by Diana Bold
Jessalyn caught her breath, picturing the scene all too clearly.
“Ethan couldn’t pull her out, but our older brother, Nathaniel, was close by and heard them screaming for help. Unfortunately, the ice was too thin, and Nathaniel fell, too. Ethan ran for help and managed to get a half dozen grooms to return to the lake, but by the time they arrived, Nathaniel and Lizzie were already gone.”
“He was just a child,” she whispered. “He couldn’t have foreseen it.”
“If our parents hadn’t been so crazed with grief, perhaps they could have made him understand that. But our mother took to her bed, drowning her sorrow in laudanum, and when our father returned from London, he beat Ethan half to death.”
She shook her head, aghast. How could a father do such a thing to his grieving young son? The earl should have comforted Ethan, not blamed him.
Julian scrubbed a hand over his face.
“I watched from right here.” He motioned at the railing that overlooked the great hall below. “Ethan didn’t even try to defend himself. He just stood there and took it. I can still see the tears streaming down his face as Father hit him again and again. I can still hear his ragged little voice begging for forgiveness.”
“It wasn’t your fault, either.” The grief and guilt in Julian’s voice broke her heart. “You were just a boy. You couldn’t have protected him from your father.”
“I should have tried,” Julian told her brokenly. “Instead, I repeated our father’s words and told Ethan I hated him. I told him it was his fault. All these years, and it still seems like yesterday.”
Jessalyn stepped forward and squeezed her brother-in-law’s shoulder, trying to offer whatever comfort she could. “You can’t change the past. But you’ve done everything you can to change the future. It’s meant the world to him to have you in his life again.”
Julian gave a shuddering sigh. “I just want to see him happy. I’m afraid asking him to return to Basingstoke was a mistake.”
“He can’t run from it forever. He’ll never be happy until he makes peace with what happened.” But she didn’t know if he was ready. She couldn’t stop thinking about the scars on his wrists, and the fact that he’d grown quiet during dinner and disappeared before dessert.
She’d wanted to follow him, but Jane had engaged her in conversation, and she’d thought he needed some space. But Julian’s story changed everything. A sick feeling bloomed within her, and she wondered what Ethan had been doing for the last few hours.
Julian gave her a wan smile. “I hope you’re right.”
“I should go see how he’s doing.” Jessalyn was suddenly desperate to find Ethan. She hoped her panic didn’t show. “Thank you so much for telling me what happened.”
Julian gave her a swift embrace. “I’m glad he has you. He needs someone to love him.”
“I do,” she whispered, feeling a little better for saying the words out loud. During the last few weeks, he’d tested her love to the breaking point and made her wonder if it wouldn’t be easier to just let him go when the time came, instead of fighting the inevitable loss. But Julian’s tale reminded her of all the reasons Ethan felt he had to run and all the reasons why she couldn’t let him. “I love him too much to let him go.”
Chapter Nineteen
After he left the dining room, Ethan drifted through the old wing of the castle, letting his long-buried memories wash over him in a wave. He lit a candle and moved from room to room with grim purpose. Each step he took scraped another scab off soul-deep wounds that had never quite healed.
He stared at the family portrait on the landing, then went up to the nursery and forced himself to enter Lizzie’s bedroom. Her things remained where she’d left them that cold January morning. A fine coat of dust covered every surface, and he wondered if he was the first person who’d entered this room since the accident. He picked up his sister’s favorite doll, then put it down as though it had burned him.
He’d shared a womb with Lizzie; they’d been two sides of a coin. He hadn’t felt whole since her death. Being here, where they’d spent so many happy, innocent days, was worse than he’d imagined.
God, he missed her so damned much.
Unable to stay a minute longer, he forced himself to visit the next stop on his trip through his nightmares—his mother’s bedroom. It, too, remained unchanged from his childhood. Apparently, Julian hadn’t wanted to deal with the past, either. He walked to his mother’s dressing table and fingered her silver hairbrush, then picked up a bottle of her perfume, stunned by the memories the scent revived.
