Chapter Twenty-Seven

Briggs

“You’re coming at me too hard, Goswick,” says Sebastian, his gloved hands taking the brunt of each of my constant punches.

Inside his club, the dark clouds of a late afternoon thunderstorm cast a gloom that even the lamps can’t seem to shake. I’ve been here since two, and now, a little over an hour later, I’m soaked with my own sweat.

“Hey, all right, all right!” Sebastian shouts. “I give up.”

I drop my fists, sucking in breath after breath, then fall onto the wooden bench behind me.

Sebastian circles the table off to the side of the boxing ring, pouring two large glasses of water from a pitcher. “You’ve become quite the fearsome competitor, Goswick,” he says, offering me one. “You’ve been practicing.”

“I have,” I say. “It’s better when I’m here, though.”

“What’s on your mind?” Sebastian lowers himself to sit beside me, thunder rumbling, quaking the windows surrounding the room.

I start to open my mouth but then recall my discussion the previous evening with Westley. I want to do better. I am better.

“No, what’s on your mind, Bash? We always talk about me. How are you?”

Sebastian stares at me for a moment. “You want to talk about me?”

“Of course I do,” I protest. “You’re my friend. The last thing you came to me about was the new townhouse you were purchasing. I believe you moved forward with that transaction.”

Sebastian raises his eyebrows and he shrugs in compliance. “I did, actually. It was something I had been meaning to purchase for some time.” He’s suddenly elsewhere, though he sits right beside me, and I shift to see him better.

“Were you planning on buying this house so that you could offer it to the lady you were in love with?” I ask.

He shrugs again silently.

“Ah,” I say, it all making sense.

“But I should have a house anyway, of course. I’ve been living in the apartments above this place for too long, and I need slightly less modest accommodations,” he says quickly.

“Of course,” I agree.

“So it’s mine now,” Bash says quietly. “Even if she isn’t.”

I clear my throat, running my hands up and down my legs. Bash isn’t always so forthcoming with personal anecdotes. In fact, our relationship, I realize, much like Westley accused me of, has been rather one-sided. Me coming to Sebastian to update him on all the unwelcome drama of my life. I want to know more about this part of my friend that he’s slowly revealing to me.

“Do you mind if I ask why your union wasn’t to be?”

“Her father,” Sebastian supplies. “He very firmly believed that she was better suited to a gentleman belonging to the landed gentry. Perhaps nobility, even. He couldn’t fathom his daughter marrying a humble solicitor.”

“She doesn’t even know you have this business now?” I ask, motioning to the huge room.

“No. I inherited this place a few months after our ill-fated elopement.”

“An elopement.” I lean back against the wall and sigh. “You really did want to marry her.”

“With every fiber of my being.” Sebastian tosses a towel on my face playfully. “So now that you’ve heard all about me, I think it’s very much your turn to confess your deepest, darkest secrets, my friend.”

I sag at the reminder. “There’s not much to confess, I’m afraid. I am stuck between the proverbial rock and hard place.” Taking several chugs of water, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “And I’ve done it to myself.”

“Apple tree?” Sebastian guesses.

“Apple tree.” One more swig of water. “Sebastian, there is nothing in the world I want more than I do her, but I…”

Sebastian leans back. “You what?”

I rub the heels of my hands into my eyes, like that’s going to make whatever I have to say more eloquent. “I have been the cause of literally all her troubles this summer, and I’m afraid if I tell her that I’m…that I’m in love. In love with her…?” Good Lord. I sway with the weight of having actually said this out loud, but Sebastian is right there, grabbing me by the elbow and pulling me upright again.

I’m in love with her. I’m in love with everything about her, and this is the first time I’ve ever felt this way about anyone. Relief washes over me in a wave of giddy lightheadedness.

“Thank you,” I say, reaching for my water once more and taking a long gulp.

“Take your time,” says Sebastian.

I exhale slowly, then turn to my friend. “If I tell Blythe I’m in love with her…”

“She’ll laugh in your face?” Sebastian guesses.

