“Sebastian!” Thaddeus strode up, pushing through the group that had surrounded Mr. Jennings, who was sitting up and holding his nose while glaring at Sebastian. “Come with me.”
“I can’t, I—” He craned his neck to see if he could spot her. But she must have already gone.
“We need to speak. Now.” Thaddeus gestured to a side door that led, eventually, to Thaddeus’s office.
Goddamn it.
Thaddeus pushed him forward. The guests were already backing away from Sebastian, as though worried he would take a swing at them, too.
Only if you malign my sister, he thought.
“Undo it.”
Sebastian stood in Thaddeus’s office, which was finally beginning to look like Thaddeus’s office, and not Sebastian’s. There were maps on easels, stacks of papers wrapped in neatly organized bundles, and a large pitcher of water on the small side table next to the most comfortable chair in the room.
Not untidy ledgers, packs of cards for playing patience when he had none, and a decanter of whiskey.
Thaddeus sat behind the desk, both palms flat on its surface, a grim expression on his face.
“I can’t undo it. Not without proper procedure.”
“Proper procedure?” Sebastian shot back. “What the hell does that even mean?”
“Mr. Muttlefield approached me, knowing of your circumstances.” Thaddeus’s tone was his most pedantic, and also—not coincidentally—the one that Sebastian hated the most. “He suggested we had a mutual interest in ensuring our family members are able to ascend to a higher place in Society than they are in currently. In his case, he wishes his daughter to achieve greater heights than he could. In your case—well, we spoke about it just this afternoon. I took that as my cue to confirm with Mr. Muttlefield that his plan met with your approval. I didn’t want to mention it to you until it was a certainty since I didn’t want to get your hopes up. If I was wrong, this afternoon’s discussion was the time to inform me you wished to stay ostracized from your family and everyone you love.” He sounded thoroughly condescending, and Sebastian wished Nash were here, if only so Sebastian could ask his friend to punch his cousin.
“Goddamn it, Thad.” Sebastian paced in front of the desk. “I had already told you I wanted to do things on my own. Make my own way. I certainly didn’t intend for you to arrange a marriage for me.”
Thaddeus ignored his objections, as Sebastian had known he would. “Ana Maria and I agreed to allow you to indulge your fancy for a time. But we knew you would change your mind.”
“So I’m a dilettante now?” The fury roiled inside of Sebastian, nearly making him want to punch Thaddeus in the jaw. Even though that would do no good in the current situation.
“You always have been a dilettante.” Thaddeus was firm in his judgment. And he wasn’t wrong seven months ago. But then Sebastian’s situation had changed. And he had changed. Like he was changing now. “You expect me to believe that you want to take the hard route? When you never have before?”
You don’t know me anymore, Thad.
Because you haven’t let him.
“Just meet Mr. Muttlefield and his daughter. He appears to be a gentleman, you would never know he is a merchant. And his daughter is quite lovely. A worthy addition to our family.”
Sebastian uttered a derisive snort. “You are such a snob, Thad. And here I thought you were all for the common man and earning respect because of deeds, not divination.”
“Deeds not divination, hm?” Thaddeus sounded amused.
“It’s not amusing.” Sebastian paused. “This is my life, my future. My mother and her machinations tried to alter my course, but this is what I have to go from. This. Me as a bastard, not as a casual aristocrat who can marry back into everyone’s good graces.”
“Is it that you’re not certain you can? I assure you, Mr. Muttlefield holds considerable sway in our world.”
“Our world. Your world. Why does it have to be bifurcated?”
“Bifurcated? Your vocabulary has improved, even if your social standing has not.”
“Stop treating this like a game, Thad. This isn’t a military operation where someone will win and someone will lose. This is my life. I don’t want my life to change.”
Thaddeus ignored his last words. “I just want you to have the life you were intended to have, despite your mother.” Thaddeus’s tone was nearly convincing.
But there was Ivy to consider. And there was him, and what he wanted.
“Just think about it, Sebastian. Compare what you would have with what you currently have. Which is nothing.”
“I have plenty.” Sebastian took a deep breath. “I have work, good, hard work that is rewarding in several ways. I have friends. I have pride. I have the satisfaction of knowing that if someone listens to me it’s because of me, not because of what I can do for them. And,” he said, exhaling, “I have someone I love.”
There. He’d said it. And it felt right.
He exhaled. “I’m sorry, Thaddeus. I know myself now, much better than I did before, and I know I cannot deny how I feel.”
“Well, then,” Thad said in a gruff voice, “I’ll tell Mr. Muttlefield.”
And I’ll tell her.
“What is it?”
Octavia kept asking, and Ivy kept shaking her head.
“You’re going to have to tell me,” Octavia said in a matter-of-fact voice. “You can’t keep anything from me, you promised. Except for those details,” she added hastily.
Ivy made a strangled noise that was half sob, half laugh.
The two sisters were in a hansom cab Ivy had hailed impulsively as she left the duke’s residence. She hadn’t waited for her wrap; she presumed Lady Ana Maria would keep it safe for her. She’d just needed to leave.
