heart was in his throat. There was no way to set things right.
As he turned back toward the hall, the singing suddenly stopped. He could hear the quick approach of her bare feet on the stone floor, and he turned to face her. “Lady Layton, I am so very sorry …” The words died in his throat. Her eyes were wild with loathing.
“You did this. You killed my son!” She advanced on him, her breath coming in quick pants.
“Lady Layton, I assure you …”
Holding a letter in her hands, she thrust it toward his face, moving so close he could feel her anger like a palpable thing.
“This arrived earlier,” she hissed. “Read it!”
Numb with shock, he took the note. He could just make out its words in the dim light.
Lady Layton,
You have my sincerest condolences on the death of your son, my dear friend Gareth. The loss of a child at any time is heartbreaking, and it must be all the more so, considering the circumstances.
If only Lord Dorset had taken the time to ensure that his carriage was in good working order! His burden must be painful indeed, to know that his carelessness caused such a tragedy.
I will continue to pray for the full recovery of your lovely daughter, Miss Annabelle. May I beg you to keep me apprised of her condition?
With my deepest sympathies,
Damien Digby, Esq.
Like a blow from a hammer, his heart slammed in his chest, air rushing from him in a single breath.
He
hadn’t
inspected his carriage on the morning of the race. Surely he’d have noticed a weakness in the wheel if he had. He’d been so caught up in his anger that he’d been unforgivably careless. He could’ve prevented the debacle to begin with. He’d practically forced the race with his outrageous bet. He could see that now. He’d had a direct role in Gareth’s death, in Annabelle’s suffering.
“I am so sorry,” he whispered. He was burning up in the cold room, sweat trickling over his brow.
“Don’t you dare apologize. It does no good. It will not bring my son back.” Lady Layton’s hands were in her hair, fingers entwined with clumps of it, pulling so viciously that the skin on her face was distorted.
“I do not know what to say.” Guilt pounded through him.
“I carried him in my womb, and gave birth to him in a wash of blood. I raised him, coddled him, kissed him. Look at him now.” With a shaking hand, she pointed at Gareth’s pale, gray body in the candlelight.
“It was a terrible accident,” he said. Yet his had been the defining role in the whole tragedy, setting events in motion until they crescendoed in destruction.
“I know what you are about upstairs. You sit like a specter, haunting my daughter’s bedside, waiting and watching.”
“I am only trying to help Annabelle.”
“I won’t allow you to ease the burden of your guilt.” Her voice was rising now, gaining power. “You’ll not take my last child from me. I want you gone from this house. Vow that you’ll never return.”
He stilled. “But Annabelle …”
She slapped his cheek in a burst of fury, snapping his head to one side. “As long as I live, if you dare approach my daughter, I will kill you myself.”
“Lady Layton … please.”
“You’ll never see my daughter again. You’ll never speak to her, or write to her. Swear it!”
He didn’t think he could. He couldn’t leave Annabelle like this. She needed him. God in Heaven, Lady Layton was in no condition to care for her.
“She’ll despise you when she learns what you’ve done,” she said. “If you have a shred of honor, you’ll leave and never return.”
He took a deep breath, trying to force back air into his lungs, and fight off a mounting sense of anguish. He’d caused Annabelle so much pain. In such a real and tangible way, he was responsible for the whole of it. Hadn’t his father spoken of recklessness and repercussions? Could it be that honor was all he had left?
Perhaps it was.
“I swear it then,” he said softly. He turned and made his way
As he turned back toward the hall, the singing suddenly stopped. He could hear the quick approach of her bare feet on the stone floor, and he turned to face her. “Lady Layton, I am so very sorry …” The words died in his throat. Her eyes were wild with loathing.
“You did this. You killed my son!” She advanced on him, her breath coming in quick pants.
“Lady Layton, I assure you …”
Holding a letter in her hands, she thrust it toward his face, moving so close he could feel her anger like a palpable thing.
“This arrived earlier,” she hissed. “Read it!”
Numb with shock, he took the note. He could just make out its words in the dim light.
Lady Layton,
You have my sincerest condolences on the death of your son, my dear friend Gareth. The loss of a child at any time is heartbreaking, and it must be all the more so, considering the circumstances.
If only Lord Dorset had taken the time to ensure that his carriage was in good working order! His burden must be painful indeed, to know that his carelessness caused such a tragedy.
I will continue to pray for the full recovery of your lovely daughter, Miss Annabelle. May I beg you to keep me apprised of her condition?
With my deepest sympathies,
Damien Digby, Esq.
Like a blow from a hammer, his heart slammed in his chest, air rushing from him in a single breath.
He
hadn’t
inspected his carriage on the morning of the race. Surely he’d have noticed a weakness in the wheel if he had. He’d been so caught up in his anger that he’d been unforgivably careless. He could’ve prevented the debacle to begin with. He’d practically forced the race with his outrageous bet. He could see that now. He’d had a direct role in Gareth’s death, in Annabelle’s suffering.
“I am so sorry,” he whispered. He was burning up in the cold room, sweat trickling over his brow.
“Don’t you dare apologize. It does no good. It will not bring my son back.” Lady Layton’s hands were in her hair, fingers entwined with clumps of it, pulling so viciously that the skin on her face was distorted.
“I do not know what to say.” Guilt pounded through him.
“I carried him in my womb, and gave birth to him in a wash of blood. I raised him, coddled him, kissed him. Look at him now.” With a shaking hand, she pointed at Gareth’s pale, gray body in the candlelight.
“It was a terrible accident,” he said. Yet his had been the defining role in the whole tragedy, setting events in motion until they crescendoed in destruction.
“I know what you are about upstairs. You sit like a specter, haunting my daughter’s bedside, waiting and watching.”
“I am only trying to help Annabelle.”
“I won’t allow you to ease the burden of your guilt.” Her voice was rising now, gaining power. “You’ll not take my last child from me. I want you gone from this house. Vow that you’ll never return.”
He stilled. “But Annabelle …”
She slapped his cheek in a burst of fury, snapping his head to one side. “As long as I live, if you dare approach my daughter, I will kill you myself.”
“Lady Layton … please.”
“You’ll never see my daughter again. You’ll never speak to her, or write to her. Swear it!”
He didn’t think he could. He couldn’t leave Annabelle like this. She needed him. God in Heaven, Lady Layton was in no condition to care for her.
“She’ll despise you when she learns what you’ve done,” she said. “If you have a shred of honor, you’ll leave and never return.”
He took a deep breath, trying to force back air into his lungs, and fight off a mounting sense of anguish. He’d caused Annabelle so much pain. In such a real and tangible way, he was responsible for the whole of it. Hadn’t his father spoken of recklessness and repercussions? Could it be that honor was all he had left?
Perhaps it was.
“I swear it then,” he said softly. He turned and made his way
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