Page 54 of No Match for Love (Regency Love Stories)

This was just the sort of moment when Lucas would usually retreat to the club for a fight to release some of his emotions.

But he did not deserve a break from them. He deserved to sit in the pain that he had created, to face it like a man, not to hide from it as he had been doing for years.

He groaned as he buried his face in his hands. The look on Miss Faraday’s face as she’d backed away would haunt him forever, but he’d done the right thing.

He had .

Yet he felt even more terrible than before.

His fingers constricted painfully into his hair as he held back an explosion of anger at himself.

“Son?”

Without moving his hands from his face, he responded to his father, who was presumably in the doorway watching Lucas’s quick and painful deterioration. “Yes?”’

“Are you well?”

“Enough,” he muttered.

“Do you still wish to join me?” His father sounded hesitant.

Lucas took a silent breath, working to remove any evidence of emotion from his expression before he looked up. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

Father narrowed his eyes, but Lucas raised his palm. “Please. Just let me help fix this mess.”

His father nodded, though he did not appear entirely convinced. “Let’s be going then.”

***

They missed dinner, there were so many calls to make, but at last, they were returning home.

Night had nearly fallen, but they had been successful in their endeavor to convince members of both the Bridgeport and Heatherdown Companies that Lord Colbert was not a man to place their trust in, and it gave Lucas a sense of satisfaction to know that he had managed to fix at least one thing.

Colbert would not bother his family—or anyone else’s—again.

The satisfaction was rather hollow in the face of all he’d lost, but he clung to it nevertheless.

“There is one thing I still have a question about, son,” his father said as they traveled through London’s streets in the confines of the carriage.

Lucas met his father’s eye.

“Why start the club in the first place?”

He swallowed. This was the crux of it all, but he’d promised himself he would not hold back from his parents any longer. He was adding honesty to the list of adjectives with which he would define himself moving forward: controlled, smart, honest. He would not be making more mistakes anytime soon.

“For...” But he could not say her name.

Somehow Father knew. “Marietta?” he asked softly.

Lucas nodded.

“Your mother thought as much. But, Lucas . . .”

Something told Lucas he was not going to like the direction of this conversation. Largely because just hearing his sister’s name was bringing up the usual pain already.

“You could not have done anything to help her.”

“You do not know that. You were not there.” Bitter pain bled into his voice.

“I do not need to have been there, Lucas,” Father pushed back. “You were only seventeen years old. One seventeen-year-old boy could not have taken on three highway robbers. They knocked your driver unconscious in a blow!”

Lucas shook his head. “You were not there,” he repeated. “I could have had us stop for the night sooner. I could have kept her within the carriage. I could have told her I would not go with her.”

“And have her go alone?”

“Have her not go at all!”

“Lucas,” Father said, leaning closer as the carriage swayed.

“You must realize that would not have worked. You must realize she would simply have attended the party alone.” His voice softened.

“Your mother and I blamed ourselves for years. We fought over who was the most to blame. We blamed each other, even, for one reason or another. But we never— never —blamed you. Because you were with your sister, she was not alone in her final hours. She was with her favorite person in the entire world. You did not cause her death, Lucas, but you did give her life joy. You brought her so much joy.”

Something hot and wet slipped down Lucas’s cheek—shocked, he realized he was crying. Crying. Not just a single tear or two, but several, coursed down his cheeks in rivulets.

“Please let go of the blame you hold, Lucas. Your sister would not want that.”

His father was not the first to beg that of him. Miss Faraday had. Charlie had hinted at it. Even James had shown a distaste in Lucas’s chosen way of pursuing his future.

But none of them understood.

“I tried. I tried, and look what has happened, an even larger mess. Charlie and several others hurt because of me. Miss Faraday hurt because of me. I do not deserve to leave this pain behind. I need it to remind me of what is at stake.”

“Oh, Lucas.” Father shook his head, leaning across the gap between their benches and resting his forearms on his knees.

“If you have any part in this mess—and I do not believe you have nearly as much as you place on yourself—then it is not a result of some terrible act of justice by the world. It is because you carry that burden. Because of the burden of guilt you carry, you would not allow yourself to seek help. You thought you had to handle everything all on your own. Lucas. Let go. Let go of the guilt.”

The carriage stopped, and Father made for the door, pausing before he opened it.

“I love you, son. I wish I could take this pain from you, but only you can do that. Give yourself grace. You deserve it, not because of anything you do , but simply because you exist. Give yourself grace, and allow yourself to be happy.”

His father stepped from the carriage, not looking back. Somehow, he seemed to know that Lucas would need a moment to himself.

It was impossible to just push aside the guilt and blame in a moment—not when he’d carried it so closely for so long.

But in that conversation, he’d realized for the first time that his skewed sense of penance was causing more pain than it was helping.

He’d always seen himself as trying to live for Marietta, to do service as she’d always done, but somehow, amidst it all, he’d begun living to avoid caring for anyone as much as he’d cared for his twin sister.

His father was right. That was not how Marietta would have wanted him to live. She would have whopped him on the head with a pillow if she could see him now.

He chuckled at that thought. Then froze.

That was the first time he’d had any semblance of happiness when thinking of Marietta. Good heavens. He’d been degrading her memory simply by not participating in the one thing she loved more than anything—lightheartedness.

He sat in the carriage for several long minutes, recalling happy memories. Pain twinged with each one, but he pushed through.

How she would run ahead of him when they went nearly anywhere and hide in order to jump out and scare him.

The way she hummed when she was happy.

The month she had been fascinated with America and followed him around spouting off random facts about the former colonies.

The more he recalled, the easier it became.

He blinked a few times to dispel any final vestiges of tears. It would not be easy, but he would hold on to this feeling. He would try to add some happiness back into his life—for his sister and himself.