Page 38

N icholas had fled to his lakeside cottage. It had been days since he had left the estate and shut himself in these four walls.

A bottle of brandy lay on the table before him.

The room was quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the fire, its warmth doing little to chase away the chill that had settled deep in his chest. Papers were strewn across the desk—half-finished letters, estate accounts—distractions he’d sought and failed to immerse himself in.

Instead, he was consumed by a single, unwelcome thought.

Violet.

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since he’d left.

It is for the best, he reminded himself. But his isolation had been maddening. So much so that his resolve had broken this morning, and he had written to Ambrose to pay him a visit.

Was this what it meant to feel things deeply?

The irony of it all was not lost on him. He had spent his entire life perfecting the art of detachment, ensuring that no one ever got close enough to hurt him. But Violet had evoked exactly the feeling inside of him that he had spent his entire life running away from.

A sharp knock interrupted his spiraling thoughts.

“Come in,” he called, his voice rough.

The door creaked open, and Nicholas didn’t bother looking up. He knew who it was. Ambrose strolled in moments later,his gaze sweeping over Nicholas’ disheveled appearance.

“Well, don’t you look like the picture of health,” Ambrose said, closing the door behind him. “I’d ask if you’ve been well, but the answer is written all over your face.”

“Good to see you, too,” Nicholas replied, dryly.

“Have you been hiding out here like some recluse?” Ambrose questioned, sounding alarmed. “You look as though you have not changed or eaten for days.”

Nicholas furnished himself a glass of brandy and then poured one for his friend. “I thought it would be nice to have some company.”

“Clearly. You look as though you are in dire need of it.” Ambrose took a seat beside him.

“Aren’t you terribly bright?” Nicholas said.

Ambrose arched an eyebrow at him, unfazed. “I am, thank you for noticing. Did you call me here to snap at me?”

Nicholas felt immediately guilty. “I did not mean to,” he sighed.

“Well, it is clear that you’re not in the highest of spirits. I was surprised when you asked me to visit you here. Why is it that you’re not at the estate?” Ambrose’s tone betrayed his curiosity.

Nicholas shrugged. “I thought it would be good to come out here to enjoy some time alone. It has been a while since I have gotten the chance to do so.”

Ambrose did not look convinced in the slightest. “Solitude, I could understand. But this?” He gestured vaguely at Nicholas—his unkempt appearance, the shadows under his eyes, the glass in his hand that was likely not his first. “This looks less like solitude and more like self-inflicted exile.”

“I did not call you here to play detective, Ambrose,” Nicholas said, rolling his eyes. “I merely thought it would be a good idea to have some company.”

“It’s almost even more insulting that you believe me to be obtuse enough to believe you,” Ambrose shot back. “Nicholas, I’ve known you long enough to recognize when something’s eating away at you. So, out with it.”

Nicholas exhaled heavily, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He should have seen this coming—Ambrose was too perceptive to be lied to so easily.

“Must I?”

“Well, since you made me undertake this long journey and use up the time I could have spent with my family otherwise,” he narrowed his eyes slightly, “I would say yes, you owe me that much at least.”

“It has just been a stressful time for me with work,” Nicholas offered. “I’m managing my estate, and it seems to have taken quite the toll on me.”

Ambrose laughed out loud at that. “Because you’ve always been so dedicated to estate management.”

Nicholas ignored him, downing the brandy in one swallow. He reached for the bottle, but Ambrose leaned forward and snatched it from the table before he could.

“That’s enough of that,” Ambrose said, setting the bottle on the floor. “Tell me what’s really going on.”

Nicholas leaned back in his chair, glaring at his friend. “I don’t remember you being this intrusive.”

“Is that what you call concern?” Ambrose retorted, crossing his arms. “Because from where I’m sitting, you look like a man on the verge of self-destruction.”

Nicholas didn’t respond, his jaw tightening. Ambrose studied him for a moment before leaning forward.

“Is it Violet?”

The name hung in the air between them, Nicholas’ jaw clenching as he debated whether to answer.

“This has nothing to do with her.”

“Liar,” Ambrose said simply, his tone devoid of judgment.

“You’re telling me the reason you’re here looking worse than I have ever seen you is because…

you’re concerned about matters of the estate?

Nicholas, you have been a duke for years and I have never seen you like this.

But you’ve only been married a few short months. ”

It was impossible to lie to Ambrose.

“Do you feel rather special at having figured it out?” Nicholas retorted.

“I do,” Ambrose grinned. “What happened between you two? Last I saw you, you seemed adamant on insisting that matters between the both of you were… pleasant.”

“They were. That’s the whole problem,” Nicholas sighed, finally letting himself be honest.

Ambrose blinked, confused. “So, there was no fight between you? Why on earth do have such a long face then? This makes little sense.”

Now that Nicholas thought about it, it did sound quite absurd. He had left precisely because things had been going too well between the two of them.

“I had to leave her. It was the only option,” Nicholas admitted with a frown that seemed to deepen as he spoke. “That is why I am here, hiding out in the lakeside cottage.”

