Page 25 of The Reclusive Earl’s Scandal (Vows and Vanity #1)

It was all his. His father was never coming back, and Edward couldn’t keep squashing his life down because of it.

He’d always been a nervous, quiet boy, but the anxiety had only gripped him so detrimentally ever since his father’s death.

At once, life had become too short and endless, and he had given into his panic, drowning in it, because facing the storm head-on was much more fearful.

It was easier to have the certainty of drowning than to face an unknowable force.

But Edward realized he was tired of it. He wanted to be better and provide better for Rebecca.

He wanted to attend every ball, opera, dinner gathering, event, right at her side. He would never make her go anywhere alone.

“I shall be better,” he promised himself. He stood to his feet, whistling for Barnes and Benedict. He wouldn’t shut Rebecca away in Thornshire House, but he found that he no longer wanted to shut himself away, either.

***

He took that evening to shut himself away in his study, thinking.

He had to decode the reason behind his anxiety.

With no support, or at least not in the way he once had, he tried to work through it all.

From the balls to the dinner gatherings, he’d struggled.

Once one ball was out of the way, somebody was already speaking about another, and his anxious cycle would begin again.

The sleepless nights and lack of appetite would all drag him down into that terrible place where he overthought, over-worried and panicked endlessly. He would perform, await the approval, only for him not to even receive one full day of peace before more expectations were placed upon him.

Going further back in his life, he knew his father had wanted him to be the perfect heir.

While he had been the most patient and understanding of Edward’s disposition, he had still worried and put expectations upon Edward.

Edward had always been aware that his anxiety could cause his father’s disappointment in him.

Forcing himself to go to event after event had proven difficult.

Some days he had done it, and he’d been exhausted.

Other days he just hadn’t been able to face anybody, not even his family over breakfast. His thoughts drifted to the several invitations he’d received from Willoughby.

Again, there had been an expectation there.

The new Earl of Thornshire ought to be present and make himself known in society.

To Edward, that was only setting himself up for further ridicule. To them, he just looked avoidant.

What if a big part of his problem was that expectation and the knowledge of being judged?

Not only did he carry the expectations of his family, of trying to please his mother and sister ever since they had written to him in the countryside, summoning him home, but he had his own pressures he heaped upon himself.

Worries that he did not have enough, provide enough, speak enough.

Worries that he had to marry, and how that ought to look.

Always worrying over the analyzing from his family and peers.

It all tangled in his mind, manifesting as physical symptoms, until he was dragged under.

How would it feel if he did one thing entirely of his own accord?

His eyes passed over the notes he had been taking the other day on Much Ado About Nothing.

A play could be distracting enough that he could experiment with how he felt.

He could choose his time and day, and he never minded going anywhere alone.

If anything, it was preferable at times.

He did everything for others, trying to meet what they wanted from him.

What if he attended something he was actually interested in?

Edward pulled that morning’s paper towards him to find the theater listings.

There was a Shakespeare performance the following night.

Humming to himself, Edward felt the familiar stab of nerves, but it was nowhere near the severity it usually was.

He would dress up, but there would be no requirement for talking or dancing.

All he had to do was attend and watch.

***

Dressed in his finery, Edward entered the theater the following day. His mother and sister had plenty to say about it, of course, and his mother had urged him to invite Rebecca to join him, but he’d shaken his head, refusing.

As much as he wanted to spend time with her and give her a courting outing, he had to do this for himself first.

He filed into his seat, settling down to face the stage.

Around him, other gentry filed in. Edward couldn’t help noticing how couples walked arm-in-arm, some smiling at one another, others stiff and formal, and it was easy to see the divide in those in a loving marriage and those who were not quite so.

Despite being around so many people, Edward felt calmer than he had at any other social gathering in a long, long time.

The theater had always felt like a harbour of invisibility, a place where people finally looked not at him, but a stage.

A place where other people could take the burden of being entertainment for conversation fodder.

The stage lights dimmed, and the whispers of the audience died down.

Edward watched from his box up above, not even caring about how aware he was of it being only him in there.

He didn’t care if anybody noticed, or questioned why he would attend alone.

For as soon as the first actor came on-stage, bearing the name of Puck from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, everything around Edward faded away. All that mattered was the performance.

