Somewhere in the past few weeks, he’d given her his heart.
But she was to undertake her journey through life with someone else. She might bear that other man’s children. They’d make discoveries that would enrich the sciences for centuries. She’d grow old with him and anticipate sharing eternity with him.
With Fredericks, not Seb. Fury and misery filled his body, his mind. It was as though his blood had been replaced by knives, and each beat of his heart pulsed cutting blades through him.
Seb had worked so very hard to win Grace her prize, little thinking of the cost to himself, or the fact that he’d guided her straight into Fredericks’s arms.
“Tell her.” Rotherby took a step toward him. “If you love her, you must tell her.”
Seb exhaled raggedly. “That would make me ten kinds of bastard, to ruin her happiness with my own selfish desires. I will not undermine her.”
“Damn,” Rotherby grumbled.
“My apologies, old man.” McCameron gave Seb’s shoulder a gentle shake. “It’s a hard place to be in, to love someone who doesn’t love you back.”
Seb shared a quick glance with Rotherby. Neither of them had ever truly addressed McCameron’s heartbreak, as if not speaking to him about it somehow protected their friend from feeling its pain. But clearly, they’d been wrong, because the wound sounded as fresh as ever in McCameron’s voice.
“You don’t want to go out,” Rotherby said, “which is fine. Only tell us what it is you do want. There’s surely something that will help you through this. How about writing up that book, the one about becoming a rake?”
Internally, Seb recoiled. “The last goddamn thing I want to do is dwell on this disaster. No, I think it’s time.”
“Time for what?” Rotherby asked.
“To go on one of my wanders.” Now that he’d proposed it, the idea made sense. He already pictured himself shielded behind his role as disinterested observer, studying the people and traditions of far-flung villages. “Surely losing myself in England’s most remote places will take my mind from losing Grace.”
“Will it?” McCameron asked, his voice gentle.
Seb offered his friends a weary smile. “What choice do I have?”
The night sky stretched over Hampstead Heath like the profundity of dreams, and Grace tried to lose herself in its endless black-and-indigo reaches. Unlike Jane, who stood nearby, adjusting her telescope as Douglas held a lantern for illumination, Grace couldn’t name any of the stars, which she rather liked. It kept them beautiful and mysterious. Unreachable.
“For a woman who has fielded an offer of marriage from the man she’s adored for years,” Jane said, “there’s a good deal of pensive silence coming from your quadrant.”
“I’d have thought you would be capering around Hampstead Heath like a lamb,” Douglas added.
“There’s a distinct lack of capering,” Jane agreed.
“It’s disturbing,” Douglas said.
“Quite so,” Jane said. “Disturbing is just the word I’m thinking of. Perhaps even distressing.”
“Oh, that’s a good one. Distressing. I like it.”
Hearing the easy camaraderie and warmth between the Argyles normally soothed Grace. Tonight, however, she wanted to kick over their telescope and shout for them to both shut their mouths.
She didn’t do either, but her hands formed into fists at her sides as she breathed and prayed for calm. Yet she hadn’t felt calm since . . . she honestly couldn’t remember. The past few weeks had been a tempest. Having Sebastian offer his hand but then eagerly rescind that offer when hearing about Mason’s proposal certainly didn’t soothe her mind or heart.
Nothing seemed right anymore. Nothing was certain.
The grasses rustled as Jane approached. She set a hand on Grace’s arm. “Love,” her friend murmured. “Your unhappiness is palpable. But I can’t fathom it. Mr. Fredericks wants to marry you. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“I thought . . .” Grace swallowed past the hard knot in her throat. “I thought that’s what I wanted. But now . . .” She shook her head as she struggled through the quagmire of her emotions. They were a swamp, sucking her down into their depths, drowning her.