How many times had he stood here and watched his mother prepare for some party? Lizzie would laugh and dance around, asking questions about the balls she’d go to and the gowns she’d wear. His mother had seemed like a fairy princess to him, so beautiful, sweet, and gentle.
Her pain had been the hardest to bear. She hadn’t the strength to withstand the loss of two of her children.
He couldn’t blame her for not standing up to his father on his behalf. She’d never had the courage to stand up for anything. She’d never had to. All her life she’d been sheltered and protected.
She’d been too lost in her grief to spare any thought to the children she still had left. He wondered how Julian had coped when she’d taken to her bed.
And he had the sudden, treacherous thought that his own wife would never react in such a manner. Jessalyn would never abandon her children when they needed her most. She’d never send her own son away, nor take the easy way out of anything.
Against his will, his attention drifted to the door that connected his mother’s suite of rooms to his father’s. This entire wing smelled of dust and decay, so he was fairly certain Julian hadn’t taken the master bedroom as his own. Did it, too, remain frozen in time?
Taking a deep breath, he crossed the room and opened the door. As he’d feared, the room was just as he’d remembered it, though he’d spent far less time there than in his mother’s. Still, a barrage of memories assaulted him.
Before the accident, his father had been loving and lenient, though seldom home. The earl had doted upon his beautiful wife and rambunctious children and spoiled them all with expensive presents and treats. He’d administered a few spankings to the boys, but they were usually well deserved and didn’t hurt much or last long.
Perhaps that was why the beating Ethan received after Elizabeth and Nathaniel’s death had destroyed him so completely. His father’s brutal treatment and uncontrollable fury had been out of character, and Ethan had already been so distraught with guilt, he’d literally felt something inside of him tear and give way.
He’d lost the safety and love he’d always taken for granted, and he’d never found it again, not in all the years since.
His hand trembled as he reached out and opened the top drawer of his father’s bureau. A rusted tin of butterscotch candy still nestled between the moth-eaten socks, as did his father’s revolver.
As a child, he’d been awed by the shiny metal and comforted by the fact that his father kept the weapon close to hand, in case anything should happen. Now, he couldn’t look at it without thinking of his father’s death. Had his father used this gun to end his life?
News of the earl’s death, just four years after the accident, had reached him while he was still away at school. He’d been pulled into the headmaster’s office and told his father had died and Julian was now his guardian. The headmaster claimed not to know what had happened, but in the weeks that followed, Ethan had learned from his schoolmates that the Earl of Basingstoke had come to a scandalous end.
He’d been too proud to ask Julian, and by the time he’d left school, he told himself he no longer cared. Now, more than a decade later, as he stared at his father’s gun, he felt some of his anger ease.
His father had been a hero in his young mind, taller and stronger and wiser than any other man in the world. In truth, the earl had been a spoiled aristocrat who’d never had to deal with the harsh realities of l
ife until he’d lost everything he ever cared about in one fell swoop.
The earl had handled things badly. His family had expected him to pick up the pieces, but instead, he’d lashed out and looked for someone to blame. Ethan had been an easy target.
Both of Ethan’s parents had become so lost in their grief they hadn’t even had the strength to keep living. He wanted to hate them for their weakness, but he feared he was more like them than he wanted to admit.
He pulled the gun out of the drawer and cradled it in his hands. He was every bit as damaged as his father had been, because the urge to put it to his head, pull the trigger, and put an end to his pain overwhelmed him.
Fitting that he should meet his end here—in his father’s room, with his father’s gun. He checked the barrel, and his heart sank when he realized it wasn’t loaded. In fact, the damned thing was so rusty it probably wouldn’t fire even if he found a bullet.
I could clean it. There must be some bullets around here somewhere. Where did Father keep them? His tumultuous thoughts ground to a sudden halt.
Christ. He couldn’t do this. Not here, where his brother and Jessalyn would find him. He couldn’t do it now and ruin Julian’s wedding.
