But I don’t want to spend another decade hating you. Or being hated. Is there no way we can salvage… something? You were closer to me than my own brother. We might never be able to rebuild that bond, but must we go on hating?”

The words were like the first cracks in a dam. The anger and despair behind the crumbling edifice took so much effortto keep in place.

Andrew was tired—exhausted. So bloody sick and tired that he ached from it, body, mind, and soul.

Chatham’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “Andrew?” His cousin leaned closer, concern in his eyes. “Are you—”

“I am fine,” he said, sounding less than convincing to his own ears. He gave a small shrug, and the duke removed his hand. He swallowed several times and then spoke before he could stop himself. “What you just said—what you admitted about M-Mariah?”

“Yes?” Chatham prodded.

“Your apology means something to me—I—Christ,” he muttered, shoving a hand through his hair and then wincing when he encountered a goose egg from his fight with Fowler. He cleared his throat. “I am mindful of what it took to say those words, Chatham. And—and I agree with you.” Andrew was momentarily stunned by his own admission. Had those words really come out of his mouth?

He swallowed down his amazement and then said, “It will take time. Time to—” He stopped, not sure how to phrase what he meant, the enormity of this sudden shift in his world overwhelming.

“I agree,” the duke said. “You will come stay with me at Chatham Park…after this?”

Andrew hesitated and then nodded. “I will come.”

“Good. We will need time to repair this breech.”

Again, Andrew nodded.

“We will take that time. All the time we need, Drew. But that is for later.”

Andrew was almost weak with relief that the time wasn’t now.

He jerked his chin toward the door the duchess had just used. “Let us go and find Lady Selina. I have some apologizing of my own to do.”