Chapter 30

"William?" Beatrice asked him as he walked past, "What happened?"

"What do you think?" He thundered, "She is happy without me, as is everyone else."

"That is untrue and you know it."

"Is it?"

"Yes! Now, talk to us. You do not have to be such a recluse, you know."

"I shall discuss it with you later. For now, I am far too angry to properly word how I feel, and I need a moment alone."

"Are you angry with us?"

"Well, the comments were hardly necessary were they?"

"I suppose not," she sighed, "I was only trying to lighten things a little."

"And you have not at all succeeded in that," he scoffed before taking a breath, "My apologies, but this is exactly what I was talking about. I need a moment."

"Very well. Take all the time you need."

He very much intended to.

The evening air was cool, and the balcony he found was empty. It was perfect for the respite that he longed for.

However, he was not in the right mind to allow himself such a thing.

Instead, he cursed himself for what he had done. All that he had needed to do was tell Olivia how he felt when they were at his mother's house and she was right in front of him, the very first time that he realized just how he felt for her. It would have been so easy, and nobody would have been hurt, but he had allowed his father one last victory over him.

He had been so afraid of turning into his father that he had continued to let him rule his life, and as always it had been to his detriment. He had so wanted to be alone; it was all he had ever wanted, and now…

He had everything he had ever wished for and he was miserable at the prospect of it.

It was typical for a man of his status to enjoy cigars, but he did not. He did not like the taste, nor the smell, but with everything that had happened he knew that it was the only thing that would calm him down. He lit one, inhaling it slowly. He hoped that when he exhaled, all thoughts of Miss Staunton would accompany the smoke and fly away from him, but of course they did not. She remained with him, haunting him.

Olivia thought it would feel good to tell William what she thought, but it only made her miserable.

Perhaps it was because it was not how she truly felt, but she felt as though she had lost a final attempt to tell him how she felt, whether any good came of it or not.

"You seem tense," the lady she discovered to be Beatrice said gently, "If you do not mind my asking, what happened?"

"What didn't happen?" She sighed, "Did His Grace not tell you?"

"No, but from the way he immediately walked out of the ballroom and told us not to speak with him, I deduced that whatever it was, it could not have been anything good."

"You would be correct in such deductions."

"I do not mean to pry," she continued gently, "But you should know that he thinks the world of you."

"He certainly does not," Olivia replied, laughing almost.

"He is good at hiding it, to be sure, but that does not mean it isn't the case. You need only look at him when he talks about you to know how he feels."

"It doesn't matter."

"Why wouldn't it? I can tell by how miserable you are yourself that you do not mean that."

"But I do. It doesn't matter how he feels if he cannot make good on it. I have a gentleman that wishes to marry me, and he has done what is necessary to do so in the span of a mere week. I was with the duke for who knows how long, and he still cannot even say that he likes me as a companion."

"But surely you know why that is?"

"Yes, his father, but that is of no consequence. No matter the reason, this is how he is and if I cannot count on him being there for me then I cannot count on him at all. I have to do what is best for me, just as he is doing for himself."

"I understand," she said gently, "I was in your position myself, not so long ago. The dukes are rather difficult in their own ways, aren't they?"

"You mean that-"

"Yes, I am a duchess, but do not mention it. It is a title that I cannot stand."

Olivia laughed in spite of everything.

"One day I might meet someone of your status that doesn't loathe it entirely."

"I somehow doubt that," she smiled, "Miss Staunton, I will not pretend to understand you completely, but I do at least a little. If for nothing else, do you truly want the last time you talk to him to have been about whatever it was about? If you never see him again, would you be happy with how you left him?"

"I do not think that there is any way I could be happy leaving him."

"Then at least have it be that you were honest with both him and with yourself. Perhaps you were, and if that is the case then you have done all that you can and you can return to your betrothed and act as if nothing is wrong at all. If not, however, the duke has headed out to the third balcony down the hall. I watched him go."

"Why are you telling me that?"

"Because the dowager duchess said she saw him happier than he had ever been when he was around you. She said he laughed, and that you made him laugh without being cruel to others, which in all honesty is the only way anyone else knows how to make him laugh. You are special to him, and I cannot let you slip away from him without being able to say that I did what I can. It is as I said, though. The choice is yours."

