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“Did you ever intend to tell me?” she asked, wiping the tears on her cheek furiously.
“No,” he simply said, his voice hoarse. “I thought that revealing it would only compound your grief. I thought that it would be better for you to believe that I had misjudged him rather than let you see how deliberately I chose certainty over doubt.”
“You still do not understand!” Rosamund raged. “This was never only about what you did to my father, then. It is about what you continue to do to me. You decided I should not know about Henry. About why Ashbourne was preserved. About how uncertain the evidence was. You decided how much of the truth I was strong enough to bear. Even after you told me you wanted to court me honestly, you still kept the one truth that made you look worst!”
“I was so ashamed, Rosamund,” he pleaded.
“Shame does not make concealment noble!”
“I know…”
“Do you? If Mr. Crowther had not appeared, you would have let me marry you without me knowing the full truth.”
Peregrine did not deny it.
This time, tears flowed freely from Rosamund’s eyes. When Peregrine reached out to give her comfort, she raised her hand, refusing the offer.
“I love you, Peregrine,” she confessed, the words coming out bitterly and almost painfully from her lips. “That is what makes this unbearable.”
Peregrine’s shoulders stiffened. He looked like he had been slapped.
“I love you, and I believe you love me,” she continued. “But love without trust had already destroyed my family. I will not build another life upon secrets.”
“I understand,” he said weakly.
“No, you do not,” she countered. “If you understood, you would have told me the truth before I gave you my heart!”
She flung the door open and left the office.
Thirty-One
Heavy silence accompanied the carriage ride back to Rosewood Cottage. Upon reaching home, Rosamund continued in her quiet grief instead of flying into dramatic fury.
“Do you wish you had never learned the truth?” Alice asked.
“No,” Rosamund replied, shaking her head. “I only wish that Peregrine had trusted me enough.”
“That distinction certainly matters,” Alice murmured.
“I do not know if love can survive when trust has been damaged this deeply,” Rosamund mused.
“Perhaps the more important question is whether the Duke is capable of changing when changing costs him something.”
Rosamund remained quiet.
Peregrine returned to Ashbourne Hall alone, the doors slamming behind him. He went straight to his study, and was not even surprised that Adrian was already there.
“What happened?” Adrian asked.
“She left. She has every right to do so,” Peregrine replied, pouring himself a drink.
“And are you allowing that to be the end of things?” Adrian prodded. “Will you simply surrender Lady Rosamund and curl up in eternal misery?”
“I will not chase her merely because I cannot endure the consequences of my own choices!” Peregrine bellowed, slamming his glass on the table. It was a wonder it did not break, but some of the liquid spewed out.
“That is the first intelligent thing you have said all day,” Adrian muttered, ignoring Peregrine’s glare. “However, you must not confuse respecting Lady Rosamund’s choice with retreating into self-punishment. If you truly love her, you must consider what kind of changes you must take whether she returns or not.”
That struck a chord within Peregrine. Change. What kind of man did he truly want to become?
