The young blacksmith had promised her he would stop but ever since Jack had left for the second time, he hadn't been himself. She could still hear the arguing, the hurtful comments Will had thrown at his friend, his lover, to make him stay.

She knew what had happened the night before that. What had caused Will to start drinking in taverns almost every night and the rumours to reach her ears that he had taken whores to his bed, even other men. She still heard the whispers of the ladies she went to tea with sometimes and their falsely sympathetic voices, assuring her what an evil man Will was. She had lost her temper at one of them, and now all of them regarded her down their noses, judging her, worse than their pity. They still invited her, if only to humiliate her, but she stopped going.

The other day, she had caught maids gossiping in the hall, breaking down in tears as they fled. Her father had been shocked and offered his sympathy but she couldn't bear any more. She shouted at him, hurling verbal abuse at him the way she had heard her fiancé shout at his lover.

But she had let something slip that night when Will came to her, reeking of alcohol and women's perfume. She had been cool, distant even, but when he had tried to get too close, she pushed him away and told him, through a mist of tears,

"You love him and you hate me! Why don't you just leave?" He sat suddenly on her bed, and his face had crumpled. It was horrible to watch. His eyes had widened then screwed up in an effort to hold the crying away.

"Yes," he said in an anguished whisper. "And I love him still but that doesn't make me love you any the less, but in a different way. Elizabeth, please understand. Oh, God, he left me!" The last was in a strained cry, his hands over his face. She could see the tears now, escaping through his fingers. His sobs grew in intensity but he was silent. She had gazed at him, strangely dispassionate. She knew she should have felt sorrow for this man who had one shared her heart but now she just felt distant.

"You're still drunk," she said and there was a part of her that was shocked at the coldness of her own tone. He removed his hands and looked at her. The sobbing gradually ceased but he never took his eyes away. Then, suddenly he stood and dashed his tears away with one hand. He watched her steadily as he said,

"You're right. I should leave. Thank you." Then he bowed and took her hand, kissing it gently, making her heart wrench terribly.

"Goodbye, Miss Swann."