“Leave?” Ambrose repeated, incredulous. “You left your wife—your duchess —alone at your estate? Are you mad?”

“Quite possibly,” Nicholas muttered. “It is a lot more complicated than it sounds.”

“Complicated, or cowardly?”

Nicholas shot him a glare. “Do you think I haven’t accused myself of cowardice? Do you think I haven’t questioned myself every damn moment since I left?”

“Then why did you?” Ambrose pressed, his tone softening. “What could possibly make you think this was the right course of action?”

Nicholas clenched his fists, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “Because I’m in love with her.”

Ambrose sat back, blinking in surprise. “Well,” he said after a moment, “that’s unexpected.”

Nicholas let out a bitter laugh. “It shouldn’t be. It’s the most predictable disaster of my life.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you admit that about anyone before,” Ambrose noted. “Pray tell, why is it such a disaster that you have fallen in love with the woman you’re married to? If anything, it should be a cause for celebration.”

“In an ideal world, yes,” Nicholas replied, forlorn. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine what it might have looked like if he wasn’t so damaged. He could have admitted his feelings to her instead of retreating like this and hurting her in the process.

Ambrose raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “I used to believe that I had complicated feelings when it came to matters of the heart. But you seem to have surpassed even me.”

“Great,” Nicholas said, dryly.

“You’ve got this damnable habit of sabotaging yourself when it comes to love, don’t you?”

Nicholas turned away, his jaw tightening. “It’s not sabotage, Ambrose. It’s practicality. I can’t—” He stopped himself, his voice faltering before he forced himself to continue. “I can’t love her the way she deserves. I don’t even know how to.”

“Did she say that to you, or are you assuming all on your own?”

Nicholas let out a sharp exhale and stood up abruptly. After a few moments of pacing, he finally answered.

“I do not have to assume what I already know. Love requires vulnerability and trust. You know the conditions in which I was raised. I cannot give her that.”

“Ah, so we’re blaming your parents now, are we?” Ambrose said, his tone wry. “I don’t recall them standing in your way when you married her.”

Nicholas spun around, “You cannot shift the blame entirely onto me for being the way I am.”

“I did not mean to imply that,” Ambrose’s tone softened slightly.

“But as a friend, I must point out what you might not see. I know you keep people at arm’s length because it’s safer that way.

I know you’ve built walls so high even you don’t know what’s on the other side of them.

But if you are truly in love, as you say, I would think it is at least worth the effort to try. ”

Nicholas’s fists clenched at his sides. “Thank you for pointing out the obvious. But unfortunately, it is not so simple.”

“Or you’re making it more complicated than it ought to be.”

Nicholas shook his head in frustration. “You don’t understand what it’s like to look at her and feel… everything. To feel like you’re losing control of yourself. I left because if I stayed, I would’ve hurt her.”

“And leaving didn’t hurt her?” Ambrose shot back, pointedly.

Nicholas felt at a loss for words for a moment. He hadn’t wanted to think about that. About how she had looked at him when he’d told her he was leaving. Her pain was palpable.

“She’s better off without me.”

“You keep telling yourself that, but I don’t think you believe it.”

Nicholas didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the window. Ambrose let the silence linger for a moment before speaking again.

“You know,” he said, his tone lighter now, “you’re not as complicated as you like to think you are. You love her. That’s the beginning and the end of it. The rest is just noise.”

Nicholas turned to face him, his expression weary. “And what am I supposed to do with that?”

“For starters?” Ambrose stood, brushing imaginary dust off his coat. “Stop wallowing. Come to dinner at my estate. It’ll do you good to get out of this cave you’ve buried yourself in.”

Nicholas gave him a look, but Ambrose merely grinned. “Don’t argue with me, Nicholas. You know better than to do that.”

“Fine. But don’t expect me to be good company,” Nicholas agreed, albeit begrudgingly.

“I never do,” Ambrose replied, clapping a hand on his friend’s shoulder as he moved toward the door. “I think this will do you some good. If you’re going to sulk, at least do it over an excellent roast.”

Nicholas managed a faint smile. “How fortunate for me.”

“You see? You’re already sounding marginally less insufferable. Now, all you need is a change of clothes, and I shall see you at my estate tomorrow night. Take care, friend,” Ambrose quipped, and with that, he strode out, the door shutting behind him with a soft click.

Left alone once more, Nicholas was left to ponder over Ambrose’s words. Did he have a point? Was it merely cowardice disguised as practicality?

He glanced at the glass of brandy he had abandoned earlier. For a moment, he considered drinking the rest but thought better of it. A clear head was what he needed though clarity seemed increasingly elusive these days.

His gaze drifted to the window. Somewhere out there, Violet was likely carrying on as best as she could without him. The thought sent a sharp pang through his chest. What was she doing now? Did she miss him? Or had she already decided that she was better off without him?

The latter thought was unbearable.

Nicholas straightened, running a hand through his hair. Staying here and drowning in his own turmoil wouldn’t change anything. A change of scenery was what was needed. At the very least, it would keep him from spiraling further into his own mind.