Sophia, who’d been pacing the room, stopped, her expression alarmed. “She’s not a widow?”
“No. She’s the former mistress of the Duke of Lister.”
Sophia blinked, and then scowled. “I thought she might still be married. If she’s left Lister, who she was before hardly matters.” She dismissed Helen’s scandalous past with an impatient wave of the hand. “What matters is that you dress at once and go to Edinburgh and apologize to that woman for whatever boneheaded thing you’ve said or done.”
Alistair eyed his sister, now vigorously drawing the curtains. “I’m appreciative of the fact that you assume the rift is my fault.”
She only snorted at that.
“But what,” he continued, “do you think I should do once I apologize? The woman won’t live here.”
She turned to face him and pursed her lips. “You asked her to marry you?”
Alistair looked away. “No.”
“And why not?”
“Don’t be a fool, Sophia.” His head was aching, and he just wanted to go back to sleep—perhaps forever. “She’s been the mistress to one of the richest men in England. She’s lived in London or near the capital all of her life. You should’ve seen the jewels and gold Lister gave her. Perhaps you hadn’t noticed, but I’m a disgustingly scarred, one-eyed man who is nearing his fourth decade and living in a dirty old castle in the middle of nowhere. Why the hell would she want to marry me?”
“Because she loves you!” Sophia nearly shouted.
He shook his head. “She might say she loves me—”
“She admitted it to you and you did nothing?” Sophia looked scandalized.
“Let me finish,” Alistair growled. His head was pounding, his mouth tasted of the ale he’d drunk the night before, and he hadn’t shaved since Helen left. He just wanted to get this over with and go back to bed.
His sister pressed her lips together and waved a hand impatiently for him to continue.
He inhaled. “She might think she loves me now, but what future would she have here with me? What future would I have if she grew tired of me and left?”
“What future do you have now?” Sophia retorted.
He raised his head slowly and looked at her. Her expression was fierce, but her eyes were sad behind their round spectacles.
“Are you looking forward so much to spending the rest of your life alone?” Sophia asked quietly. “Childless, friendless, without a lover or helpmeet to even talk to in the evenings? What life is this that you’re protecting so desperately from Helen’s defection? Alistair, you must have faith.”
“How can I?” he whispered. “How can I when at any moment everything might change? When I might lose everything?” He traced his scars. “I can no longer believe in happy futures, in good luck, in faith itself. I lost my face, Sophia.”
“Then you’re a coward,” his sister said, and it was like a slap.
“Sophia—”
“No.” She shook her head and held out her hands to him. “I know it will be harder for you than most. I know you have no illusions left about happiness, but goddamn it, Alistair, if you let Helen go, you might as well kill yourself now. You’ll be giving up, acknowledging not that happiness is capricious, but that you have no hope of happiness.”
He drew in a painful breath. His chest felt as if shards of glass were buried there, breaking, shifting, cutting into his heart. Making him bleed.
“You can no more change your face than she can change her past,” Sophia said. “They’re both there; they’ll always be there. You must simply learn to live with your scars as Helen has learned to live with her past.”
“I have learned to live with my face. It’s her I’m worried about.” He closed his eye. “I don’t know if she can live with me. I don’t know if I could bear it if she couldn’t.”
“I do.” He heard her walk closer. “You can bear anything, Alistair. You already have. I once told Helen that you were the bravest man I’ve ever known. And you are. You’ve had the worst happen to you, and you view life with no illusions. I can’t even imagine the courage it takes for you to live day to day, but I’m asking you now to find an even greater courage.”
He shook his head.
The bed dipped, and he opened his eye to see her kneeling by his bed, her hands clasped before her as if in prayer. “Give her a chance, Alistair. Give your life a chance. Ask her to marry you.”
He rubbed his hand down his face. God, what if she was right? What if he was throwing away a life with Helen out of pure fear? “Very well.”
“Good,” Sophia said briskly, and rose to her feet. “Now get up and get dressed. My carriage is waiting. If we hurry, we can get to Edinburgh by nightfall.”
HELEN WAS SHOPPING on High Street when she heard the scream. It was a beautiful, sunny day, and the street was crowded. She’d decided once they reached Edinburgh to stay for a bit and buy Jamie and Abigail some new clothes. Jamie’s wrists were beginning to stick out from the cuffs of his coat. Her mind was taken up with fabrics and tailors and the scandalous cost of a small boy’s shoes, so she didn’t immediately turn to see what the problem was.
At least not until the second scream.
She looked then and saw several paces away a young pretty woman fainting gracefully into the arms of a startled gentleman in a dashing dark crimson coat. To the side stood Alistair, scowling at the girl, who’d obviously taken dramatic fright at his face.
Alistair looked up and saw her, and for a moment his expression went blank. Then he was making his way through the crowd to her, his gaze never leaving her face.
“It’s Sir Alistair!” Abigail exclaimed, finally seeing him.
Jamie strained at Helen’s hand. “Sir Alistair! Sir Alistair!”
“What are you doing here?” Helen asked when he was in front of them.
Instead of answering, he sank to one knee.
“Oh!” She placed a hand over her heart.