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Diana had left him, and it was all his fault. That was what pained him the most. Not just that he had lost the love of his life, but that he was the cause. He was the one who had lured her into a false sense of comfort. He was the one who had then broken that comfort and trust by running. And he was the one who had been too cowardly to apologize before it was too late.

He had spent the last two days replaying their final conversation over and over in his head. Wishing he had said more. Wishing he had fought for her. Wishing he had chased her, refused to let her leave, demanded that she give him a second chance.

Wishing these things was easy. Admitting the reality was that much more difficult. As Magnus had said, what had happened was his fault. Worse, Diana had been right. He hurt her once, likely he would hurt her twice, and leaving him was perhaps the smartest thing she could do.

He was a coward. Helpless and hopeless and powerless to change. For a while there, Diana had made him believe that things could be different, but no... there would be no changing. Such was the way of things.

“Well!” Magnus barked at his friend.

Theodore sighed. “Is this what you want?”

“Rarely do I get what I want,” Magnus laughed. “You should know that by now, man.”

“This isn’t you.”

“It is,” Magnus sighed. “If you’re lucky, this will be enough to convince you that I’m not worth the hassle. And after I knock you out, please do me a favor, will you?”

“Which is?”

“Leave and never come back. In that way, think of this as a kindness.”

Magnus wasn’t angry at his friend, and he sensed that Theodore knew that. But as said, this was a kindness, for how Magnus saw it. Those in his life who he grew close to tended to have bad things happen to them. Things that might have been avoided if they’d just kept Magnus from their lives.

He did not want to beat his best friend up, but he owed it to him. The coward’s way out.

“As you wish.” Theodore set down his own tumbler and stood up from the couch. He was nowhere near as drunk as Magnus and now that he was standing, Magnus had forgotten how beefy his friend was. Not fat, but thick and strong, with arms like tree trunks and fists like hams. “But I warned you.”

Magnus grinned. “As did I.”

“Excuse me?” a soft voice spoke from across the room. “I’m not interrupting, am I?”

Magnus spun about in confusion, not recognizing the voice as one of his staff. Through the haze, and the drunken stupor, he squinted until he was able to make out that of a female’s slender form lurking just inside the room.

“Who are you?” he barked.

“I am so sorry, but I was let inside by one of the staff,” she spoke, still hesitating to enter further. “They told me you were here... and they warned me I might not be wanted.”

“Well, they were right,” he snapped.

“Magnus...” Theodore groaned. He dropped his fists and strode across the room. “I must apologize for my friend’s temper. He does not entertain often. For good reason.”

“It is quite alright. I should not have come without sending word.”

“Not at all, not at all,” Theodore assured her. “Say... have we met? You look awfully familiar.”

“No, I do not believe we have.”

Magnus squinted at the woman. There was something familiar about her. Blonde hair. A lithe frame. A long face with sharp features. He had seen her before...

“And what a shame that is,” Theodore chuckled. “How is it that His Grace, the least socially hospitable man in all of London, is blessed with guests such as yourself and the last person to come visit me was my neighbor, looking for his runaway dog.”

She giggled. “Oh... I am so sorry for that.”

“It is not your fault,” Theodore sighed. “Yet do me a favor, will you? The next time you are considering whether to visit His Grace or not, kindly stop by my home instead. I assure you, it will be a far warmer welcome than what you are receiving now.”

“That is...” She giggled again. “Very kind of you.”

Magnus stumbled forward, still looking at the woman as he tried to remember where he had seen her. A shame that Theodore was blocking her now, his attention firmly turned toward flirting with the poor thing.