Page 112 of Rogue of My Heart

“You can,” Marie told him. “Death is a horrible thing, especially when it comes unexpectedly. But the only way to fight against death and to win is to live to the fullest in every moment you are given. You cannot bring your father and brother back, but you can honor them by enjoying every second you are given.”

“No.” He shook his head, then swallowed hard and started toward the hall. “I don’t deserve to be happy ever again.”

“Christian.” Marie chased after him, but the moment he reached the hallway, he strode swiftly toward the door. Fergus’s butler was ready and waiting for him and held the door so that Christian could escape out into the rainy morning.

Marie let out a breath and shook her head. Grief was never an easy thing. She’d experienced it twice before, when each of her parents died. Time was the only thing that cured grief, but she was afraid time was something Christian wasn’t willing to wait for. Not with his engagement to Lady Aoife still in place, nor with the shock of responsibility now heaped on him.

“My lady.” Marie was startled out of her thoughts as the butler left the door after closing it behind Christian and strode down the long hall toward her. He glanced into the formal parlor as he passed it, then met Marie’s eyes as he continued on. “My lady, you have guests in the formal parlor.”

Marie blinked, wariness prickling its way down her back. “Guests? So early?”

“Lord Boleran and his sister, my lady,” the butler reported.

Marie’s brow rose even higher. It seemed as though her thoughts of Lady Aoife had summoned the woman. “Thank you, Mr. Connelly,” she said stepping past him and heading toward the parlor.

A conversation was already underway between Lord Boleran and Shannon, but Marie caught the last of it as Shannon said, “He came to call on my brother, no doubt for advice about the running of his estate.”

A strange twist filled Marie’s stomach as she nodded politely to Lady Aoife and headed for one of the empty chairs. Halfway across the room, she changed her mind and went to sit on the sofa beside Lady Aoife instead.

“He could have come to me for advice,” Lord Boleran told Shannon with a slight frown. “He’s to be my brother-in-law soon.”

“And why would anyone in their right mind ask your advice about anything?” Colleen snapped. She was glaring daggers at Lord Boleran, which made Marie wonder what sort of exchange they’d already had.

Lord Boleran appeared to be exercising extreme patience as he turned to Colleen and fixed her with a stern scowl. “I happen to have rescued my father’s estate from the edge of ruin when I inherited it five years ago, my lady,” he said through a clenched jaw.

“Rescued it, you say?” Colleen huffed as though that were impossible. “Was the estate stuck up a tree, like a cat?”

“Colleen,” Shannon warned her with a frown.

Chloe had a hand to her mouth in order to hide her giggling.

Colleen didn’t seem to notice either. “Do you fancy yourself a hero, Lord Boleran?”

Lord Boleran’s back was stiff as he replied, “I fancy myself a man of vision who takes his responsibilities seriously.”

“Very seriously, I’m sure,” Colleen said in a scathing voice.

Marie shifted her gaze back and forth between the two of them, increasingly baffled. She knew that Colleen had unusually strong feelings for the marquess. She was aware that the two of them had encountered each other on more than one occasion, at balls and local fetes and the like. But she’d had no idea that whatever connection existed between them could elicit the sort of sparks that flew between them now. Whether Colleen was aware of it or not, those sparks weren’t entirely adversarial.

“Please let me express my condolences for your loss yet again, Lady Marie,” Lady Aoife spoke softly at Marie’s side, almost as though she intended to start a side conversation while the others talked about their own business. No other conversation began, though, so Lady Aoife was forced to speak with everyone listening to her. “If you are in need of proper mourning attire, I could give you the name of my seamstress in Ballymena.”

Marie fought down a surge of irritation and picked at the forest green skirt she wore. “Thank you, my lady, but my hope is that this old gown is sufficient for mourning a fiancé I barely knew.”

Lady Aoife’s pale face splashed with pink, and she looked away.

Marie didn’t try to hide her wince. “I’m sorry, Lady Aoife. I didn’t mean to snap.” She reached for Lady Aoife’s hand to squeeze it. “I know that your condolences are genuine. And you are right. I should don proper mourning attire because of my connection to the family.”

Lady Aoife seemed to forgive her. She lifted her face timidly to Marie and smiled. “It’s just that I feel responsible,” she said in a whisper.

Marie wanted to smirk at the word. “Responsible” was becoming a theme she couldn’t escape.

The others fell into a conversation about the rain, which gave Marie a chance to speak to Lady Aoife in relative privacy.

“Responsible?” Marie asked. Part of her hoped to draw the woman out. She couldn’t forget what she’d seen by the springhouse the day before.

“Because I’m…I’m to be the Countess of Kilrea soon,” Lady Aoife said, lowering her head and looking as miserable as if her fiancé was the one who had died.

Marie’s heart thrummed with paradoxical excitement. “And this isn’t something you want?” she asked cautiously. If she could get Lady Aoife to admit she was in love with Lord Garvagh, there was a chance she could have Christian—or even Lord Boleran—call the engagement off.