… what?
Stay in Albus and run the estate? He’d run it into the ground. Come back here and squire Matilda on his endless and useless society rounds as second earl to Ashford and Happenham? He’d already succeeded in shredding her reputation, she’d have a very bad go of it, and would end up hating him. Retire to the Happenham estate and put up with his bitter aunt and hapless cousins? To quote his Matilda, hell no.
He shook his head at himself for thinking of her as his. He did so want her to be, but what did he have to offer her? He couldn’t keep his promise to return her to her home and family, and if his remaining options here seemed grim to him, how could they appeal to someone from a more exciting time?
He’d seen the eager look on her face when Adkins had hounded her for information. She’d wanted to speak of it, clearly missed her old life, and like a brute, he’d put a stop to it, unable to accept that he couldn’t give her what she most wanted, which had to be to return.
He thought it funny that most of the women in this time considered him a catch, but he didn’t want a single one of them. Matilda didn’t seem overly impressed with his wealth, or at all concerned about status. That was all he had, now that he was stripped of his ability to traverse time. He felt as helpless as when he’d been forced to concede to Kostya and leave him behind in order to keep Matilda safe. As helpless as when he’d realized that Camilla was beyond saving.
If he failed one more person, he didn’t know how he could go on, but if he somehow succeeded in getting Matilda back, his future looked even more bleak without her. Utterly exhausted from the last weeks, he knew he still wouldn’t be able to fall asleep, not even with the warm comfort of Matilda sleeping sweetly beside him.
He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, only to be overcome with images of his sister when they were young. That carefree girl had been gone long before she ran away to France, but he still missed the comrade who’d been a part of his life since three minutes after he was born, who knew him better than he knew himself sometimes.
There hadn’t been time to beg Kostya’s forgiveness for what he’d spared him having to do, and offered a prayer for Camilla. Her deeds had been indefensible, but all he could bring himself to recall was the bright, fiery child that he ran with, up and down the hills of their home. He hadn’t felt that free in nearly fifteen years now, and had given up hope of ever feeling so again.
He touched the spot between his brows that Matilda pressed to get him to quit frowning and wished he could go to her, the only other person who knew him quite the same, and still miraculously loved him. It was with her that he felt the closest to pure happiness.
He stayed in his chair, hoping morning would come quickly so he could renew his restless pace and be able to push his futile thoughts aside once more.
Chapter 10
Dexter took a deep breath, glanced apologetically at Emma, then swung open the door, preparing for the worst. He deserved whatever he got, and the weeks of avoiding Tilly’s family came crashing down on him in an avalanche of guilt.
Still, he couldn’t help but be glad to see Tilly’s American granny when she burst in on him and slapped him across his shoulders with her handbag. Their shared English grandmother had died when they were too young to remember her, and his Egyptian granny was strict and formidable, and he had to force himself to visit her out of obligation. But when Tilly’s gran wasn’t pummeling him, she was one of his favorite people in the world.
Helen Barlow finally stopped beating him and pulled him into a hug, telling him he’d grown another foot, even though he’d been the same height since he was eighteen and she well knew it. Her kind round face, impeccably made up even after a transcontinental flight, returned to its angry state as soon as she let him go, and he got a
Stay in Albus and run the estate? He’d run it into the ground. Come back here and squire Matilda on his endless and useless society rounds as second earl to Ashford and Happenham? He’d already succeeded in shredding her reputation, she’d have a very bad go of it, and would end up hating him. Retire to the Happenham estate and put up with his bitter aunt and hapless cousins? To quote his Matilda, hell no.
He shook his head at himself for thinking of her as his. He did so want her to be, but what did he have to offer her? He couldn’t keep his promise to return her to her home and family, and if his remaining options here seemed grim to him, how could they appeal to someone from a more exciting time?
He’d seen the eager look on her face when Adkins had hounded her for information. She’d wanted to speak of it, clearly missed her old life, and like a brute, he’d put a stop to it, unable to accept that he couldn’t give her what she most wanted, which had to be to return.
He thought it funny that most of the women in this time considered him a catch, but he didn’t want a single one of them. Matilda didn’t seem overly impressed with his wealth, or at all concerned about status. That was all he had, now that he was stripped of his ability to traverse time. He felt as helpless as when he’d been forced to concede to Kostya and leave him behind in order to keep Matilda safe. As helpless as when he’d realized that Camilla was beyond saving.
If he failed one more person, he didn’t know how he could go on, but if he somehow succeeded in getting Matilda back, his future looked even more bleak without her. Utterly exhausted from the last weeks, he knew he still wouldn’t be able to fall asleep, not even with the warm comfort of Matilda sleeping sweetly beside him.
He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, only to be overcome with images of his sister when they were young. That carefree girl had been gone long before she ran away to France, but he still missed the comrade who’d been a part of his life since three minutes after he was born, who knew him better than he knew himself sometimes.
There hadn’t been time to beg Kostya’s forgiveness for what he’d spared him having to do, and offered a prayer for Camilla. Her deeds had been indefensible, but all he could bring himself to recall was the bright, fiery child that he ran with, up and down the hills of their home. He hadn’t felt that free in nearly fifteen years now, and had given up hope of ever feeling so again.
He touched the spot between his brows that Matilda pressed to get him to quit frowning and wished he could go to her, the only other person who knew him quite the same, and still miraculously loved him. It was with her that he felt the closest to pure happiness.
He stayed in his chair, hoping morning would come quickly so he could renew his restless pace and be able to push his futile thoughts aside once more.
Chapter 10
Dexter took a deep breath, glanced apologetically at Emma, then swung open the door, preparing for the worst. He deserved whatever he got, and the weeks of avoiding Tilly’s family came crashing down on him in an avalanche of guilt.
Still, he couldn’t help but be glad to see Tilly’s American granny when she burst in on him and slapped him across his shoulders with her handbag. Their shared English grandmother had died when they were too young to remember her, and his Egyptian granny was strict and formidable, and he had to force himself to visit her out of obligation. But when Tilly’s gran wasn’t pummeling him, she was one of his favorite people in the world.
Helen Barlow finally stopped beating him and pulled him into a hug, telling him he’d grown another foot, even though he’d been the same height since he was eighteen and she well knew it. Her kind round face, impeccably made up even after a transcontinental flight, returned to its angry state as soon as she let him go, and he got a
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