With one last smile and nod, she returned to her group. They all looked at her sadly, and she wondered what they were thinking. They must have hated her, for one; to them, she was the one lady that brought some form of joy to their friend's life and now she was refusing to speak with him. Yet, they were not looking at her with hatred, more so curiosity. It was likely because she seemed to be the one lady besides the two duchesses that he could tolerate.

Was that enough to see him one final time?

The way her feet started to move to the door without her thinking told her that it had to be.

As the duchess had said, he was on the third balcony down the corridor. She saw the smoke before she saw him, and as she stepped outside she coughed, grabbing his attention immediately.

"Miss Staunton?" He asked, surprised.

"Your Grace," she began before coughing again, "I wanted to apologize."

"I can put out the cigar if it is a problem."

"Oh, no not at all. I have smoked before."

"Have you?" He grinned.

She had not. She did not even know why she said that she had. She couldn't stand the smell of it either, hence her coughing simply from being near it. Even so, she took the cigar from him and tried to inhale it, spluttering immediately.

"No," she admitted, laughing, "And in all honesty I do not understand why anyone would."

"It helps calm the nerves."

"Are you nervous, Your Grace?"

"I have been calmer, I suppose."

They looked at each other, and they both started to laugh. Their conversation from before was forgotten momentarily, and it was just the two of them laughing together and choking on the remnants of the smoke.

"This is all so ridiculous," she sighed, handing the cigar back to him.

"What is?"

"All of it. I cannot stand it. I hate that I have to pretend all of the time. I can't do it anymore."

"Then do not."

"I have to. Every time I act as I want to, bad things happen. I don't want it to be that way anymore. I can't keep being so disruptive to everyone."

"Where is this coming from? You have never had a problem with that before. It is one of the things that I-"

He stopped himself, and it only proved Olivia's feelings towards him.

"You are crying," he said suddenly.

"I am not."

"Your eyes are red, and there are tears running down your cheeks. What would you call that?"

"It is because of the smoke, of course."

"Is it?"

It wasn't, of course it wasn't, but he couldn't know that. He couldn't know that it was because he had made it so glaringly evident that he did not want anything to do with her, or that he did but couldn't bring himself to say as much.

"Why are you here?" She asked with an exasperated sigh.

"I live here," he replied, brows furrowed, "I hardly ever leave London. In fact, the only reason I have ever left was to see my mother just now. London is my home."

"I do not mean London. I mean here, this ball. You hate things like this, you told me yourself, so why are you here?"

"I could ask you the same question."

"I have made it quite clear that I am here with my parents and betrothed. I do not think I could explain it much more than that. What's more, I love events such as this, which I will repeat that you do not, and so I will ask you a final time why you are here."

"I needed to forget you," he snapped.

"What?"

"I needed to get away from Bolton. I couldn't handle it anymore. You were everywhere I looked. Everyone talked about you incessantly, and your absence was somehow more noticeable than your presence and I couldn't take it. I had to leave, so I came back to London, but it appears that there is not a corner of the earth where I can go that you will not follow me to."

"I did not follow you to London."

"But you did! I lay awake at night and you are with me, refusing to leave, and all that I can think about is every mistake that I have ever made in regards to you, so I cannot sleep. You haunt me, Miss Staunton, and I do not care what you say but I cannot rid myself of you. You have consumed my very being, and it has gotten to the point that my friends are concerned for me, and they are doing everything in their power to distract me, so if you must know, that is why I am here."

She froze. He seemed to ramble on, but there was no anger in his voice, not even frustration. He seemed exhausted, and not much else.

"You could have left me behind, you know," she sighed, "I was resigned to my life as your mother's companion, and I was happy enough. Then, I was resigned to my life as Lady Buckingham. Both times, you've arrived and uprooted it all and made me question everything. Why did you do this to me?"

"Why did you do this to me?" He asked in return, "You talk about how happy you were before, but I was no different. I was a bachelor, ready for that life to never change. I was wealthy and happy and unattached to anyone and anything. I liked it that way, keeping my distance and therefore my sanity, but you- you made me like life."

