As those words sank into his brain, Finn gasped as an overwhelming realization smacked him upside the head. The remainder of his heart squeezed so hard he struggled to breathe as he watched her go through the steps of the dance with Ballantrae. I love her. He hadn’t thought about it in those terms before, but it was undeniably true. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing can come of it. She thinks that life is nothing but fairy stories where everyone will come out happy and with a romance at the end.” Depression roared to life inside him, bringing the ever-present shroud of darkness with it.
“Why shouldn’t she? My sister has hope, and that is nothing to sneeze at. Everyone should have the same, especially if one is brave enough to see its value.”
He hadn’t declared himself due to fear of failing her when it mattered most, out of fear of not ever being the man he was growing into, out of fear of his past mistakes and his inability to save his friend, out of fear that because the relationship with his brother was strained that he might muck it up with Jane. “Perhaps I lack the courage she needs.”
“Then you’re a greater fool than I’d thought.” The doctor clamped a hand on Finn’s shoulder and turned his chair until their gazes connected. “Where is the bravery and daring you had on those battlefields, Major? Where is the unwavering duty in doing what was right? Pursuing the woman you love is no different, but it will take effort.”
“I don’t want her to become merely a companion or to trap her into a half-marriage. I can’t give her everything she deserves.” His chest hurt from uttering the words aloud to her brother of all people.
“Then think instead of everything you can give her. That’s worth something.”
“You know nothing about it.” He shook his head as the voices therein grew louder, told him he was worthless. “What if I do convince her to be with me and I leave her alone if I can’t fight back my depression.”
“Only you can make that decision.” The doctor patted Finn’s shoulder. Speculation clouded his eyes. “At the end of your life, though, do you truly want to have such regrets?”
“Will it change anything?”
“You tell me.” The other man shrugged. “Are you man enough to fight one last time? Fight for everything you’ve ever wanted?” With a nod of encouragement, the doctor slipped away.
Finn watched Jane slide by on the dance floor in Ballantrae’s arms, and his chest constricted. Ice coated the remainder of his heart. If she didn’t want him, he didn’t need her. “Removing myself from the picture is perhaps the best decision for all of us,” he whispered to himself and then gasped at the cold desolation that plowed into him.
The longer he monitored the dancing, the deeper he sank into darkness. Of course she would choose the duke. Who wouldn’t? He had working legs and would give her beautiful children. As the dance finally came to an end, Jane allowed Ballantrae to escort her off the floor and then out of the room, presumably to seek out refreshments. Another few pieces of Finn’s heart crashed to the floor.
He transferred his gaze throughout the room. Drew had his head bent close to his wife’s. Whatever he said made the plain-looking woman laugh. She glanced up into his face, and even from his position across the room, Finn recognized the affection between them. Jealousy stabbed through him with the accuracy of a saber’s blade. He reeled from the feeling. Then his attention fell to his mother. She tittered at something the older viscount said as he led her onto the floor for another dance.
God, I’m a drain on them all. They’re perfectly happy without me looming in the background like a wet rug.
Well, not anymore. He straightened in the Bath chair as best he could. The black thoughts could have at him for all he cared—all any of them cared. With quick, determined pushes at his wheels, he moved through the ballroom and then out into the corridor beyond. Thank goodness he didn’t spy Jane on his way. It would have further broken him. When he reached the entry hall, he summoned a footman, loath to disturb Rodgers, who was no doubt enjoying himself down in the servants’ hall.
“Please see that the Hadleigh coach is brought around. I wish to leave.”
The young man nodded. “At once, Major Storme.”
There was only one path left for him at this point. Emotions continued to batter him from within—hurt, anger, despair, envy. They formed a perfect storm that caught him up in the tide. The bleakness of depression raged around him, dropped darkness over his eyes until he couldn’t see a way out. Negative voices in his head told him he wasn’t good enough, that he didn’t deserve any sort of happiness, that no one cared for him because he was too broken for their notice.
His defenses were down enough that he believed every word. The constant fight had drained him, and losing Jane had left him bare, vulnerable, grasping for something that would help pull him out of the sucking quagmire.
But there was no one there to save him this time.
By the time the coach was brought around, and the footman had helped him into it, Finn had made up his mind. “Please see that the Bath chair is strapped to the back.” He’d only need it for one last trip.
“Of course, sir.”
While the footman did as bid, Finn yanked the small notebook from the interior pocket of his jacket. When he took up the nub of a pencil, he sighed and turned to a blank page. He wouldn’t fail on the second attempt to end his life. Before he could change his mind, he dashed off a brief note to his mother that simply said, “I’m sorry.” Another note, this one to Jane, stated, “I wish I could have been the man you needed.”
As soon as the footman returned to the open coach door, Finn ripped out the notes and handed them to the younger man. “Please see that my mother receives these in an hour.”
“I will.” The footman tucked the papers away. He swung the door closed. “Where to?” he asked through the window glass.
“Hyde Park. I ask that you don’t reveal my destination if someone asks.”
“I won’t, sir.”
“Good.” Finn sat back as the footman relayed the information to the driver.
Drowning should be relatively easy, for he had no plans to struggle, and his legs wouldn’t work anyway. He bit down on his middle knuckle to keep from crying out against the plan and the pain hammering his chest.
I’m so sorry, Jane.
After all, what had he to live for now?