“Yes?”
“The earl is a good man deep down beneath his current… difficulties. He merely needs to believe it for himself.” Then he strode down the hall, presumably to find paper and pen.
Oh, Andrew, what is happening to you?Sarah pondered his mental state while she slipped her feet into a pair of coral stain slippers. The golden embroidery winked in the candlelight. Afterward, she retrieved a lightweight ivory shawl. How far gone was the earl, exactly, and could anything bring him back? By the time she’d thrown the garment about her shoulders, Barton had returned.
He stood at the open door with a scrap of paper in one hand and a frothy garment of moss green in the other. As she eyed it, he offered it to her. “This belongs to you.”
Wordlessly, she fingered her nightgown—the one she’d worn on her wedding night. “I feared he would have tossed it out for rubbish. Or burned it.”
“The earl mended it, my lady.”
By rote, she gave her spectacles a shove. “Please thank the maid who did so.”
Barton shook his head. “There was no maid. The earl did it himself, my lady. Asked me for needle and thread days ago. Horrible stitching, but he wished to make the repair himself.”
“Oh.” She inspected the delicate gown, saw the rudimentary work, ran her fingers over the basic stiches. “I don’t know what to say.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Why would he do this?” He certainly had no skill in handiwork, but the fact he’d tried sent a tremble into her heart.
“Who can say, but I’ll wager he wanted to try and make amends with you even if he couldn’t find the words.” Barton gave her the scrap of paper. “Here are the directions as best as I can recall.”
“Thank you.” Sarah moved into the room and placed the nightwear on the bed. “Would you like to accompany me, Barton?”
“Oh, no.” He shook his head. “I suspect you’re the one to retrieve him.”
“If he’s unconscious, I can’t carry him.” Or if she found him dead, if his anxiety had driven him to take his own life… well, she refused to finish that thought.
“Come and find me at that point, but I don’t want to interfere in what needs repaired between the two of you.” He flashed her a knowing glance. “Now is as good a time as any.”
Heat jumped into her cheeks. Was it obvious to the household? “Very well. I’ll see what can be done.” Disinclined to linger for more probing conversation, she swept past him and moved down the corridor as her mind spun with horrible possibilities. The valet had no evidence that Andrew wished to make amends, but perhaps there was a chance regardless.
Was there anything more Gothic than moving through a hedge maze with trailing skirts and lace on one’s gown? The sun had begun its descent, but soon twilight would blanket the area. Even with Barton’s instructions, she made a few false turns and was obliged to backtrack. When she gained the center, the heavy, cloying scent of roses met her nose. That coupled with the more pungent aroma of the evergreen hedges and the soft buzz of night insects coming awake gave the area the feel of a romantic tryst.
This mission was anything but.
An arc of rose bushes sheltered a black, wrought iron bench. Pink, yellow, red, and white buds dotted the dark greenery. Some had bloomed, beckoning her forward. The soles of her slippers crunched against the gravel path as she slowly approached. The earl kneeled before the bench, his body crumpled, his head resting on his crossed arms on the seat.
Her heart skipped a beat. From the state of his clothing, it was clear he hadn’t cared about his appearance or personal hygiene in the week since they’d been apart. Stained buff-colored breeches, a loose-fitting lawn shirt that billowed in the slight breeze, scuffed boots made up his toilet. His hair stuck up in all directions, and when she came closer, the whiskers clinging to his chin and cheeks spoke of the fact he hadn’t shaved for days. Every breath he took was accompanied by a horrible gasping sound as if he struggled to keep his lungs moving.
“Andrew? Are you quite well?”
His broad shoulders twitched. “For the love of God, Sarah, go away.” He sucked in a breath. “Before I hurt you more than I already have.” He never glanced at her.
Her chest ached with empathy. This was not the man she’d first encountered. Oh, no. This man was beaten and broken beyond the norm. “I think you are the one hurting.” It was time to delve into the heart of his issues. She kept her voice soft and level as she approached. The last thing she wanted was for him to bolt.
“Yes.” The one-word answer sounded forced. “Leave me and let me die in peace.”
“I’d rather you find peace and live instead.”
A terrible wheezing issued from him. Did he attempt a laugh? “I can’t breathe.”
“I don’t doubt it, for you’ve let your feelings about everything in your life build up inside you for far too long.” There was nothing for it. She’d have to take the matter into her own hands. Sarah reached the bench and perched on the edge, so near to him the heat from his body transferred to her. “The only way to purge those emotions and ease the anxiety is to allow yourself to feel them.”
“I can’t.” His shoulders jerked and he pressed a hand to his chest.
“You must.” At the last second, she stopped herself from touching him. “You need to allow yourself to grieve, to feel, to acknowledge what has happened, to talk about it. Above all, you must understand that all of it, except what you did in anger, was not your fault.” The last was a guess, but knowing him, he’d tried to assume responsibility for everyone. If allowed to continue, it would indeed kill him.
A ragged scoff escaped him, but he didn’t look at her. “I don’t need to feel anything,” he gasped out, yet there was enough of the arrogant earl in that statement to indicate he wouldn’t soon expire. “Father always said that showing emotion made a man weak and vulnerable.” His shoulders shook.
Oh, drat.There was much to do. “Your father isn’t here any longer.”