I shake my head. “Worse. She’ll return my affection.”

“I’m no longer following.”

“Sebastian, I must confess something,” I say quietly, leaning back against the ivory-painted wall. “I’m broke. I have no money.”

“Oh, I know that.”

“Excuse me?”

He chuckles at this, leaning forward and dangling his hands between his knees. “You haven’t paid me in weeks! Besides, once you sold your townhouse, I knew something was amiss. I can wait, don’t worry—you’re not my only client, and you’re lucky I like you best, you handsome fop.” He tussles my hair.

“I’m so sorry, my friend. I was so ashamed, I didn’t know how to broach the subject.”

“Maybe stop your frivolous spending, and you could—”

“It actually wasn’t me,” I admit.

Sebastian stops. Waits for me to be ready to continue.

“I didn’t lose the money, Sebastian. It wasn’t me. It was…” I sigh deeply. “It was my father. His spending, his gambling. He had a mistress .” I can hardly say the last word.

Sebastian takes a slow, shaky breath. “Brother, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. To leave this heavy burden on your shoulders while you’re still grieving? That’s not fair. I wish you would have told me sooner. Let me be there for you. Does anyone know?”

“No,” I reply, then add, “just my brother.”

“Not even Blythe Rowley?”

I laugh at this. “Believe it or not, it’s so much easier to have her think that I was the irresponsible party in this situation. I can’t have her think ill of a man who can never redeem himself, but maybe I can. Maybe I’ve become better for her presence in my life, to the point that she may finally see me for who I’ve become.”

“You need to tell her how you feel, Goswick,” says Sebastian quietly.

I shake my head. “No,” I say firmly. “No. I can’t do this to her. I can’t saddle her with my debt and my problems. When she looks around her, she sees possibility and opportunity, and if I burden her with all this, I’ll destroy her. I can’t be responsible for that. She deserves better than that. Better than me.”

“Awfully presumptuous of you to decide for her,” Sebastian mumbles.

“What?”

He shouts this time, “Awfully presumptuous of you to decide for her.”

“I think I’m being rather altruistic, actually.”

“It’s not about you this time, Briggs. It’s not about you.”

My shoulders slouch. “This is a lesson determined to teach itself to me over and over again this year.” I sigh. “Go ahead, explain what you mean.”

“You can’t decide for her if being with you would ruin her life.” He stands up straight, paces back to the table, and pours himself another glass of water. “What if being with you is everything she wants? What if she was willing to find a way to make it work? You need to talk to her and not tell her what she should or shouldn’t want. You’re not respecting her.”

My chest expands at this realization as I try and muster the bravery to actually admit to Blythe how I feel. That I don’t just want her attention, I want her . Perhaps Sebastian’s right—instead of carrying the burden of this feeling alone, I should try to relieve some of the weight by letting Blythe tell me exactly where she stands.

“Now get up,” says Sebastian. “The way you’re holding your right fist is going to get you a broken wrist. Again.”

I grin down at my lap and then follow my friend back into the ring.

…

Westley offered to go with me in the morning. I told him no. I told him I wanted to see Blythe alone. I would tell her exactly how I felt and allow her to make the decision of whether or not she wanted what may or may not be growing between us.

So I take Apollo out alone, just as Mayfair begins to rally from the dinner parties, the plays, the balls, of the night before, and I allow myself to wonder what Blythe’s reaction will be when I tell her I don’t want to discuss Sabrina Dixon ever again. I cannot bind myself to her for the rest of my life, even if it does mean losing Mistlethrush. Losing what’s left of my family’s dignity. What good is dignity, after all, if you’re miserable in having it?

I stand before Henry Barlow’s townhouse, take a deep breath, climb the stairs to the door, and knock twice. The butler answers and then leads me to the dining room where Julian Browning and Amy Rowley eat their breakfast.

“Mr. Goswick,” says Julian, washing down a bite of egg and toast with his coffee. “I’m surprised to see you here. I hope you’re well?” He stands and bows to me.

