Page 63 of Her Wily Duke

Perhaps because he had not, after all, worn it continuously? Benedict knew how grief could distort the memory, blurring a loved one’s darker edges in a haze of sentimentality. David seemed perfect, and he wondered how much of that was owing to his untimely death, to the mind’s ability to remember the good, and choose to forget things less desirable.

Then her words caught at him, and he frowned – what had she said?

“In the water?”

“It was so wonderful, even though Father did not approve. I was happy. And then he was gone,” said Ariana, with a suddenness which was jarring. “I was the one who found his body, found it floating in the river. I don’t remember much of what happened after that. I was insensible, inconsolable. I had no desire to think or feel anything. I’m not even sure how I got home. I just remember coming into the parlour, soaked to the skin, and telling them in a voice of eerie calm, ‘David is dead’. And then I collapsed on the couch.”

Benedict hated to ask, but he had to know.

“Did he take his own life?”

“How could he have?” said Ariana with a helpless gesture. “Although he wasn’t all that wealthy, he enjoyed his life. He was going to marry me. I think he must have fallen in while he was waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“For me to come. We had seen each other the previous day, and before we separated, we agreed to meet at the same spot, this very spot, on the following night, at an hour or so before sunset, to watch the sunset sky over the river and the hills. That was why I came to the river. I had gone to meet him. It wasn’t like him to be late and I began to worry as I hurried up the hill, because I couldn’t see him anywhere. I looked around, looked down along the river, over the cliff edge here — and then I saw him, floating with his face down, his clothes inflated like a goat’s bladder…”

She gave a tremendous shudder and was still.

Benedict thought that he could guess the rest.

Ariana had been burdened with the conviction that David’s death was her own fault. If she hadn’t agreed to meet him there, he would never have fallen into the river.

He might still be alive.

They might even have found a way to get married, in spite of her parents’ objections.

He risked a glance at Ariana, who had begun sobbing quietly. He felt a swelling of sympathy for her, laced with a deep sense of regret for the way that he had treated her before, and for his lack of understanding of her responses.

“For a while,” she said, “I thought about taking my own life. But I worried that I would only succeed in permanently crippling myself, making me a burden on someone else. I decided that I would allow no man near me – which is why my Season was such a disaster. I think that was one of the reasons my parents were so keen to see me married, so that they could pass my troubles on to someone else. So that they would no longer have to be responsible. And the worst part is, there are days now when I can almost feel him slipping away from me. I can go many hours without even thinking about him, and it feels like a betrayal. I feel like he must be looking down on me, hating me for being unfaithful, and for beginning to move on with my life.”

“Surely, if he loved you, David would have wanted you to move forward,” said Benedict, though he knew the words couldn’t mean much, coming from him. “He wouldn’t have wanted you to stay stuck in the past.”

“Perhaps not,” said Ariana. “But there are moments when I can feel his eyes on me. I can feel him judging me for the choices I’ve made — and the choices that have been made for me. For the fact that I allowed my father to force me into marrying you.”

They sat in silence for a while longer while Ariana collected herself. Benedict stared down at the river which had swallowed her dearest friend, her love, and her hopes. He felt as though Ariana’s guilt was beginning to infect him. Somehow, he had profited from the death of a man he had never met.

The winter sun was high in the sky, the day moving fast towards the early darkness. He reached out, cautiously, and brushed his hand over Ariana’s cheek. That brought forth a new burst of tears, and he wondered just how much grief this young woman needed to suffer in her life.

He sat and waited, allowing her simply to cry, unsure whether more than the touch of his hand would be welcome. When Ariana had finished crying Benedict rose and offered her his hand. She took it.

He felt a thrill like a jolt of lightning as their hands connected, and his heart filled with an aching desire to hold her, to show her that truly, he cared for her. It was in moments like these that she felt tantalisingly close, as if perhaps one day they could be married in more than just name, have more than just companionship. They had been married legally for some months now, but they might as well not have been married at all for all the good it had done them in most ways.

As they turned for home, Benedict shivered, suddenly full of that feeling of being watched, again, as if the copse of trees at the bottom of the hill contained something more substantial, and more dangerous, than shadows.

***

The following day was Twelfth Night, a day which should have been one which marked the end of the Christmas Season, and the approach of spring – but the day, when it came, came with dark storm clouds and the pounding of a fist on the front door of Darkmire Abbey when the sun had barely risen.

Ariana near spilled her coffee on the breakfast room table.

Her eyes met Benedict’s, and they both turned towards the door as a footman rushed in, followed by another man.

Ariana felt a chill rush through her, and her breath caught in her throat. The second man was a footman from Hazelworth Hall.

“Your Grace.” The footman came to her and bowed. “I regret that it is my duty to inform you that your father has gone to God, during the early hours of the morning.” He turned then to Benedict, “Lady Hazelworth asks, Your Grace, if you might come to attend on her and assist with the arrangements, as soon as possible.”

Benedict rose slowly, and came to stand beside Ariana, his hand resting on her shoulder. It was dearly needed reassurance. Her head was spinning, and she was sure that, if she tried to stand, she would fall instead. A strange grief filled her, not so much for the father he had been, but for the father he might have been, for the father she had never truly had, and now never could.