Page 55 of A Lady's Beastly Duke
“Mm.” Sidney nodded. “And we all know that it’s not so hard to cheat. I don’t know if I want to die.” He shook his head. He felt as though his life was not worth living without Anastasia, but there was a small part of him that did not want to end it. He had seen death all too recently—that cut-off silence, the horror of a life ceased before its time. He did not want that—not for himself,and not for his family.
“That’s not even a question,” Giles said with a snort. “Of course, you want to live. Even an earthworm will fight for its life.”
Sidney frowned. “But you...” When Amelia, Lady Amery’s daughter, had run away, Giles had hovered in a drunken stupor for weeks. He had come close to death then. It was perhaps only luck that saved him.
Giles nodded. “Mm. And that’s precisely why I tell you that you want to live. You know what’s the best thing about life?” he asked. He leaned on the table, reaching for a bottle and pouring it.
“No,” Sidney murmured.
“Hope.”
Sidney frowned. That was one thing he lacked.
“If you’re dead,” Giles continued patiently, sipping at whatever it was he had poured, “then everything stays as it is. Nothing can change. All your problems stay the same, the future stops. Your mistakes stay and you can change not one piece of it.”
“Mm.” Sidney nodded. The image of his father’s desk returned to him, the pieces of paper, the unwritten correspondence, the pen still dipped in the ink, waiting for him.
“If you’re dead, nothing can change,” Giles continued.“Not even your mind. But if you live...now...that is something different. In life, everything can change in an instant. What you have lost can be found. What you have wronged, you can right. What you did not know, you can learn. In life, all that can happen.”
“Mm.” Sidney grunted. In that moment, the words—while appealing—did not make much sense to him.
“When your father died,” Giles said, just a little callously, “what was it that hurt the most.”
“That he wasn’t here anymore,” Sidney replied at once.
“Quite so. He wasn’t here anymore. His story here—his song—was silent. It stopped.”
“Yes,” Sidney answered, just a little impatiently. Giles had lost his father, too—he had no right to be callous. He was just about to say that, when Giles continued.
“You don’t want your song to stop, Sidney. The best bits haven’t played yet.” His voice was gentle.
Sidney shook his head. “I don’t know that.”
“I do,” Giles said. His gaze held Sidney’s. Sidney stared into his cousin’s eyes, watching the firelight flicker there, and wondered why he had never noticed they were so intense. Giles had once been his best friend. He gazed at him, listening to his words. “Want to know how I know?” his cousin asked casually. “How I know that you haven’t lived the best bits yet?”
“Yes,” Sidney grunted. “I do want to know.”
“Because you’re not dead. That’s how.” Giles fixed him with his gaze. “If you were meant to be, you would be. But you’re not. Makes sense?”
Sidney let out his breath in a sigh. “Yes,” he admitted.
It did make sense. It made about the only sense that anything had made that evening. He had tried to take dinner, but he had no appetite. He had excused himself from the table early and retired to his room, thinking that he could read until he fell asleep. Sleep had not come. All he could think of was Anastasia. Her smile, her pale blue eyes alight with joy and hope and humor. He had come to the billiard room, thinking that he could distract himself with the newspaper or even play a round or two of billiards, but it had already been past midnight, and his brain would not settle.
“So,” Giles continued, bringing his thoughts back to the moment. “Since you’re alive, stands to reason there’s more in store. Am I making sense?” He poured something from the bottle again. Sidney braced himself for the stench of spirits, but oddly, it didn’t hit him.
“Yes,” Sidney answered. “Yes. You make sense.”
“Good,” Giles replied, sounding pleased.
Sidney gazed at him. Giles was the only person who had been so candid, who had discussed so openly the pain that he was feeling. It felt good to talk to someone, and especially it felt good to talk to someone who did not judge, who seemed tounderstand.
“It’s just...” Sidney sighed. “She’s the only woman who has ever looked at me like that.” He looked down at the table. He had never admitted to anyone—not Mama, not Amy, not Henry or anyone else—how he felt. The scarring had not just scarred his face. It had touched his soul. He had always been proud of how he looked. Not vain, just proud. He had enjoyed being handsome, like Papa. He had enjoyed coming from a beautiful family. Now, whenever he went into public situations, people stared and gawped. He hated it. Sometimes he was angry with them, but mostly he wanted to hide. Hide somewhere in the hills and never come out.
“That’s not true,” Giles countered, sipping his water. “You remain quite fair in appearance. Behold the charm of your eyes; they possess a captivating allure. You are most certainly a dashed heart-breaker.”
Sidney bit his lip. “No.” The word was hard. “No, I’m not. I’m scarred and hideous. People lookaway, Giles. Miss Highbury, she...” His throat tightened, not letting him express the pain and hurt he felt when she gazed away as though he was a fearful, hideous sight.
“One person looked away.” Giles fixed him with a hard stare. “Not everybody does.”
