Page 26 of Seducing an Earl under the Mistletoe
Again, she was not allowed to dwell too much on these thoughts because Lord Thornton had engaged everyone in more conversation the moment Arthur left. She was barely able to focus on anything while her heart whispered concerns for the man she had grown to care deeply for, a man who was not there.
Chapter 10
That evening, Arthur knew he couldn’t wait any longer. The letter from his brother lay on the desk in his study, its presence a constant reminder of an unopened secret. The emotions it stirred within him were a tempest of conflicting feelings—curiosity, fear, grief, and the desire to preserve the memory of his brother untouched.
Arthur stood before the desk, his hand hesitating just above the letter. He could almost hear James’ voice, feel his brother’s presence urging him to unravel the words penned so long ago.
The past whispered to him, begging to be heard, to be acknowledged. Yet, he feared the pain it might bring, the wounds it could reopen. The ache of losing James was still a tender scar on his heart, and the uncertainty of what lay within the letter gnawed at him.
As Arthur stood in contemplation, grappling with the unopened letter from his brother, a gentle rap on the door announced his mother’s presence. She entered, her demeanor revealing a mix of worry and the stoicism she often bore.
“Arthur, my dear,” she began, her voice tinged with the weight of recent events, “there is a letter from your father. I believe you should read it, too.”
He looked at his mother, surprised. Her requests were often rooted in a deeper understanding of family dynamics, so he accepted the letter and began to read. The contents were succinct, a mere sign of life from Graham Taylor, leaving more questions than answers.
He returned the letter disinterestedly. “Is this how you plan on proceeding, Mother?”
“With what?” she wondered, not understanding.
“Father,” he said simply. “If an innocent bystander was reading that letter, he would not be able to conclude that he is our family at all, let alone my father and your husband.”
She shrugged indifferently. “It is an arrangement that suits us both. Why change something that obviously works?”
He frowned. “But it’s not how a married couple should be…apart.”
She sighed. “Sometimes, there are things you simply cannot get over, no matter how hard you try, Arthur.”
He knew what she was referring to. It was the same tragedy that had marred him as well, almost rendering him unable to function properly.
“But there are other matters we must address,” she continued.
He focused on her, giving her his full attention.
“Your upcoming engagement to Margot,” she stated firmly. “Both families expect a formal betrothal by the New Year.”
Arthur felt the weight of tradition and family expectations pressing upon him. Being forced into a betrothal to a woman he held no love for and the unopened letter that could potentially change everything—it seemed as though life’s complexities were closing in on him, urging decisions he was not ready to make.
“You always get your way, Mother. Why would this time be any different?” he asked her, deciding to leave it at that.
As panic began to rise within him, suffocating him with the weight of expectations others had of him, he went past his mother and exited his study. Fifteen minutes later, he sought solace in the familiar refuge of his brother’s grave. It was a strange place to have a grave without a body, and yet this was where they were mourning the loss of a brother and son.
James had been missing for five years, and sometime around the fourth year, their mother had decided that it was too painful to keep hoping that he might return when all evidence pointed otherwise. There were accounts of James having been taken prisoner during the war, and everyone knew that this was a death sentence.
James’ gravestone stood as a solemn testament to a life once lived, a marker in the quiet corner of the graveyard where he rested. The stone itself was a hewn block of weathered gray marble, displaying a subdued elegance. Below the epitaph, finely engraved vines and ivy adorned the edges, symbolizing enduring memory and perpetual life.
The craftsmanship was meticulous, with the ivy appearing almost lifelike, as if it would sway in an unseen breeze. The gravestone stood in dignified simplicity, a beacon of remembrance and honor for a life that ended too soon.
To his surprise, he found Margot already there, lost in her own mourning. The winds whispered through the trees, as he stood there, contemplating the twists of fate that had led him to this point. Margot had not noticed him yet; she was turned with her back toward him. He wondered if he should even interrupt her in this solitary moment. But before he could turn around and leave, she noticed him.
“Arthur,” she said, quickly getting up from a stone bench she had been sitting on. Tears were glistening in her eyes, and despite that, she tried to offer a faint smile.
“Hello, Margot,” he greeted her.
“I know he’s not here, and yet…this is the only place I can come to be alone with him,” she whispered, her voice a fragile echo of the strength she usually possessed.
He sat down, and she did the same. They gazed at the grave, burdened by the heaviness of the moment. Arthur knew this was not the time or the place for this conversation, but at the same time, he could not have imagined a more appropriate place to have it.
“Margot, I…I cannot help but feel that our match is wrong. It feels like everyone is trying to fit us into molds that weren’t made for us.”