What if he married? Miss Muttlefield seemed perfectly nice. He could return to his former way of life with a wealthy wife and a stable position in Society.
Would he want that?
And what did she want? She’d been asking herself that for a few weeks now, and she hadn’t been able to answer the question. Until now. When it was too late.
“What is it?” Octavia asked for perhaps the hundredth time. Her sister was nothing if not persistent.
The cab slowed, and then stopped.
“There’s an overturned cart up ahead,” the driver yelled.
Wonderful. More time to sit and think about it all. She might as well tell Octavia; it would pass the time, at least.
“I got introduced to a young lady,” Ivy said, forcing herself to speak slowly, “and it was implied that Sebastian might be marrying her.”
Octavia leaped back in surprise. “No. No, he can’t. He loves you surely.”
Ivy shrugged. “I don’t know. He hasn’t said.”
“Have you said?” Octavia asked pointedly.
Ivy rolled her eyes, although her sister couldn’t see it, thanks to being in the dark cab. “No, but it’s not my place to say.”
Now it felt as though she could see Octavia rolling her own eyes. Remarkable talent her sister had.
“For goodness’ sake, Ivy, you are a resourceful, powerful woman. You shouldn’t resort to submission when there is something you want.”
The anger bubbled out of nowhere, startling both of them. “I’m not powerful and resourceful. I am determined. And I am frightened. Do you think it was easy to do all this?” Ivy said, spreading her hands wide. “To gamble with our very lives and to come here with no guarantee that we would succeed? I wish I were powerful.” She snorted. “Most of the time I just think about what will happen if I don’t continue, and that fear drives me.” And just as suddenly, her anger subsided, and she felt flattened. As if her anger had taken all her energy.
Octavia’s hands found hers in the dark, holding tight. “I know you feel sometimes as though you aren’t brave.”
Ivy snorted again.
“But you will do whatever is necessary to protect whomever you love. Why not do the same for yours
elf?”
Ivy took a deep breath. The carriage rattled over the cobblestones, jostling their shoulders together. Ivy could see the buildings had become less posh, meaning that they were nearing the club. Closer to where she belonged. And, she knew, where she wanted to belong.
She didn’t want to go back to that life, even if it was offered to her. And she couldn’t ask him to make the choice between her and his future, if there was a chance he might return to being who he was.
She lifted her chin, feeling the resolve flowing through her. Better. She felt much more like herself. Not some lovesick schoolgirl who was blind to what life would be like if she compromised, because love was all.
Love was all, but it was love for oneself. One’s family. Not discarding everything, one’s entire character, because of another person.
“I do love myself,” Ivy said at last, smiling in the dark as she heard Octavia’s sigh of relief.
“Good. I do not want a sister who doesn’t know she’s as wonderful as I know she is.”
Ivy’s eyes teared up, and she squeezed Octavia’s hand.
And the carriage rolled up in front of Miss Ivy’s, Sebastian standing in front of the club, his expression tense.
She would be fine, no matter what. She knew that. She would just have to make sure he understood that, as well.
Sebastian peered inside the cab, but was unable to see who its occupants were. The club was just reaching its peak hours, so there had been plenty of carriages pulling up, only to leave Sebastian disappointed as people who were not Ivy emerged, eager to gamble at the club.
What was taking her so long? He’d expected her to beat him here, but he’d run inside and asked, and nobody had seen her yet.
He hadn’t bothered with a carriage back to the club, instead opting to walk, his mind churning with all the possibilities. What if she hadn’t heard anything? What if her leaving was entirely unrelated to him?
His previous ducal self would not have allowed that to be a possibility, since everything was about him, but now he knew that there were other factors involved.
And if she had left because of him, what was she thinking now?
Octavia emerged from the cab, and Sebastian’s chest tightened as he waited.
She looked at him as she descended, then lowered her gaze as she deliberately shook out her skirts. Her entire demeanor suggested she wanted to avoid him, but that was the last thing he would allow.
Even if that meant he had to return to the habits of his former arrogant self.
“You’re back,” he said, then winced. Of course she was back. She was here, wasn’t she?
“I am,” she replied shortly. She walked past him to go in the club. Henry held the door open, glowering at Sebastian as she stepped inside.
That was no different, at least. One of these years Henry would unbend enough maybe to even smile at him, but tonight was not that night.
Octavia made a gesture to indicate he should follow, and he nodded.
“Tell her how you feel,” Octavia urged as she went into the club behind him. He glanced back at his friend with an aggravated expression on his face.
“What?” she asked in a pugnacious tone. “Oh, and I’ll take Byron and Keats out.”
“Thank you,” he replied, speeding up his pace. Ivy was already halfway across the club floor, barely acknowledging the staff or customers. Not like her at all.
“Ivy,” he called, and her steps slowed, then sped up again.
Damn it.
He began to run so he was abreast with her in just a few moments.
“What do you want?” she asked in a peevish tone.
Good. She had spirit enough to be argumentative, so he hadn’t lost her yet.
“I want to speak to you. I want to—” He glanced around, noticing the interested faces all around them. “Damn it, can we be alone, please?”
