Which begged the question, why hadn’t she? It was something he’d need to discover.
When his friend continued to stare, Percival sighed. “Occasionally we do converse on many varied topics. As I’ve told you before, she’s an intelligent woman.” And she’d stood by him for a year, even when he’d treated her poorly. Shame heated his neck and crept through his chest. I’m a prick. He cleared his throat. “Yet we kept everything strictly shallow. Shared nothing personal to protect ourselves, because it hadn’t mattered. Unless…”
That damned eyebrow quirked upward again. “…unless you were drunk.”
It was annoying how well his friends knew him. “Yes, and it’s suddenly troubling how much I turn to a bottle.” A shiver of fear wormed its way through his chest. Reliance on drink had become an obstacle to daily living. He was at the point now that he didn’t think he could make it through a day without a few fingers of brandy in the afternoon.
I need help. Could Lavinia provide that? Should she have to? He wasn’t her mess to clean up, and she didn’t deserve that, didn’t deserve the wreck of a husband like him.
“What are you thinking?” Randolph’s voice was once more soothing and lower. There was no trace of censure in the tones. “Are you remorseful?”
“Yes.” The admission was said in a barely audible whisper. His chest ached fiercely. How many people had he hurt when under the influence? “I don’t know how to stop. I’m not strong enough, yet if I do quit altogether, the memories, the sadness will prey upon me, and I’ll be helpless to stop either.” He stared at his friend as his heart thudded hard behind his ribs. “What then?”
“Perhaps you should let them come. Have them done and out where you can acknowledge them. Feel what they’re representing, and then move past them. Let them go so you’ll have room for others, perhaps more pleasant memories.” When Percy didn’t answer, Lord Randolph sighed. “How long has it been since you’ve had your last drink?”
He shrugged but refused to meet his friend’s eyes. “Shortly before you arrived.”
Randolph cursed beneath his breath. “No more coddling from me or any of your fellows. This past year, I’ve felt as if I’ve been losing you, bit by bit.” His expression was grim. “My best friend is slipping away because he doesn’t care about anything beyond his next tumbler of brandy, his goblet of wine… the memories of the people who have left this mortal coil instead of the people who are here now, in your life and waiting for your notice.” He stared hard at Percy. “I refuse to let you drink yourself to death in order to escape life.”
A wad of unexpected emotion lodged in his throat. “When I drink, I’m not as alone.” The admission was pulled from him.
“You’re not bloody alone now! I’m here, Lord Saintfort is here! Your daughter is here. Hell, Lavinia is here, always has been. Unless we don’t matter and you’re waiting for someone better to come along?”
“No.” Tears stung his eyes. Had he cocked up his life beyond measure? “At times, loneliness sucks at me, teasing me with its darkness, tempting me, telling me I can see them all again if I’d just let go and give up.” Never had he told anyone that, not even Lavinia. It was frightening, this standing at the edge of a dark void, wanting to come away but not having the strength.
“See who again?”
“My wife and child. My parents and grandparents. My sister.” He shrugged. Everyone who had ever left him. “That I might finally be at rest from the guilt and responsibility.”
“You were not responsible for their deaths. Fate is an unkind bitch. Illness and tragedy come for us all.” For long moments, his best friend stared at him, not with censure but with speculation and compassion. “You have a daughter who depends on you, Laughton,” he said softly. “You have friends like me who still care for you. Now you have a new wife you could possibly begin to love. I think you need that.”
“I don’t know if I can. Wasn’t one love of a lifetime enough?”
“To some men, yes, but you’re a romantic at heart. You need to be needed, to be cherished, to be in love.” One of his golden eyebrows lifted, and Percy wanted nothing more than to smack it. “Stop being selfish and arrogant. Start practicing gratitude and thanksgiving for what you have. The rest will take care of itself.”
“But—”
Randolph held up a hand. “Yes, you’ve lost much but you have so much more to gain if you’d just open your eyes and see.”
Percival slumped further in his chair. “I shall give it some thought.”
“Good. In the meanwhile, I’m going to help you by having your butler rid the house of any and all spirits he can find.”
Oh, dear God.
He would have protested, but he simply didn’t have the wherewithal. Drinking was slowly killing him, and he surely didn’t wish to leave Deborah behind as an orphan… with Lavinia. Did his wife even wish for children, a family?
If anything could sober him, it was that.
Lord Randolph’s words resonated deeply with Percival as the afternoon lengthened. Perhaps he should pick up the pieces of his shattered and messy life in order to build something respectable out of them. He’d had that once when he’d been happy and had the world seemingly at his feet.
Could he have it again?
And it would start with his daughter, then trying to befriend his mistress… er his wife. What he needed was to talk with Lavinia, discover what she wanted out of the marriage, what her expectations were. If he had a guide, perhaps, the transition would go easier.
Perhaps.
With a new resolve, he stopped in at the nursery suite just as Deborah was outfitted to go on her daily drive with him. “Ready poppet?” He certainly wasn’t, but he forced a cheerful note into his voice. It wasn’t fair to the child to think it her lot to fix her broken father. Yet anxiety chewed through his stomach, for it would be the first time that Lavinia would join them—the first time Deborah would meet her. Would it prove awkward? What if Lavinia didn’t enjoy being around children? Or what if Deborah had an immediate aversion to her?