Redeeming the Reclusive Earl - Virginia Heath Page 0,94
the memories he had tried so hard, but never entirely been able, to bury. ‘As time went on, they healed and the threat of infection was over, but Miranda still recoiled. I could see I disgusted her, but...’ He felt the bile rise at the memory. She had made him feel hideous.
‘You still gave her the benefit of the doubt.’
‘I thought things would improve. Clung to that thought. My father died then. We had never been particularly close because he was a difficult man as I’m sure my uncle would testify. He tried on several occasions to heal the breach between them, but my father would have none of it. I have no idea what they fought over, but I do know he never forgave me for running away to sea rather than going to university and training to be the Earl I was destined to become. We rarely saw one another when I came home on leave. I preferred to stay at my sister’s house and he preferred to avoid me when I did. We never ever sorted it out or mended the breach between us either...even when I was on the brink of death myself. I recall he visited me twice and both times he was adamant none of it would have happened if I’d obeyed him as I was supposed to... And then it was too late. I was still too ill to attend the funeral and while Eleanor went, she asked Miranda to sit with me. And it all came out. She was dreading the prospect of marrying me, even admitted gazing upon my face made her feel physically sick. She claimed she needed time and, because I still foolishly hoped she would come around, I offered her a termination of our engagement.’
‘An offer she gratefully accepted.’
‘She did—but not before assuring me that she probably did only need time and that it was more a postponement than a termination. And that once my scars had healed... I demanded a mirror that same day because I wanted to know how long they would actually take to fully heal and...well...’
‘You realised they were always going to be there. How did that make you feel?’
‘Hideous. Ashamed.’ Should he tell her about the young mother? ‘Shortly after that, Eleanor bullied me into getting some fresh air. It was early. We crossed the road from her house to the empty park and we fed the ducks. A woman arrived with her son to do the same. She took one look at me and hastily covered the child’s face to shield him from the sight.’
‘Oh, Max...’ He saw tears glisten in her eyes. ‘People can be awful.’
‘It was the last straw. I suppose I lost all hope of everything then.’
‘That is always easier.’ She shot him a wry smile at his obvious consternation. A sure sign she was about to give him a swift kick up the backside. ‘Admit it, Max, giving up is always easier than daring to dream. Expecting disappointment is easier than hoping for happiness. Accepting shallow Miranda’s or that stupid, thoughtless woman in the park’s assessment of what you were gave you the excuse to give up.’
‘Are you suggesting I took the easy way out?’
‘No... I’m suggesting you took the natural path—the fragile human path first as we all do when hope seems lost—but that now you are ready and able to brave another. That is human nature, too. When we get knocked down, inevitably we have to get back up. History is peppered with examples. Would you like me to recite some?’
‘Don’t you dare.’ Now he was smiling, too. He’d just told her that he had scared a woman in a park and repulsed his fiancée and he was smiling. Clearly it was a day for the miraculous. ‘Perhaps time really does heal all wounds?’
He watched her gaze wander to the sheet covering the big mirror and seriously considered shutting her down before she dared ask what he knew she was going to, but didn’t. ‘What do you see now when you look at your reflection?’
‘I try to avoid it.’
‘I know...’ She walked towards him and held out her hand. ‘But you cannot avoid it for ever.’