Page 30 of How to Ruin a Duke
This was the end of Fairweather’s.
Chapter Seven
“There is no more fatal symptom than when an open communicative disposition grows reserved.”
FromGlenarvonby Lady Caroline Lamb
If a man had a bed to sleep in, bread rolls and coffee to breakfast on, and a place he loved to go, he had no right to be in a foul mood.Simon knew this.But on the last day of May, despite counting up those small blessings, he was in a foul mood as he pushed open the door to Fairweather’s at midday.When the little bell over the door jingled a greeting, he wanted to snatch it down and stomp on it.
This was the end.Good-bye came today, and it was nobody’s fault but his own.
He pushed aside the velvet curtain, drinking the sight of the workroom with thirsty eyes.A perfect space for the work done here.A perfect home for the women who lived here.
“Good afternoon,” Simon said to Rowena.She had her back to him when he entered and was counting off pieces of wood by size in the numerous built-in compartments.
“Hullo.One moment.”She jotted a number onto a small bit of paper, then stuffed it into her pocket and turned.“Good afternoon to you.I’ve got a letter for you.”
“For me?Is it from Botts?”He couldn’t imagine who’d be sending him a message, unless it was one of his musical cronies seeking a booking with Fairweather’s.
“No.It’s not from Botts.”From that same pocket in her gown, Rowena drew a sealed and folded missive.It had evidently come by post rather than being hand-carried by a messenger, for when Rowena placed it in Simon’s hand, he had to squint to make out the direction through the post-markings.
And then he realized what it said.Where it was from.Whoit was from.“It’s from Elias Howard’s family.How is it from Howard?How did he know… Why is anyone from Market Thistleton writing to me in London?”With nerveless fingers, he dropped the letter to the floor.He wasn’t certain whether he wanted to pick it up.
Before he decided, Rowena snatched it up and pressed it into his hand again.Her smile was bright, her tone glassy, as she explained, “I wrote to them for you.I wanted them to know how much you miss Howard and still blame yourself for his—”
“Youwhat?”Simon could have tossed the letter into the nearest fire.“I told you all of that in confidence!So you wouldn’t feel alone in your worries!”
“Yes, well, I didn’t wantyouto feel so alone.So I wrote, and you see that Howard is eager to make contact with you.He must have written back—”
“He can’t write.I saw to that,” Simon said flatly.
“—using his left hand,” Rowena continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “or had his wife write back on his behalf, as soon as your letter arrived.”
“Your letter.Not mine.”
“It comes to the same thing.Behold your reply.”
Her smile was fixed and strange, but he couldn’t think about that right now.He could only try to make sense of what she was saying, of the letter in his hand after so many years of silence.Silence he wanted, because he feared what Howard might say if given the chance to speak.It was better to fear he’d never be forgiven than to know it for certain.
He ripped the letter in half, cracking the seal and letting the inky page flutter to the floor in two pieces.“I don’t want this.If I wanted to write to Howard, I would have done so anytime in the last thirteen years.You had no right to interfere.”
Her cheeks flushed; her jaw set.“Interference?Is that what this is?Was it mere interference when you came to my shop and asked to remake my business dealings?”
Deliberately, Simon set his boot atop the fallen letter.“It was.You didn’t have to say yes.That was your choice.”
She muttered something that sounded like, “Maybe I shouldn’t have,” shoving wisps of hair back with quick, jerking gestures.
And then the fire seemed to go out of her.“I don’t mean that.I’m glad I said yes.I hoped you would be glad about this too.I only wanted to open a door for you.”
“I shut it a long time ago, and I want to leave it that way.”Didn’t he?What hereallywanted was to erase the past, never to think of it again.But he’d never managed that.He’d never managed to stop missing his friend or regretting the harm he’d caused.Shaking his head, he added, “I’m allowed to feel guilty for something bad I’ve done.”
“Not if it keeps you from living your own life!”
“This is the way I live,” he said firmly, struggling for calm.“I’ve always been honest about that.Just because it’s not what you would choose doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”
Simon had always thought of himself as an inquisitive sort of person, one who always wanted to move on and learn something new.He wanted to help, he’d told Rowena once.He wanted to make things better.
Just now, he didn’t want to do that.He wanted to block his ears; he wanted to protect himself.He was tired of helping others.He was tired of the burden of guilt and shame that he’d borne for years, all the way across England.It was poison for his heart, and she thought he’d want to read a letter about it.She thought he’d want to take that letter from her hand, a hand that had only ever been outstretched to him in grace and honesty.
