“And you as well, Your Grace.”
He strolled out into the night, disappearing into a closed carriage, while Maddie shut the door and pondered his words. Had she reacted hastily in asking for the separation? Nellie had said as much earlier, too. Indeed, there had been good days amid the bad in her marriage, but how could she ever trust Harrison not to lie to her again?
Unbelievable that he went to see Lockwood in the first place, but asking the duke to court her once more was downright shocking. Was Harrison so eager to see her paired off with another man? Furthermore, the thought of him sailing back to Paris and probably straight to Esmée made her want to stab him with a hat pin.
He wants to see you happy and is willing to sacrifice his future with you to make it happen.
If that were true, she could almost forgive his high-handedness. Almost. Still, she wasn’t certain he was ready to be a partner, not a dictator. Could she ever trust him not to hurt her again?
Standing at the steamship’s railing, Harrison stared out at the miles of blue ocean, while the waves bounced off the hull and misted his skin. He hardly felt it. He hadn’t felt much of anything, really, since leaving Philadelphia.
New York was behind him now. More than half a day’s journey existed between him and everything he’d lost, and he was forever stuck inside a prison of his own making, a hell he’d designed with his machinations and stupidity.
Turned out Kit had been right. This wasn’t like before; it was much worse. He’d had a small taste of happiness, true happiness, with her, and it had been stripped away. The rest of his life stretched out before him much like this ocean, cold and empty, the prospect more dismal than he could bear. So he had to clear his mind and lock down his emotions, think of nothing. Be nothing.
Bourbon certainly helped, he thought as he lifted a silver flask to his lips. Other vices awaited in Paris, ones that could also help him forget, like absinthe and women. Perhaps he’d try the sweet oblivion of the opium pipe. Who cared anymore?
He didn’t want to remember her. Ever. He left word for Preston and Kit not to visit for several years, needing a clean break. Sort of like cutting off an arm. It was the only manner in which he’d survive.
America held nothing for him any longer. The Archers were ruined, so at least he’d succeeded there. He finished the bourbon in his flask, shaking it to release the remaining drops onto his tongue. There were eleven more bottles packed in his trunks, more than enough to last the week-long journey, which meant he needed to return to his cabin for more spirits.
“Pardon me,” a female voice said. “Aren’t you Mr. Harrison Archer?”
Christ, could he not escape high society for one damn minute? I shouldn’t have traveled in first class. These decks were like a floating Delmonico’s, Central Park promenade and the Knickerbocker Club all rolled into one.
Turning, he found an older woman, likely mid-thirties, staring at him from under her parasol. Her gaze held something akin to either curiosity or attraction, but the alcohol had dulled his ability to focus. Probably a gossip, for which he had no patience, or someone looking for a roll in the sheets with a younger man, in which case he had no interest.
Clutching his empty flask, he gave a shake of his head. “No. You’re mistaken.”
“We met at the Paris Opera last year. I’m certain it was you.”
“You’re wrong. I’m no one.”
Another voice came from behind him. “He’s my husband.”
Harrison looked over his shoulder and blinked. She was here.
Maddie was here.
He had to be hallucinating. Dropping his flask to the deck, he reached out to steady himself with the railing. Was this real?
Dimly, he heard the older woman say, “Then I hope you take better care of him. He looks terrible.” He assumed she walked away after that, but he only had eyes for Maddie.
Maddie was on the boat.
Wait, how? Rubbing his eyes, he lost his balance a touch. Suddenly, she was there beside him, her fingers wrapped around his arm. “Please move away from the railing. You’re starting to scare me, Harrison.”
“Am I dreaming?”
“No, you’re not. You are, however, drunk, and I don’t want you toppling over the side.”
“You don’t?”
She began towing him toward the first-class cabins. “Of course not. Come with me, please. Let’s get some coffee in you.”
He still didn’t understand. “Why?”
“Because I wish to talk and it would be nice if you remembered what I said.”
Talk? He stopped in his tracks, his body refusing to go an inch farther. “Why?”
She wore an exasperated smile, the one she used to give him every time he suggested some silly idea. “May we go inside and have this conversation in private? I recognize no fewer than six people on deck, and no doubt they are eagerly hoping to overhear us. Please, Harrison.” She dragged him along and his feet followed eagerly, as they always did when she was in the vicinity.
He couldn’t keep away from her, even when she’d asked to separate.
Wait, what was this about? “Is this regarding the annulment? I won’t fight you,” he said as they entered the corridor leading to the cabins.
“I know. And yes, it’s regarding the annulment.”
His stomach sank, nausea rolling in his belly. There must have been a legal loophole or detail he’d missed, and she’d come to sew it up before moving on without him. So why hadn’t she cabled him instead?
“Because this is a private conversation best had in person and not over the wire,” she answered.
Oh, had he spoken out loud?
Removing a key from her pocket, she unlocked a cabin door, then practically shoved him inside. He stumbled in, his limbs heavy and uncoordinated, shoulders stooped, and he dropped onto a tiny sofa as she closed the door.
She lowered herself into an armchair, unpinned her hat and tossed it onto the side table. Her simple beauty struck him like a fist to the center of his chest, as it always did. He loved looking at her, from the moss green of her eyes to the freckles across her cheeks. The upward turn of her nose and the perfect bow shape of her lips. He struggled to draw air into his lungs, each breath a stark reminder of what he’d never have, his body taunting him with the knowledge that she no longer belonged to him.
He licked his lips. “I already signed the paperwork. Are you here to give me the final copies?”
“I didn’t sign—and I don’t want to.”
“You’d rather divorce?”
“I’d rather stay married, actually. That is, if you can forgive me.”
His heart lurched, restarting as if it had been frozen, hibernating inside his chest. Suddenly, he felt as sober as a judge. “You’ve done nothing that warrants apologizing. I’m the one who is dashed sorry, Mads.”
“I know, but I do owe you an apology. I shouldn’t expect either of us to be perfect. Everyone makes mistakes, myself included. I was just so angry and I felt powerless, but I should’ve given you the benefit of the doubt. You’ve earned at least that from me in all the years we’ve known each other.”
He said nothing. There weren’t words for what was building in his heart, a sensation terrifyingly close to fragile hope. Speaking might spoil whatever was happening.