Page 70 of Caught With the Scarred Duke
The hand tightened on his shoulder. “My darling boy, there is no such thing as curses. As for the day you were born—you were my blessing. From the moment I first felt you kick, you were beloved. From that moment on, all I wanted in the world was for you to grow healthy and strong, and for you to find happiness.”
“I cannot have it,” he replied, shaking his head. “If I love her, if I lower my guard, she will be taken from me, just as you were taken from my father.”
“Oh, sweet boy, I died because God decided it,” the voice of his mother urged. “It was a choice between you and me, one of us destined for heaven, andIdecided it was to be me. So, my darling son, do not squander the gift I gave. Do not waste this life of yours being miserable and alone. Wake up, Cyrus. Wake up.”
All of a sudden, the hand upon his shoulder yanked him backward, a strong grip shaking him so hard that his teeth rattled. He twisted his head to get a glimpse of his mother, but the smoke had obscured that dear angel, as her vigorous hands continued to shake him.
His eyes snapped open to find two faces looming over him.
“Wake up!” Silas barked, as Cyrus realized it was not his mother at all who was shaking him, but his friend.
“I think heisawake,” Anthony said, squinting down at Cyrus. “Darnley? Darnley, are you well?”
Cyrus batted away Silas’ hands. “What are you doing, man? Have you gone mad?”
“We were about to askyouthe same question,” Anthony replied, frowning. “We knocked, but no one answered, so we broke in. When we did, we found you here, slumped in your chair, and—honestly—feared the worst. It did not sound like you were having a particularly pleasant nap.”
Cyrus shook his head, but it did nothing to clear the haze. He had been drinking for three days, had not slept more than a few hours, and when hedidsleep, he had been having such nightmares that only more liquor could soothe him.
It was not my mother.The realization stung, as he leaned forward in his chair and rubbed his tired eyes.
The voice in his nightmare had been his exhausted, fractured mind, taking pieces from her diary and putting them into the mouth of a figment. Her hand on his shoulder had been Belinda’s hand, on the day that Teresa left Darnley Castle.
He had only found that diary after his father and grandfather had died: a precious old book that he kept in a wooden chest, up in the tower. He retreated there sometimes, just to read passages from his mother’s life, getting to know her through the words she had written: her joys, her fears, her hopes, her humor, her affection, her kindness.
Teresa is safe.The second thought soothed the sting of the first, freeing him temporarily from the crushing vision of seeing her, lifeless, on the grass.
“I came here to be alone,” he growled at his friends. “The locked door should have been an indication that I do not want company.”
Anthony snorted. “Well, that is your tough luck, because we are not going anywhere.”
Scratching his stubbled jaw, Cyrus raised his gaze and frowned. “How did you even know where to find me? I told no one of my intentions.”
“A worried individual took the liberty of sending for us,” Silas replied, settling down in a nearby armchair. “He informed us of your unexpected… condition and also told us that ‘the townhouse at Bath’ actually means the hunting lodge.”
At once, Cyrus knew who had revealed his location. “Mr. Brewster sent for you?”
“Itoldyou he would guess!” Anthony groaned. “And the poor man swore us to secrecy. Pleaded with us not to tell you that it was him.”
“He is deeply concerned about you, Darnley,” Silas said more firmly. “And after hearing what he had to tell us, so are we.”
“For one thing,” Anthony chimed in, “you have never been able to stomach your liquor. I am astonished you are still breathing if you have imbibed the contents of all these empty bottles.”
Cyrus squinted around him, noting the bottles his friend was referring to, scattered wherever there was room: on side tables, on the floor, on the shelves, on the mantelpiece. The hunting lodge was a mess, torn apart through bouts of rage and violent grief, as if a terrible storm had blown through it.
“Just because I usually choose not to imbibe to excess does not mean I am not capable of doing so,” he replied crisply, a little embarrassed that his friends were seeing his hunting lodge in such a state.
And him.
He could not even blame Mr. Brewster for summoning his friends. If he had been in the gardener’s shoes, he would have been worried too. Indeed, he suspected that his friends might have arrived in the nick of time, for if he had one more of those nightmares, if he woke up one more time without Teresa beside him, he knew he would lose his mind entirely.
Why did you have to come into my life, Tess? Why did you have to make it so that I can no longer be alone?
For his entire life, solitude has been his escape, his comfort. Now, he could not even manage three days, the loneliness like a rock upon his back, getting heavier with each setting and rising of the sun. Soon enough, it would crush him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“What has happened, Darnley?” Anthony asked, finding a chair for himself, dragging it to where the other two sat.