And soon, he even stopped being terribly aware of the anxiety like a stone in his stomach.

This is akin to how Rebecca’s company makes me feel.

He wondered at how much better it would be if she was there, but he recognized he needed one step at a time to handle things. The performance progressed beautifully and the cast executed their parts wonderfully. Edward already knew the story of the play, and he followed along perfectly.

When the interval was called, Edward found himself experiencing a flutter of panic.

He didn’t entirely need to leave his seat, but, strangely enough, he felt more exposed as less people remained in the auditorium around him.

In the box next to him, he heard voices, and he kept his attention fixed on the decorated stage.

Idly, he listened in.

“Such a rich girl, and what a waste! Oh, her father must be devastated, her mother too. I dare say she had the potential to be the most eligible bride for the right suitor. All gone now, of course, wasted on a poor boy who has already dragged her good name down.”

Edward winced, thinking of who was being gossiped about. Everybody gossiped as they loved anybody’s misery, using it to bring others down. The ton thrived on scandal, and it seemed they had found their latest fix.

Soon enough, the voices died down as more people filed back into the auditorium.

“Oh, were you speaking of Lady…”

The rest of the words were drowned out in a striking chord from a violin, announcing the second half of the play, and setting up a dark road ahead. Edward dismissed the rest of the gossip. It was none of his business, and he had no patience for it so his attention returned to the stage.

Scenes transitioned back and forth, and he laughed at the right parts when Puck was foolish, but his heart ached at the lovers’ lack of resolution. It is coming, though , he reminded himself. The characters would get their happy endings.

But the more he saw Helena pining over Demetrius, who only had eyes for Hermia, Edward shifted uncomfortably. Was he like Demetrius, overlooking Helena, to pine for a Hermia who would never see him as a lover?

The thought struck him uncomfortably, and he tried to ignore it but the scenes reflected on the stage mirrored his own life and he couldn’t ignore the storm building within him.

Did Rebecca truly no longer pine for Harry?

He believed her when she said there was nothing between them, but…

was that why she wished to keep their marriage platonic?

Did she really feel nothing for Edward romantically?

His heart raced, pounding harder and harder the more he watched the entangled lovers.

Suddenly, he felt as though everybody was aware of him sitting there.

Were the eyes on him really there, or did he imagine it?

Panic curled tightly in his chest, a balled-up fist that wouldn’t move.

Edward pressed a hand to that pressure, trying to breathe through it.

Stop this , he told himself. And then a quieter thought followed, you were doing well, Edward. Do not ruin it now .

However, he was, and he couldn’t stop the rising tide of panic.

Was the theater shrinking around him, or was that imaginary, too?

Helena’s face swam before his eyes, caught between Lysander and Demetrius.

He heard her shouted declarations of a lack of love.

He saw Hermia chasing after Demetrius, wanting his notoriety.

He saw himself humoring Lady Catherine on a dance floor, diving in after Rebecca; the two women who both wanted him for different reasons.

Soon, Edward’s breath sawed out of him, pained and too tight. His vision swam, and sweat slid into the collar of his shirt, dampening the bottom of his hair. He squeezed his eyes closed.

Stop this, stop this, stop this. Do not ruin it, do not ruin it...

He saw Rebecca trapped inside Thornshire House forever, wishing she had not married him, wishing she had chosen another suitor.

He heard her pitying him, gossiping with her friends.

None of it had happened but Heavens, what if it did?

What if he would trap her forever without meaning to?

If he could not even get a grip on his anxiety now, alone, doing something he loved, then how could he ever connect with Rebecca and give up this tormented comfort?

His panic destined him to be alone, and the horrid ache of that slid into him.

Heavens, Edward did not want to spend his life alone, but what sort of life could he give Rebecca?

He was weak. He could not even sit through a full play without panicking.

Palms sweating, Edward surged to his feet, mindless of gazes turning to him simply for seeing movement.

He ignored them, ignored the play, and the racing of his heart, and he shoved out of his box and rushed to his carriage.

“Home,” he ordered breathlessly to his coachman, trying to keep his composure. “Get me home .”

He gripped the bench before him, his fingernails digging into the leather. Hunched over his knees, Edward tried to keep his wits about him, but his mind was already slipping into that dark space where reality and panicked fabrication blurred.