Lady Ines Scandalous Hobby-Chapter 78 - Seventy Eight

Ines froze.

Foolish feelings? No. It was the most serious thing in her life.

But she couldn’t tell Rowan that. Not now. Not when he looked at her like she was a naive child about to walk into a fire.

She forced a laugh. It sounded brittle to her own ears.

"Foolish feelings?" she echoed. "For Carcel? Rowan, don’t be absurd. He is... he is just your friend. I was just grateful he saved me from standing alone."

Rowan stared at her for a second longer, then sighed in relief. He dropped his hands from her shoulders.

"Good," he said. "Good. Because getting involved with Carcel... falling for him... that would only end in heartbreak, Ines. I know him. He is a man with complicated past."

He picked up his wine glass again.

Ines asked. " What do you mean?"

"Carcel," Rowan answered, his voice dropping to a low, somber tone that Ines had rarely heard, "is someone who pays no mind to marriage. Not because he is a rake. Not because he prefers freedom."

He paused, as if weighing the cost of the words.

"He is afraid," Rowan said simply. "He is afraid he would become like his father."

Ines frowned slightly, her curiosity piqued despite herself. She knew Carcel’s father had died. She knew he had been the old Duke. That was all.

"His father?" she asked, her voice small.

Rowan nodded, his face grim in the moonlight. "The late Duke... he was not a good man, Ines. He became... obsessed. With Carcel’s mother."

Rowan’s hand tightened on his wine glass. "She didn’t love him. It was an arranged match, cold and dutiful. But he... he wanted her to love him. He demanded it. And when she didn’t... when she couldn’t... he went mad."

Rowan’s voice dropped to a whisper, recounting a horror story told in confidence years ago. "He would accuse her of infidelity. Constantly. If he saw her smile at a gardener, if she was even kind to a footman... he would fly into a rage. He would scream that she was betraying him."

Ines felt a chill that had nothing to do with the night air.

"And he would take out his frustrations on her," Rowan said, staring into his glass. "Behind closed doors. Where no one could see. And when the rage passed... when he became calm... he would be nice to her. He would bring her gifts. He would say he was ’correcting’ his wife. That he loved her too much."

He looked at Ines, his eyes dark with the memory of his friend’s pain. "All this was well hidden. The ton saw a perfect couple. Only the the household... and I... knew about it. Because Carcel confided in me. When we were boys."

Rowan sighed, a heavy sound. "Sometimes... sometimes Carcel would hear her screams. From the other room. Late at night. He would hide under his bed, terrified that his father would finally kill her."

Ines felt a wave of nausea. She thought of Carcel. He must have been so scared.

"Do you know why Carcel always visited our house when we were little?" Rowan asked. "Why he practically lived here?"

Ines shook her head. She had always assumed it was just friendship. Just boys being boys.

"His mother," Rowan said, his voice cracking slightly. "She would send him away. Whenever his father started getting aggressive... whenever she saw the signs... she would tell the butler to bring him here. To us. To stay in disguise of spending time with his friend. She protected him by sending him away."

He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the end of the story.

"Unable to bear it anymore," Rowan said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion, "his mother shot herself."

Ines gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, God."

"She took a hunting rifle," Rowan continued relentlessly. "To her mouth. And she blasted her head off."

He turned to look at Ines, making sure she understood the full, brutal weight of it.

"Right in front of Carcel."

The world seemed to stop. Ines felt the blood drain from her face. She pictured it. A young Carcel. A boy. Seeing... that.

"He found her," Rowan whispered. "He was Thirteen."

He straightened up, turning his back on the darkness.

"Since then," Rowan said, "he has had no intention of marrying. Ever. To him, marriage is not a partnership. It is not love. To him, marriage is scary. It is a trap. It is a place where love turns into madness and death."

He looked at his sister, his face soft with a protective sadness.

"And I wouldn’t want you entangled in that, Ines. I wouldn’t want you to be the woman he is afraid to love. Or the woman who might be walking on tightrope in her marriage."

Ines was silent.

The music from the ballroom drifted out, a cheerful, mocking waltz. But Ines was miles away. She was in a dark house, listening to a woman scream. She was standing in a room with a thirteen-year-old boy and a rifle.

She felt a profound, aching sadness wash over her. Not for herself. But for him. For Carcel.

He actually had a disturbing childhood, she thought, her heart breaking for the boy he had been. A nightmare.

She thought of his coldness towards her those years. His rigid self-discipline. His reluctance to touch her, to claim her, even when his desire was so obvious.

No wonder, she realized, tears pricking her eyes. No wonder he doesn’t feel the same way I feel. Or rather... no wonder he won’t let himself feel it.

He’s afraid, she thought, clutching the stone railing. He is afraid of becoming his father. He is afraid of hurting me. He thinks loving me might put me at risk and Rowan wouldn’t even think of sending his only beloved sister to his side even if he knows Carcel might not turn out like his father.

She looked at the sky and sighed. " It’s obvious he only desires me." She whispered to herself.