Chapter 17

The day before their admittedly miserable party’s departure for London, the heavens opened, and a storm raged.

In fact, the weather was almost as bleak as the mood in the house.

Since the bizarre episode the previous day, Robert had kept his distance. From Abigail, and from everyone else.

He didn’t join them for mealtimes. It was like he’d disappeared. And only the servants’ fearful expressions and hushed countenances were evidence of his presence.

The dowager had grown steadily more morose, as well, and none of Abigail’s efforts to rouse the woman’s spirits had any sort of effect.

Even James couldn’t muster more than a fleeting smile for her.

Abigail had no idea what had happened to make everyone steadily more miserable as the days went on, but it was becoming untenable.

She felt as if she were slowly losing her mind, surrounded as she was by so much unexplained grief.

James was the only other living being she’d seen who would actually speak more than a few words to her, save for Bessie.

They’d shared an almost silent meal that morning to break their fast. A meal that nobody else had turned up to.

Luncheon was ignored by everyone but Abigail and rather than sit alone at a giant table, she returned to her room and requested a tray.

Now it was approaching the dinner hour, and Abigail had no idea if she should go downstairs for it, or who she would see, or what would happen.

It was most unsettling.

Finally, after writing to both of her sisters, unpacking and repacking her trunks, and twiddling her thumbs for a considerable amount of time, she decided that she would dress and go down to dinner.

After all, it was to be her last night in Northumberland. And while that depressing thought did nothing to lift her mood, it was enough to convince her not to hide herself away.

She rang for Bessie to fill a hot, lavender-scented bath and instructed the maid to lay out her sky-blue silk gown.

Maybe it was foolish, but she couldn’t help hoping that Robert would be there, and she wanted to look as good as possible before she had to leave Montvale Hall, and him, behind.

“Forgive me, your grace. Your mother has sent word that she will dine in her rooms this evening.”

Robert clenched his jaw as the butler delivered the softly spoken missive.

He gave the servant a quick nod of acknowledgement but did not speak as the older gentleman bowed then glided from the room.

It was laughable, really, that he’d accused the duchess of forgetting Gina’s death.

All week, as her anniversary had loomed, Robert had withdrawn further into himself, so it should be no surprise that his mother had done the same.

James had been hanging around him all week, forcing his company on Robert, refusing to be put off by snarls, shouts, or anything else Robert could throw at him.

It had always been thus. This time of year, he would want nothing more than to surrender to the darkness, and James, Simon, Nicholas, or all three together would pop up and refuse to leave him alone.

This year, Simon had to travel to town early, and Nicholas was handling some crisis or other in Ireland or Robert knew they would have been here, along with James, annoying the hell out of him.

The truth was, however, that this year the level of darkness that consumed him almost came as a shock.

And he knew the reason why.

Abigail.

Ever since she’d stormed into his life like a blue-eyed, blonde-haired hurricane, his very existence had turned upside down.

And whether he had wanted it to or not, his mood had lifted, his heart had begun to beat again, and his world brightened.

That just made his grief now seem that much blacker. Because he hadn’t been wallowing in misery these past few weeks.

He’d felt something akin to happiness. He’d experienced lightness. He’d laughed, and he’d—

Robert stopped that thought before it was allowed to form and knocked back the tumbler filled with brandy that he’d been nursing whilst he’d brooded.

But his mind would not be silenced.

He’d loved.

Really, truly loved.

He loved Abigail Langton so much that it took his breath away.

What was it that his mother had said?

When you loved someone, a piece of your soul became theirs.

And Robert felt like his soul had split clean down the middle, and half of it was irrevocably and irretrievably in the hands of Abby.

The part that belonged to her was the part that had remembered how to love, and laugh, and live again.

That wanted to fill every room in the house with her wildflowers, just to see her smile.

That wanted to listen to her ramble on about birds kissing and Society biddies gossiping.

That wanted him to take her in his arms and never let her go.

For a brief, mad moment, Robert felt like doing just that.

But he stopped himself in time.

Filling his glass yet again, he shook his head at his own idiocy.

For the blackened part of his soul that still lingered inside him knew that it was no use.

He hadn’t even told Abigail what it was that tormented him so.

He hadn’t confessed that he’d as good as killed his sister. And while he might be able to believe that his father’s death wasn’t on his hands, nobody could convince him that Gina’s wasn’t.

What right did he have to take something as pure, and light, and loving as Abby’s heart, and entwine it with his own poisoned organ?

The monster that she claimed didn’t exist was always there inside him, lurking and waiting to drag him into the hell of memory and guilt.

He could never drag Abby in there with him. And he knew that’s exactly what would happen.

With her courage and strength and capacity for love, she would stick it out with him, no matter how tormented he became.

And then what would become of her? Would he make her a shell of the woman she’d once been, like he’d done to his mother?

Would he let her down somehow, in some way, that would put her in danger, like Gina?

Or would he drive her to do something tragic, like his father?

The truth was that anyone who’d ever loved him and gotten close to him had ended up broken at his hands.

And whilst somehow, he got himself out of bed every morning to fight his demons for another day, he knew that if anything happened to Abby it would be the thing that finally broke him beyond repair.

Robert refreshed his glass once more.

He was in his cups, he knew, and well on the way to being thoroughly foxed.

That would make tomorrow’s arduous journey toward London significantly more difficult.

Especially if the weather kept up like this; there was no way he would be able to travel on horseback.

As though his thoughts had awoken the storm, just then a flash of lightning illuminated the sky, and not three seconds later, the thunder bellowed loud enough to rattle the windowpanes of his study.

The storm was raging fiercely.

How tragically ironic that the weather should be so similar to the weather all those years ago.

He’d lost his baby sister during that storm. And he was going to lose the woman he loved during this.

It wasn’t fair.

Though perhaps it was.

Perhaps he was finally getting a punishment to fit the crime of allowing Gina to drown all those years ago.

Because Robert could think of nothing worse than having to live a hollow life without Abby.