The Shifting Tide - Anne Perry [125]
Had he any choice? Can one decide whether to love or not? Yes, probably. One could walk away from life and choose half a life, paralysis of the soul.
He had walked away from Hester, and she had been wise enough to refuse him anyway, perhaps for precisely that reason. Monk had had the courage of spirit to care, and she knew that, and valued it for the infinite worth it was. Now Monk would be racked by it forever if she died.
Margaret was safe, as much as anything warm and living and vulnerable was ever safe. If he wanted to be part of life, not merely a watcher, then he would let himself love as well. Perhaps it was the nature of caring that you could not help it. There was no choice to make; your own nature had already made it. If you could pull back then you were not wholly involved.
He had never admired Monk more than he did at this moment, for the courage it had taken him to risk everything. With that knowledge came a pity so deep it hollowed out new places within himself and filled them with a helplessness that twisted like a knife. There was nothing to say or do as Monk turned and walked to the door. Their friendship was deeper than Rathbone had acknowledged to himself before, and it was on the brink of being destroyed because part of Monk himself would be lost.
If friendship could hurt so profoundly, what in heaven’s name could love do?
Rathbone spent the rest of the day catching up on other work he had put aside in order to prepare for the Gould case, and much of the following morning also.
However, his mind was made up regarding Margaret. Time was precious, far more so than he had appreciated until now. He had dithered on the brink of asking her to marry him. It was both cowardly and foolish. He had written to her and dispatched the letter by messenger, inviting her to dinner that evening, and rather than wait till this crisis was past, whatever the relief, or the irretrievable loss, he would tell her his feelings and ask her to marry him.
As he dressed, regarding himself unusually critically in the glass, he was aware with surprise that he had taken it for granted that she would accept. It had not occurred to him until this moment that it was possible she would not.
Then he realized why the nerves in his stomach were jumping and there was a tightness in his throat. It was not that she might decline. Everything in society and in her personal circumstances dictated that she accept, and he was perfectly certain that there was no other suitor she was considering. She was far too honest to have allowed him to court her had there been. She would accept him. The question that turned and twisted inside him was would she love him? She would be loyal, because loyalty was in her nature. She would be gentle, even-tempered, generous of spirit, but she would have done that for anyone. It was not enough. To have all that, not because she loved him but because it was a matter of her honor that she should give it, would be a refinement of torture he could not bear to face. Yet if he did not ask her, he had already chosen failure.
He took a hansom to call on her, and this time he found Mrs. Ballinger’s attentions even more difficult to receive gracefully. His emotions were far too raw to expose to her acute perception. He had no layer of wit with which to defend himself, and he found parrying her enquiries extremely hard work. He was relieved when Margaret was unfashionably punctual; in fact, he was deeply grateful for it.
He offered her his arm, bade Mrs. Ballinger a good evening, and went out to the waiting hansom just a fraction more hastily than was graceful.
“Have you heard anything more from Monk?” Margaret asked as soon as he had given the cabbie instructions. “What is happening? Has he heard from Hester?”
“Yes, I have seen Monk again,” he replied. “He came to my chambers yesterday morning, but he had heard nothing from