“Do not ask me about Kit, since you are such a fan of love,” he bit out, knowing he was being a total arse but apparently unable to stop himself. “Ask Beatrice,” he added, so full of emotions now he thought he might explode with them. “She seems to have all the answers.”
With that, he turned away from his brother and strode out into the street.
He could not stay in the house.
Not that house.
The house that had been his mother’s jewel for years.
A house that had been full of parties and fun and love.
Memories crashed back in on him as luxurious coaches raced passed on the road: memories of his mother’s departure, of his father’s misery, of looking for letters that never came.
Apparently, he was not going to be able to outrun that any longer.
Pain had been such a significant part of his life.
The loss of love.
He knew it so very well, he couldn’t do it again.
Beatrice loved him? Surely she could not. And worse, if she did, such a thing would just be a precursor to a greater disaster. He could not risk that sort of pain again. He could not risk the erosion that it could cause in his life.
In their lives.
Look what was happening to poor Kit, who was asleep on the floor right now, blessedly unaware of the drama unfolding.
No, surely Beatrice did not mean it. Soon, she would come to her senses. Yes, she would make Margaret come to her senses, and they could all go back to the way things were. Staid. Careful.
He stopped himself and let out a curse.
Careful.
When had he chosen such a word by which to rule his life?
He’d always been so certain that he was bold, making decisions and living life to his fullest.
Being happy, as his mother had made him promise to be.
Bloody hell, he wasn’t happy. Not at all.
He was living in fear, as she said, but fear had protected him.
Fear had protected Kit and Ben.
Fear kept them safe.
And by God, he was not about to throw his entire future away on the whims of a woman in love. He would not do that. His mother had died abroad; he had never seen her again.
The cruelty of that was beyond anything. And truly, only a fool would choose to risk their whole life on something so transitory as love.
Will walked, and walked, and walked.
He walked until his legs nearly gave out from under him and he was far out into the countryside beyond the new buildings that lined the West of London.
Soon, all of this would be city, he knew, but not yet.
Now, it was still wild.