‘If you could go back, then you’d still be faced with all the same choices. You’d still have to choose whether to live your life his way or your way. And if you’d chosen his way, then everything would be different. Lance and Violet wouldn’t be married and you wouldn’t have a nephew or niece on the way.’
‘No, I suppose not.’ He drew his eyebrows together thoughtfully. He’d never looked at it that way before...
‘And who’s to say that your father wouldn’t have collapsed if you’d stayed? It might have happened anyway.’
He drew his brows even tighter. She was right. His head knew she was right, but knowing and feeling were such different things...
‘He was still my father. I loved him despite everything. I wish I could have told him that much at least.’
She squeezed his fingers again. ‘Is that why you won’t go back to Amberton Castle? Because you feel guilty?’
‘In part. It’s not easy going back to a place with so many memories, but it’s more than that. It’s because...’ he paused, wondering how much of the truth to tell her ‘...it’s because I made a choice. I made it the moment I got into that boat. I could have gone home after I saw Lydia, but I didn’t. I can’t go back now as if nothing ever happened.’
‘And that’s why you won’t sit in that armchair by the fireplace?’
He nodded, surprised by her acuity. ‘It was his chair. I don’t belong there.’
‘But—’
‘No!’ This time he lifted his spare hand to forestall her. ‘I’ve made up my mind about this. I’ve inherited the title, there’s nothing I can do about that, but I want Lance to have everything else. His family, too, after I’m gone. I don’t deserve any of it.’
‘But what about your family? Your future children?’
‘We’ve already established that I’ve been a bad son, bad brother and bad fiancé. Something tells me I’m not cut out for marriage and parenthood either.’
‘Well...’ she gave a cynical-sounding laugh ‘...that makes two of us.’
He nudged his boot into the sand, feeling even guiltier than usual. He’d told her the truth, though still not all of it. Self-reproach and a need to punish himself were only two of the reasons he couldn’t go back to Amberton Castle. But how could he tell her the third, the biggest reason—that he was afraid of losing his mind all over again? She’d revise her opinion about him being the strong one then... But if they were being truly honest with each other...
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‘The tide’s coming back in.’ She broke the silence before he could decide. ‘And Georgie looks as if he’s finally finished his masterpiece.’
‘So he has.’ He looked at the chain of sandcastles and smiled appreciatively. ‘What a shame the water has to come back and destroy it.’
‘I don’t know. He’ll be sad for a while, but then he’ll forget and start all over again with even bigger plans next time. Isn’t that what we all have to do when things get knocked down and broken? We mend them and carry on.’
‘Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to tell me something?’
‘Because you’re not the only philosopher here. Besides, friends support each other.’
‘So we are friends, then?’
‘I’m afraid so.’ She paused for a moment and then turned serious again. ‘Thank you for telling me what happened, but you should know that Lydia never meant to hurt you. She has no idea that you saw her that day.’
‘I know. It’s strange, I’ve been angry at her for years, but now I wonder if it was more at myself. I think I wanted to be in love with her more than I actually was. I wanted something good and positive in my life, but it wasn’t fair to use her like that. No matter what she thinks, she had a lucky escape.’
‘Maybe you ought to tell her that. She has too much time to think at the moment, trapped in the house like a prisoner. It might help her.’
‘Maybe I will.’ He looked down at her fingers, still held between his. They felt long and delicate and fitted perfectly between his own, as if they belonged there, as if the two of them belonged together. And what on earth made him think that?
It must be the situation, he told himself. The shared confidences, the murmur of the sea in the background, the little boy playing happily beside them, the warm sun and gentle breeze, not to mention those large, almost-black eyes, so deep that a man could drown in them if he wasn’t careful, which in his case was a dangerous metaphor indeed... All of those things were conspiring against them, forcing them into a romantic situation that neither of them wanted. They weren’t made for romance. Hadn’t they just spent the last hour deciding that, telling each other the various reasons they didn’t want or believe in it any more? They were both carrying deep scars in that regard, had both decided on solitary, independent futures without romantic entanglements. She might be holding his hand, but she’d been offering him comfort, that was all. And he was comforted. Her words were like a balm to his soul. So why did friendship not seem like enough any more? Why did he still want to kiss her? And why did the idea of living on his own seem so less appealing suddenly?
‘Are you going to Lance and Violet’s garden party?’ He surprised himself with the question.
‘Me?’ She looked equally startled. ‘No, I told you, I don’t go to social engagements.’
‘Neither do I usually, though if it’s because of your scar then that’s ridiculous.’