What reason did he have to be troubled? Was he so perturbed by the thought of them joining families that he could not stand the thought of their future marriage?
Elaine gritted her teeth, chastising herself for having such thoughts in the first place. She had to come to terms with her position soon before it ate her alive.
“Michael?” she broached again when he did not respond in time. “Will you not honour my request?”
“I shall.” He came to a halt. “But I believe the time for you to give your father an explanation will come sooner rather than later.”
“What do you mean?” she inquired, looking up at him. He didn’t look back at her, thinning his lips, eyes trained over her head. With a frown, Elaine turned and her heart skipped a beat.
Her father stood on the balcony of his bedchamber, his frail hands gripping the railings. Despite the distance, Elaine could see his expression very clearly, one that tore her to pieces. He looked horrified. She could only imagine what he must be seeing on her face.
Elaine turned back to face Michael, her heart skipping a beat once more when she saw that he was already staring at her. The intensity of his eyes made her falter, made her forget what she intended to say. She looked away, shaking her head as if that would be enough to shake off the effects of his heavy eyes.
“I know this is not what you intended for your future, Michael,” she said, eyes boring into the white stones beneath their feet. “But I thank you all the same. Had you not made this decision, my future would have been ruined.”
“Had I not lost control last night, it would have remained intact.”
She didn’t try to decipher his tone, didn’t dare look up. Her heart could not handle it.
“I thank you all the same.” She managed a curtsy. “Good day, Your Grace.”
“Elaine—” He caught her wrist before she could leave. She made the mistake of looking up at him. But he said nothing, looking tortured.
With a soft sigh, Elaine pulled her wrist free and walked away, hating herself for how much she wished he could come after her.
***
The last thing Michael wanted to do was walk away. And because of that, he’d forced himself. He’d watched Elaine leave him behind and he’d quelled the overwhelming urge to run after her and beg for her forgiveness.
Beg? He had no reason to beg. He was doing this for his family, to finally lay to rest the false judgment that had been placed on his father and the dukedom. It didn’t matter that a silly lady got hurt in the process. It shouldn’t.
And yet, as he stared into the empty brandy decanter, he couldn’t help but feel the complete opposite.
“At this rate, you will drink us dry, Michael.” Henry sank into the armchair across from him, crossing his legs. Michael ignored him.
The only reason he had come to his uncle’s residence to wallow in his recent decisions and not his own was simply because Henry had called him over. Otherwise, Michael would have been locked up in his office, drapes drawn, drinking his own sideboard dry.
Henry cleared his throat, adjusting himself in the armchair. “Were you coming from Suthenshire House?”
“I was.”
“And I assume it went badly, judging from the dour look on your face.”
Michael shook his head. The slight movement showed him just how inebriated he had become in the short amount of time.Perhaps drinking his sorrows away was not the right decision after all.
“They accepted the proposal,” he told his uncle. “They really had no choice in the matter.”
“And yet, that is not what you wanted to do?” Henry probed.
Michael did not know how to answer that question, so he chose not to. “Why did you ask me to come here?”
“Because of this.” Henry held out a folded piece of paper.
Michael frowned as he took it. He unfolded the paper, realising that it was a letter from some Lord Blainey to Henry. “What is this?” he asked, skimming through the first few lines. It only spoke about plans to meet with each other for the Epsom Derby.
“It is a letter from a friend of mine, Lord Blainey,” Henry explained. “When you came by the other day to tell me about your recent revelations from your source, you mentioned The O. And it struck me as familiar, though I couldn’t fathom why. As it happened, that thought bothered me for quite some time after you left. So, I decided to go through my letters to see if anyone might have made mention of The O in one of them.”
“You keep all your letters?” Michael asked incredulously. “This is dated five years ago.”
