She would not cry. She would not break. She would survive this as she had survived everything else in her life—alone, with her dignity intact, and without asking anyone for help they clearly did not wish to give.
But as she walked, she could not stop thinking about his face. About the way he had looked at her with such careful blankness, as though they were strangers passing on a street rather than husband and wife who had kissed each other breathless only days before.
She had been right to guard her heart. Right to maintain her distance and expect nothing from this marriage beyond civility and convenience.
She had just forgotten to actually guard it. Had let it slip free without noticing, had allowed herself to care, to hope, to want things that were never going to be hers.
She would not make that mistake again.
“You look like you have not slept in days.”
August lined up his shot, pulled back the cue, and sent the ball careening across the table. It missed the pocket by a solid inch. “Your observation is as keen as ever, Theo.”
Theodore Roth, April’s husband and August’s brother-by-marriage, chalked his own cue and studied the table with the concentration he usually reserved for Parliamentary debates.“I am not merely observant. I am concerned. You have been throwing yourself into estate business with the enthusiasm of a man trying to outrun something.”
“Perhaps I simply take my responsibilities seriously.”
“Perhaps.” Theo took his shot, sinking two balls in quick succession. “Or perhaps you are avoiding something. Or someone.”
August did not answer. He moved around the table, examining angles that did not exist, looking for shots he could not make.
“How is married life treating you?” Theo asked, his tone carefully casual.
August’s hand tightened on the cue stick. “Fine.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the only answer you are going to receive.”
Theo straightened and set down his cue. “August, we have known each other for five years. I have watched you charm rooms full of hostile peers, manage a dying father with strength, and take on a dukedom at an age when most men are still determining which tailor suits them best. I have never seen you look this miserable.”
“I am not miserable.”
“You are not happy either.”
August wanted to argue. Wanted to summon his usual deflection, the easy smile and self-deprecating joke that kept everyone at a comfortable distance. But he was so tired. Tired of performing, tired of pretending, tired of lying awake at night replaying that argument and wishing he could take back every word.
He sank into a chair and pressed his palms to his eyes. “I am facing some challenges with Eliza.”
“What sort of challenges?”
“The sort where I may have ruined everything through my own idiocy.”
Theo pulled up a chair and sat. “Tell me.”
So August did. Not everything—he would not betray Eliza’s privacy by sharing the details of the letters—but enough. The growing distance between them. His suspicions. The argument that had ended with her walking out and barely speaking to him since.
When he finished, Theo was quiet for a long moment.
“You are afraid,” he said finally.
“I am not?—”
“You are afraid of trusting her. Afraid of being vulnerable with her. Afraid that if you let her in completely, she will find you wanting.” Theo leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I recognize it because I felt the same way when I married April. She was so vivacious, so full of life, and I was convinced I would disappoint her. That eventually she would see through whatever it was she thought she saw in me and realize she had made a terrible mistake.”
“Did she?”
“Realize I was a disaster? Frequently. Usually when I left my boots in the middle of the drawing room or forgot her birthday.” He smiled. “But she also realized that my disasters were hers to manage, and hers were mine. That is what marriage is, August. Not two perfect people maintaining separate perfections, but two flawed people choosing to be flawed together.”