I nod, removing my hat from my head, and return the gesture. “Mr. Browning, Miss Amy, it’s good to see you.”

Amy stands, her right hand holding her place in a book open, and she curtsies.

“I came to call on Miss Rowley. I thought perhaps she would like to go for a walk with me through the park.”

Julian shakes his head and runs his hand through his messy curls. “She hasn’t left her room since we returned from Lady Clifford’s ball. I’m not entirely sure she’ll be up to seeing you.” He steps back as I feel my heart plummet into my stomach. “But please, join me in the drawing room. I’ll let her know you’re here.”

I follow him into a well-appointed drawing room and take my seat on a small sofa while Julian heads upstairs. While I wait for Blythe, I take in my surroundings. Plenty of elaborately upholstered floral furniture, and there are ticking clocks in almost every corner. Clearly, Mr. Barlow collects them and puts them on display here, and the passage of time has never put me on edge so keenly.

My attention is soon drawn to the top of the stairs, where Julian takes each step rather slowly. I stand when he joins me.

“I’m afraid she is confined to her bedroom for the rest of the morning, Mr. Goswick,” he says. “She is not seeing guests today.”

There was a part of me that hoped after the events of the other night, Blythe would still wish to see me as much as I wish to see her, the memory of our almost-kiss still playing over and over in her mind. I try to remember now exactly what was said, piece the words together and decide whether or not we almost admitted our feelings for one another, or if I heard only what I wanted to hear. “I see,” I say quietly, even though I don’t.

Julian smiles a little sadly. “I know that you are rather overcome by our Blythe,” he says. “I don’t blame you, of course, but it must be difficult to see her flaws.”

I chuckle and shake my head at the floor. “Trust me, I’m well aware of her flaws.”

“Then you know how proud she is.”

“One only has to spend a fraction of an hour with her to figure that out.”

“She is proud in more than one way.” Julian motions for me to take my seat again. Lowering his voice and himself into a chair across from me, he continues, “Yes, she is proud in all the obvious ways. Of her talent, of how clever she is. But she is excessively proud of how hard she works.”

I don’t really know what to make of this. It dawns on me that I’ve only ever seen Blythe in the setting of Wrexford Park, and there would be no need for her to work there. I let Julian continue.

“She is proud of the way those around her, all who she loves, can rely on her, because dependability is crucial. Dependability is indisputable. If she’s loyal to you, then you’ve earned it. If you break her trust, then you’ve earned that, too.”

“I wouldn’t,” I begin to say. “I wouldn’t be that way. I wouldn’t hurt her.”

Julian leans back and runs his hand down his face. “I’m genuinely fond of you, Mr. Goswick,” he says. “And I think Blythe is, too, but…”

“If I’ve already done something to break her trust—” I begin.

“No, it isn’t that,” Julian interrupts. He sighs. “She would murder me for telling you this.”

“You can trust me,” I say, leaning forward, my elbows on my knees.

Julian takes a deep breath. “Her father lost a great deal of money several years ago. He invested in a friend’s business, and that friend disappeared with the money. This was an unthinkable sum, and they have never quite recovered.”

The footman appears, placing a tray of tea on the table between us. It makes sense now. How determined Blythe is about her business, and how reluctant she is to place her trust in anyone who hasn’t proven themselves to her. My understanding, however, is accompanied by a knot in my stomach. I’ve always known that Blythe Rowley wasn’t nearly as wealthy as her cousin Charlotte. But I didn’t realize how her family might be relying upon her now. To make a good match. A match with a man who isn’t drowning in his own debt. Maybe she’s realized that too. Maybe this changes things.

“In any case,” Julian says, then hesitates before he adds, “give her time. Give her space. She always comes around.”

“Of course.” I stand quickly, hoping to give her the time and space she needs as soon as possible. “I should go. Please tell her I’m sorry to have missed her.”

“I will,” Julian replies.

I step back out onto the street and stare up at the window above the front door. I think I see her shadow, standing there watching me, but she disappears behind the glass before I can be certain.