“That’s what got us into all this trouble,” she murmured, but she continued to walk, opening the door that led upstairs to the private apartments and holding it open for him to follow.
“The sitting room,” she said.
They walked into the room, Sebastian waiting until she had seated herself, shutting the door behind them. He went to the cabinet where she kept the whiskey, bending down to retrieve it from the back of the shelf.
He opened the bottle, pouring two glasses for them. He plucked them both up off the table, holding one out to her. She took it with a raised eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.
He sat beside her, resting his forearms on his knees. Now not certain what he should say.
“Well?” she said. “You wanted to speak to me?”
He took a sip of the whiskey, which burned down his throat. Not nearly as painful as how it felt when he saw her leaving the ballroom.
“I don’t know what was said—” he began.
“I can tell you,” she interrupted. “I am glad you will be able to return to your life. Your real life, not whatever you were doing here.” He opened his mouth to object to her derisive tone.
She is hurting, too, he reminded himself. Last night wasn’t just something they could dismiss. They had to talk about it. Even if it turned out she didn’t want him.
That burned far more than whiskey.
“Did you think what occurred between us was mere indulgence?” he asked.
She shrugged. Her expression was guarded. “I believe you feel—felt something for me. I also believe that you belong there, not here. You have a marvelous opportunity.”
His eyes narrowed. “So that is what you want?”
She lifted her chin. “It is not what I want, Mr. de Silva, that is important.”
“Sebastian,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Sebastian. I am a practical businesswoman. I would not begrudge you something that would allow you to be who you truly are.”
“And who am I?” He could feel the bitterness, the anger, churning inside his gut. Did she think so little of him that she thought he could just walk away? Did she think so little of herself?
“You are an aristocrat. You barely know how to shave yourself.” The words rankled.
“I’ve been learning!” he shot back, sounding defensive.
Damn it. This was not how this was supposed to go.
“And we both knew that it was a momentary alteration in your life. I can have your things sent. Unless you wish to just leave them.”
He knew she was hurting. She had to be, given that she was saying these things. But—
“That’s it? You won’t fight for me?”
That chin lifted even more. “I have been fighting ever since that card game, Sebastian.” She exhaled. “I am tired. I am tired of fighting.” She spoke in a dispirited tone, and just like that, his anger dissipated.
And an idea, a wonderful idea, occurred to him. An idea that could solve everything. He’d need to smooth things over with Thaddeus, but the end result would be what they all wanted. He could give her everything she’d lost.
He put his glass down on the table between them, going to kneel in front of her. He took her glass from her hand, then clasped her hands in his.
“Ivy. What if—what if we could both return?” His enthusiasm increased as he considered it. “What if we were to get married? Thaddeus would gladly give me money, he has offered several times. He would likely allow us to live on one of the many Hasford estates. We could have a home. I refused his offers before out of pride, since I wanted to prove I could make it on my own. But I can, I’ve shown that. So if we got married, we could go back to our life, and we would have everything we had before. Both of us. Together.”
She stared at him blankly. He squeezed her fingers, keeping his gaze on her.
And then she spoke.
“That is your offer?” Her tone was cold, and he stilled. “You think I long to return? That I am so desperate to be a respectable lady once again that I will give this up? My employees will lose their positions. I will have to cede everything I own, ev
erything I am, to you. Because you’re my husband. Because you would effectively own me.”
Her face crumpled, and he released her hands, leaning back on his heels.
“I thought you had come to know me. Know what I want. I thought you knew sooner than I did.” She smothered a sob as her eyes grew bright. “I have finally come to realize that this is who I am, and who I want to be. I want to live my own life, Sebastian.”
She rose, shaking with emotion. “I do not want to be obligated to anyone else for my livelihood. That is no way to live. At least not for me.” She swallowed, the expression on her face sending daggers to his heart. “You can go back, Sebastian. You should go back. That is who you are, no matter what you were playing at these past few weeks. An entitled aristocrat who believes that being kowtowed to is more important than your pride or sense of self.” She walked to the door, flinging it open. “Go now. I can send your things to you, or you can leave them here. I am certain you will soon be able to afford far finer replacements.”
“This isn’t fair, Ivy,” he growled. His anger had blazed back, feeling as though it would engulf him. “You haven’t given me a chance.”
She uttered a derisive snort. “A chance for what? A chance to try to cajole me to reject all of my hard-won values? A chance to deny who I am, who I have become?” She shook her head. “No. You don’t deserve that chance. You don’t deserve me.”
He kept his gaze on her for a few long moments, his heart aching as his fury pounded. Odd how anger and love could coexist inside a person, but there it was.
“Go,” she repeated in a softer tone.
He clenched his jaw, the words crashing in a tumult in his brain, but not able to say anything. Certainly not anything that would help.
He strode to the door, yanking it open so hard it crashed against the wall, then slammed it behind him.
“Sebastian?” Octavia stood in the hallway, her eyes wide.
“Not now,” he said, walking past her to his room. He whistled for Byron and Keats, then walked across the club floor, ignoring everyone, to leave.
Forever.
Damn her.
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