What the hell was wrong with him? Somehow, he had to find the strength to get through the next few days. He couldn’t allow his death, no matter how welcome, to touch his wife or his brother. They’d already suffered so much, and he couldn’t bear to be the cause of any further pain to either of them.
He’d destroyed far too many lives already.
* * * * *
Jessalyn searched for Ethan for half an hour. He wasn’t in any of the rooms she’d checked, but the castle was huge, and she didn’t know her way around. Her comment about leaving a trail of breadcrumbs hadn’t been too far off the mark. She feared she’d get lost and find herself stranded in some distant, unused wing.
When she ran into Julian for the second time, outside his bedroom suite, she gave a sigh of relief. The earl would know where to look.
“Julian,” she called as she hurried down the hall to his side. “I’ve looked everywhere. I can’t find him.”
Julian frowned. “Perhaps he just needs some time alone.”
He was probably right. Perhaps she was overreacting.
But what if I’m not? Panic took root in the pit of her stomach. She knew her husband and his penchant for self-flagellation. He was fighting some terrible inner battle with self-destruction, and she couldn’t allow him to lose.
“Please, help me find him. He’s gone on a ghost hunt, and I’m afraid he’ll dig up things that are best left buried. He needs me, Julian. I think he needs us both.”
Julian held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded. “I imagine he’s gone to the west wing, where our parents’ suites and the nursery were. That’s where all the ghosts are buried.”
She hurried after him, unable to shake her dread. She never should have let Ethan go off by himself. She’d known how hard it was for him to come back here, how shaken and off balance he still was from Christian’s death.
Julian led her down a long, shadowy corridor far away from her warm, welcoming bedroom suite. In this part of the castle, a damp chill clung to the thick stone walls. She shivered a bit and wished she’d thought to bring a shawl. The hair stood up on the back of her neck, and she glanced over her shoulder, sure someone was watching her, only to find the hallway empty.
When she turned back around, Julian had paused in front of a half-open doorway. Something in his manner made her stumble to a stop and stare at him in dismay. He gave her a quick, unreadable look, then motioned for her to stay put as he stepped into the room out of her sight.
“Ethan, what are you doing with Father’s gun?”
Gun? Her brother-in-law’s words made Jessalyn’s blood run cold. What is Ethan doing with a gun? Images of Christian’s death buffeted her brain, and she clasped her hand over her mouth to keep from moaning in shocked dismay.
This was what she’d feared, deep down. But she’d never truly expected it.
“I was just… looking at it.” Ethan’s voice sounded lost and distant, and she moved closer, needing to see him. Julian stood right inside the door, obstructing her view, but she caught a glimpse of her husband standing in the shadows on the other side of the room, a revolver cradled in his elegant hands.
“Why don’t you put it down?” Julian’s voice remained soft and gentle, as though he was trying to calm a bedlamite.
“I’m not… I wouldn’t—” Ethan gave a harsh laugh and put the gun down on top of a bureau. “I’m not going to kill myself, Julian. Not the day before your wedding. Not when Jessalyn might find me.”
The way he’d worded his response was far from comforting. Jessalyn hugged herself tightly and blinked away the bitter sting of tears. He hadn’t said he wasn’t going to kill himself—just that he wasn’t going to do it today.
Julian approached his brother warily, and Jessalyn stood frozen in the doorway, unable to tear her gaze from the drama unfolding in the room before her. “Does that mean you do plan to kill yourself later, at a more convenient time and place? Ethan, think about what you’re saying.”
“Is that how he did it?” Ethan parried. “Did he kill himself with this gun?”
“You’ve gone all these years without knowing how he died?” Julian shook his head, seeming at a loss. “I thought someone told you.”
“Did he kill himself?” Ethan demanded. “And if so, how did he do it?”
“In a manner of speaking, I suppose his death was a suicide.” Julian sighed and ran a trembling hand through his hair. “But he lacked your dramatic flair. He didn’t shoot himself, he just climbed inside a bottle and never left it, not even when his health was gone and the doctors warned him he’d die if he didn’t quit.”