"You already liked your life."

"No, you made me like life in general. The world was brighter with you around. The sky was more blue, and the grass was more green. Now you are gone, and the color left with you and it will never come back. It doesn't matter how much I want it to, nor how easy you might think it would be to bring it back, I cannot have you. I cannot do that to you, nor to myself."

"Why not? What could possibly be holding you back that is more powerful than how you feel for me?"

"The fact that I am a coward. I do not know how else to put it. I am ashamed of it, but there is no changing it. I told you, I am my father's son and that is all that I will ever be, and you are anything but your father's daughter. You broke what he built, and that is something that I will never be able to do, and I refuse to drag you down with me just because I…"

"Say it," she whispered.

"Miss Staunton, you should not be alone with me unchaperoned."

"Say it," she repeated, "There is no harm in it, for it is as you say, we cannot change our circumstances. I am going to turn around and leave, and I will never see you again, so you might as well just tell me how you feel before it is too late. You have nothing to lose, after all."

"Miss Staunton-"

"No. You say you are your father's son and you cannot undo that. That is fine. That man did whatever he wanted, and you want to tell me something, and so it does not matter how much you feel you cannot do it, you must, because you are just like him."

But he did not say a word, and so she laughed softly, shaking her head.

"Very well," she whispered, "You are right, I should not be here. I never should have come to you in the first place. I tried, Your Grace, to show you that you could be worth more than you think you are, but I cannot do it for you. If you are too afraid to say how you feel, even with your title and status and wealth, then you are correct. You are a lost cause."

"I love you."

She froze. It was exactly what she had wanted him to say, exactly what she had been pressuring him to say, but she truly did not think that he would.

"Your Grace, I-"

"I have wanted to tell you for a long time now, but I wanted it to be right, and now… Well, there isn't a worse time for it, but you are right. It no longer matters, and we will never see each other again. You are to be married."

"And you are to remain a bachelor at any cost."

"And you… You are still unchaperoned."

By that point, he was mere inches from her face, and she edged closer, daring him to close the gap entirely.

"I suppose that I am, Your Grace," she whispered softly.

"And we are completely alone."

"I suppose that we are."

"Do you love me too?"

"Your Grace, that does not matter anymore."

"No, it does. You told me yourself, we have nothing to lose. I told you that I love you, and so you can do the same. Do you love me?"

She looked deeply into his eyes, which were pleading with her. She knew it was safer to say no, and to run back into the safety of the ballroom, but she couldn't do it to him. He had bared himself completely to her, and she needed to do the same, no matter the cost.

"Yes," she sighed, nodding into him, "Yes, Your Grace, I love you too, endlessly and hopelessly."

It was then that he kissed her.

He was not the brute that he wanted everyone to believe he was, and that was evident in the gentle way that he held her as he pressed his lips to hers. Even at the height of passion, he was so caring towards her, and when they broke apart she did not try to make any excuses for the tears streaming down her face.

There was nothing in the world that she wanted as much as him, and she could not have him because he refused to have her.

"Goodbye, Your Grace."

"Don't," he said firmly, shaking his head, "Don't say goodbye. I cannot bear to hear it."

"Then… Then I shall say goodnight. There is no harm in goodnight."

"I can handle that, I suppose," he sighed, "Goodnight, Miss Staunton."

She had to force herself to leave him outside.

"What a triumph!" Her father declared in the carriage, "Olivia, Lord Buckingham is so happy to have you as his wife. He says you are a joy to be around, and that he cannot wait to spend the rest of his life with you."

"And what do you think of him, dear?" Her mother asked her, "Do you like him?"

"It does not matter," the viscount scoffed, "We have found a suitable match, and he will not be getting away. Now that you have met, Olivia, I can tell you that I received the confirmation this morning. You shall marry him next week, and you will make him very happy indeed."

Olivia nodded, unable to argue. Even if she could, there was nothing that she could say. She would marry him the week after, and she would make him happy, and she would be a good companion to him. Strictly speaking, there was nothing wrong with the life that she was going to lead.

But it was not what she wanted.