The Glass House (Capt, Lacey 3) by Ashley Gardner

Author:Ashley Gardner [Gardner, Ashley]
Format: epub
Publisher: Ashley Gardner
Published: 0101-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

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Chapter Twelve

I lost track of the time I sat in Mrs. Beltan’s parlor after Louisa had gone. I’d sunk down onto the pillow-strewn couch where she’d sat, unable to move, unable to think. Time seemed to forget about me, and I forgot about it.

I could not believe I had been such a fool about a woman I cared for—again. I had loved my wife, Carlotta, loved her to distraction. And yet, I’d been impatient with her, brushed her aside with brusque words or snapped rebukes. All the while I’d think that, later, I would make it up to her, that I loved Carlotta so much I could explain and ask for forgiveness. She would understand, I was certain.

I could not see that all that time I had hurt Carlotta, hurt her deeply. And then, when later came, she’d been gone.

I’d been furious with myself when I’d discovered that Carlotta had eloped with her lover, knowing I only had myself to blame. I’d sworn that if ever I had another chance at happiness, I would be the kindest, most patient man a woman could ever know. I had learned my lesson, I’d thought, a hard and painful one.

And what had I done? Louisa had stood beside me through every one of my troubles—when Carlotta left me, when Brandon got us nearly thrown out of the Army, and now in London when our lives were so different. I owed Louisa my very life.

And, so, to repay her, I’d hurt her. I’d let my feud with Brandon blind me to the fact that I’d abused my friendship with Louisa and profoundly distressed her.

I sat still, angry with myself, and also angry with Louisa. Why had she not told me I’d upset her before this? Why had she not told me so that I might stop, might make amends before it was too late?

The answer, of course, was that she had told me. Since our return to London, Louisa had tried time and again to make me reconcile with Colonel Brandon, to put the past behind us. And time and again, I had refused.

I was a blind, bloody fool, and in that little parlor, warm from the baking ovens of Mrs. Beltan’s shop, I faced that naked truth.

I was still there when Bartholomew came to fetch me for the supper with Grenville and Lord Barbury. Bartholomew informed me worriedly that Grenville’s carriage had called for me, and I’d be late if I did not leave.

I did not much care anymore, but I sighed, got to my feet, and let Bartholomew lead me out.

The world was still dripping and gray when I arrived in Mayfair and Grenville’s. We supped again in his ostentatious dining room at a table meant for a dozen. This evening, only three of us sat here, Grenville at the head of the table, I to his left, and his guest, Lord Barbury, to his right.

As I’d noted at the funeral, Barbury had aged since Grenville’s soiree, his face thin and wan.

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