“He drank himself to death?” Ethan gave a soft, hollow laugh. “Somehow, I never pictured that.”
Julian sank into a nearby chair. A cloud of dust rose as he settled into the upholstery. “It wasn’t pretty, and it wasn’t quick.”
“They both just gave up, didn’t they? Mother with her laudanum, and Father with his liquor. Why couldn’t either of them look past their own grief and remember they still had two children?” Ethan’s voice broke, and he knelt at his brother’s feet, bowing his head, his shoulders trembling. “I’m so sorry, Julian. Because of me, you were left alone. Because of me, they abandoned you.”
Just like you’re going to abandon me. Jessalyn’s heart broke as she stared at her beautiful, broken husband. All her life, every man she’d ever loved had left her. She’d fought to keep Ethan at her side, but now she had to face the irrevocable truth. He would destroy himself. Whether he did it now, or ten years from now, it seemed inevitable. His pain went too deep. All the love in the world couldn’t heal his scars.
Julian buried his hands in Ethan’s hair and forced him to lift his head. “It wasn’t your fault. Do you hear me? None of it was your fault. Elizabeth chose to go skating with you. Nathaniel chose to go in after her. Mother and Father chose to drown their sorrows in their poison of choice. You were the victim. You were the one who was wronged. When they should have been comforting you, they were blaming you instead.”
“I’m just like them.” Ethan’s voice was so rough, she could hardly understand him. “I’m weak. I’ve spent my whole life running.”
“But you’re not running anymore,” Julian whispered. “You came back. You stayed at Christian’s side when he needed you. You came back here, even though it’s killing you.”
“You’re wrong. I can’t stay. I’m leaving as soon as I can.” Ethan pushed to his feet, his chest heaving, and his eyes wild with emotion. “As soon as the wedding is over, I’m taking this gun, and I’m going to go somewhere in the jungle to end it, once and for all.”
Something inside Jessalyn snapped. Hearing him put his plan into words was more than she could bear. She loved him, but she couldn’t continue to watch him destroy himself. S
he was certain Julian would talk him out of taking his life, at least for a little while, but she couldn’t continue to live this way. She couldn’t keep pouring her heart and soul into a man with a death wish.
* * * * *
Ethan had never meant to put his plan into words. He feared the words rang with petulant drama, or worse, that they sounded like a plea for help.
Julian didn’t look shocked by his irrational threat. Instead, he merely shook his head. “You won’t do it, Ethan. You’re better than them. You’re stronger.”
Refusing to meet his brother’s confident gaze, Ethan paced the length of the room. “I tried once before, you know. Right after Mother died.”
“No.” Julian’s confident tone slipped somewhat. “I didn’t know.”
“Christian saved me. If it wasn’t for his friendship, I never would have made it through those years. And how did I repay him? I rejected him in the worst possible way. I drove him to take his own life. How can I live with that?”
Julian shoved out of the chair and caught Ethan’s arm, forcing him to stop. “He told you, then? He told you how he felt about you?”
Ethan shoved away from him, stunned. “You knew?”
“I guessed. I’d heard rumors about his… tastes, and I wanted to know if you were his lover.” Julian let his hand fall to his side and gave a weary shrug. “It wouldn’t have mattered. But I had to know.”
“I never knew,” Ethan admitted. “He was my best friend. My only friend, and I never knew he felt that way. I went a little crazy when he told me. If it wasn’t for Jessalyn, I don’t know what I would have done.”
“She loves you, Ethan. I know you’ve been through hell. But how can you walk away from that? Isn’t it better to have a chance at happiness, no matter how small, than to throw your whole life away?”
Ethan blew out an impatient sigh. Somehow, his brother had made all his pretensions of noble sacrifice seem ridiculous. “You would think so, wouldn’t you?”
“Don’t do it,” Julian said softly. “I need you to stick around and show up for Christmas every year and be an uncle to my children. You have to give me a chance to make up for all the years we lost. You’re all I have left.”