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He knew that now, the true reason he had spurned Margaret’s love.

Oh sure, a part of it was for his daughters, that was not all a lie.

But the greater part had always been to protect himself, because he was nowhere near as strong as he pretended.

Just when he’d dared to wonder if maybe it was worth the risk of admitting how much he cared…

again, his heart was shattered. Not by death this time, but rejection. Even if it felt the same.

Worse that he knew she loved him. Worse that he loved her all the same. Worse that if he were not such a pitiful coward, he could make things right! But I am… and I know that now.

“Come on!” Lysander raised his gloves. “Enough talk.”

“I will not fight you,” Lysander said, resting a large hand on his shoulder once more. “I will, however, have a drink with you. I think you need that more than having your face broken.”

Lysander scoffed. “You are not as strong as you think.”

“You are right….” Julian kept his hand there. “The truth is, I am scared to fight you in this state. So, for my own safety, I ask that we get thoroughly drunk instead.”

Lysander did not want to fight his friend. What he wanted was to forget. To beat these last two days out of his mind so he would never have to think about Margaret again. And if not with fists, then with alcohol, for the effect would be much the same. Anything that might stop the pain…

“Fine…” He dropped his arms. “But only because I like you.”

Julian laughed. “There’s the spirit.” An arm around his shoulder, and he led Lysander from the ring. “Come on, first is on me. And the second, because I owe you for not beating the socks off me.”

“What are friends for,” Lysander laughed bitterly, knowing it would take a lot of booze to kill the sickness that played havoc with his insides.

“Girls, I know you are not asleep…” Lysander was standing by the end of Aurelia’s bed, watching them pretend to sleep so that they would not have to speak with him. “Come now, let us talk about this.”

They said nothing. The covers were pulled up by their heads, and their bodies slowly raised and lowered in an act of soft breathing.

“I know that you are angry with me,” he sighed as he sat himself down on Aurelia’s bed. “And I know that right now, you think that you hate me. But I am not doing this to upset you…” He reached out and rested a hand on Aurelia’s side. “It is the opposite, in fact.”

He waited for their response, but none came. He was not surprised, for they had spent the last two days refusing to speak to or acknowledge him, so why would tonight be any different?

“This is for the best, I promise you that,” he continued, speaking softly.

“And in time, I promise too that you will come to understand. Margaret knows it too, and she agrees it is for the best. And you should both know it is not your fault. It is not anyone’s fault.

It is just…” His stomach was squirming with guilt.

“It is just the way that things need to be.”

Am I saying this for their benefit, or for my own?

It felt to Lysander that he was speaking these words to convince himself of their truth. He knew that Aurelia and Lenora would not believe that-that nothing he might say could convince them that he was not the worst of people. Perhaps he was? Was any of this worth it if his daughters hated him?

“I will not push the subject…” He rose from the bed and started back across the room.

“Just know, I am here to speak to you as soon as you are ready.” He reached the doorway and looked to them both, praying they would say something.

Anything . Let them yell. Let them shout.

He wanted them to. “Any time,” he said softly. “My door is always open to you.”

He paused for them. He watched them. He pleaded silently that they would sit up and ask him why, that they might even beg.

Perhaps if they did, that would be what was needed for him to finally change his mind?

He was doing this for his daughters, after all, or so he told himself.

If they wanted it enough, did he have it in him to deny them?

Silence greeted him. His daughters, so angry at him, so furious at what he was doing, that they could not bring themselves to acknowledge his existence.

Lysander sighed with regret and closed the door gently.

Then he made his way to his room, listening to the silence that drifted throughout the home.

The silence had been his only companion for two days now, sure to remain that way for some time because Lysander could not fathom things changing any time soon.

Still, he found his bed and attempted to sleep, tossing and turning the entire night.

Funny that once such actions were caused because of his desire for Margaret, how much he wanted her, and how at pains he was to deny this attraction.

Now, he did not bother with such things.

He wanted her more than life itself, yet denied his chance to take it for reasons that seem less and less important than they once did.

When Lysander rose the next morning, it was to his bedroom door opening. His heart seized, and for a second, he thought perhaps it was Margaret, returned to him. Only, no…

“Your Grace!” Mr. Jeffries swept into the room in a flustered state. “I did not mean to wake you, but…” He was shaking, his eyes wide with panic. “But… but… but…”

“Speak, Mr. Jeffries…” Lysander yawned and stretched, not in the mood for his servant’s theatrics. “What is the matter?”

“It is Aurelia, Your Grace. She is gone.”