thing. Not when he’d listened to his brother Jamie. God.
The coach rolled down through the countryside. He’d needed to get away. He needed the air. He needed to be away from London and its distractions. He needed to find a new path, a path Mary could be proud of if he was ever to hope to have her again.
He was at a loss. He had no way to know which way was forward. A dark ocean surrounded him, and he could not see the surface.
As the coach finally rolled to a stop in front of his cottage, he stepped down into the darkness and felt the pain of being distant from her.
As he gazed upon the pathway up to his door, all he could think of was her and the moments they had shared here. He cursed. Was there nowhere he could find peace now?
He could not even have this place now, because it was permeated with her memory.
By the joy they had found together.
Was he incapable of holding on to joy? Was that it? Did he have to burn everything to the ground because he did not think he deserved it?
All this time, he’d been telling his brother that he was the one caught by emotion and unable to move forward. Perhaps it was Heath, in his iciness and callousness and control, who was frozen in the past. He was the one who was unable to move forward, who was unable to believe he was deserving of love.
Jamie had merely echoed his own thoughts and his own feelings.
Heath ground his teeth, his fear and anger and hopelessness rattling around inside him. Now, what was he to do?
As he stood in the darkness, he looked up to the stars. He longed to believe in them and their power, but right now, they gave him no guidance.
Could he find the words to make an apology? He was the first to know he could not take back the words he’d said, all the anger, all the foolishness, all the stupidity.
He had been absolutely stupid. He’d thrown her and her love away. For what? His pride?
He wanted things from Mary that she could not give, and he’d known it when he chose her. He’d chosen her, and he’d chosen all the problems that might arise. He had allowed himself to become so small.
His throat tightened as a galling thought took root in his brain.
Perhaps he had driven her away so she might find happiness because he clearly could not give it to her. That hurt worst of all. He’d promised he would give her strength. He promised he would make her feel free.
Well, he was giving her freedom, all right, but he had torn her down, chipped away at that strength, and made her feel. . . He closed his eyes and shuddered. He was worse than her father because he had tried to hand her strength and then he had taken it away from her. Her father had only ever torn her down, but at least, it had never been a false promise.
He flexed and unflexed his feelings as a dark coat of shame washed over him. He was a liar and a fool, and he was never going to be able to hold happiness in his hands again. But he had made his path. Now he was the one who had to walk it.
Chapter 26
Mary walked calmly into the townhouse, her brother’s house now. A house full of so many terrible memories, but some good ones now too. She did not pause until she crossed into the front salon where her mother sat before the fire, embroidering.
Her brother was drinking a glass of port, and his young, beautiful wife, Harriet, sat, sipping tea.
They all looked up to her as she came in, and clearly, they sensed something was amiss. There was a subtle shift in the room, a tension building, their faces reflecting concern.
Mary strode forward and squared her shoulders. “I have something to tell you,” she said. “It is time. It has been far too long that I have kept this from you.”
There were no words in answer, just a long silence, their concern more palpable.
So, she announced without ado, “I am married to Richard Heath. I love him. He loves me. That is all there is to it.”
Another long silence followed before her brother placed his port down and rumbled, “The devil, you are.”
“The devil, I am,” she replied calmly.
“That blackguard?” Blackstone growled. “I’m going to have his guts