Page 5

Rejection and pain scissored sharp and lethal, shredding her initial exhilaration at seeing him after all of this time. Scooting her gaze to the floor, Regine took a second to marshal her composure and arm her battlements. Definitely not a greeting one would welcome from the man she’d almost married. A man she’d wanted to wed from the depths of her soul, but circumstances had forced her to take a different road.

If only—

One could not live one’s life reminiscing over if-onlys and what-ifs. The past was the past, and it was best left behind. Except, she’d never forgotten him. Never purged him from her aching heart or wrenched him from her soul.

Without waiting for an invitation, and somewhat astonished at her brashness, given he was not at all as happy to see her as she was to see him, she slipped into the chair beside him. She pointedly pretended not to notice the battle-hardened glower he leveled her.

She could collect Juliet’s gloves another day. And bring her sister with her. They were for Juliet, after all.

This meeting with James was more important and long—so very long—overdue. A swift, subtle glance around revealed the other patrons had returned their attentions to their companions and refreshments.

With abrupt, efficient movements, he wordlessly folded the newssheet into a neat rectangle. After laying it aside, he turned those brooding, hooded eyes upon her. He’d grant her no quarter, then.

Had she honestly expected any different?

After slipping her reticule off her wrist—the letter within making it a trifle stiff and poking out the top a bit—Regine placed the purse atop the table and offered a ghost of a bittersweet smile as she removed her gloves.

It truly was good to see him, but also heart-wrenching.

Being with James felt like coming home, and she realized just how homesick she’d been. Much like a person deprived of the sun for too long, he warmed her, comforted her. She wanted to sit and soak up his presence.

“You are well?” she asked, searching the striking planes of his face, half-hidden in the shadows. He was the same, but also different. Gone was the lean, jovial youth with sparkling eyes and quick smile. In his place was a somber man, full-grown. And impossibly even more devastatingly handsome.

Had he married?

The unbidden thought made Regine want to retch and sucked the previous pleasure from her spirit. But why shouldn’t James have found someone? He, above all others, deserved to be happy after she’d broken his heart. Despite that unforgivable truth, knowing full well what her choice would do to him and how it would appear, she’d accepted that she had no other recourse and had done what she must.

My heart was broken, too.

Familiar anguish and guilt lanced her, and she curled her toes in her boots. I had no choice. None. She hadn’t, but that didn’t ease the torment or the regret. Regret, which nearly destroyed her during her first year of marriage to Heartwaite.

A woman wearing an austere black gown and a neat-as-a-pin apron bustled to their table. “What is your preference today, my lady?”

“It’s Your Grace, Mrs. Delaney.” James’s voice dripped sarcasm as heavy as clotted cream as he gave a disinterested, flippant wave. “Her Grace, Regine, the Duchess of Heartwaite, to be precise.” Each clipped syllable, a deliberately executed blow. As lethal and painful as an arrow striking her bruised heart.

Actually, it was dowager duchess now, but James didn’t know that.

Excitement rounded the proprietress’s acorn-brown eyes to plate-sized, and a thrilled smile commandeering the entire lower half of her face, the plump woman dipped an awkward curtsy. After rising, she folded her hands, gazing at Regine expectantly.

The heat of a blush licked her face, no doubt turning her cheeks fiery, too. The dratted man. She tamped down the urge to tell James exactly what she thought of his manners. But she didn’t want to quarrel. Not when she hadn’t seen him in so long.

Besides, she’d vow every avid gaze in the Royale Roast Coffee Shoppe and Café had swung to their table at Mrs. Delaney’s groveling. Regine would rather not have an apt, earwigging audience observe their less than cordial reunion. On James’s part, that was.

The bothersome man needn’t have shared her title with Mrs. Delaney. She hadn’t a doubt he’d intentionally reminded Regine of the differences in their stations now. Not that she needed her memory refreshed regarding the matter.

Every day for the prior nearly three thousand days, she’d castigated herself. But what else could she have done? Nothing.

She supposed it was too much to hope he’d have forgiven her after eight years. Nonetheless, she had hoped he could. Prayed that time had healed him of the wound she’d caused and that he could forgive her and find happiness.

Whoever said time healed all wounds was a monumental, blathering fool. People might move on, but wounds, just as joyous events, left indelible marks that never, never completely vanished. Could never be wholly vanquished from the soul.

Her thoughts turned inward.

Did she deserve James’s forgiveness?

No. Because, she’d never forgiven herself either.

Nevertheless, if she had to do it all over again, given the circumstances of eight years ago, she’d have made the same choice. For it hadn’t been just hers and James’s futures at stake.