by Amelia Hart
"She arranged the whole engagement. I firmly believe it. The butler came upon them in indecorous embrace. But who contrived to be alone with him? She was here in our house, had ventured out without a chaperon and cornered him in the library with, I'm sure, every intention of being compromised."
"This did not anger him?"
"I think he understood her, or thought he did. In truth he had no idea of the bad blood in that family. She is not the first suicide there. Her aunt also, though that was hushed up. And her mother has often lived in seclusion. She has not been seen in public since Sophia's death."
"How awful."
"Imagine, if you will, my sentiments when he told me of the engagement. That our name should be coupled with that of her unstable family-Unthinkable! I did everything I could to dissuade him. But he was determined. There is no swaying him, once his mind is made up. I tried to warn him but he would not hear an ill word of her."
"Surely that is love?"
"Honor, more like. He will always honor an obligation. She was an unavoidable duty. Only once he inherited could I get him to see he now had a greater duty, larger than her happiness or even his own."
"And that's the spirit in which he offered for me." It gave her a pang to remember that moment, reframed in her mind. She had thought him swept away by love for her, driven to offer for her almost the instant they met. Instead she had been a coolly dispassionate choice. Her throat closed, and she swallowed painfully, her eyes hot.
"Set next to Miss Burbage, you were a prize indeed. Though of course she was deceased by then."
"And he in mourning for a fiancée, a loss he could not acknowledge."
"I was proud of him in those weeks. So calm, so controlled. He was exactly as he ought to be."
Elizabeth lowered her eyes to hide her dismay. No wonder Christopher often struck her as coldly detached, if that was what his mother had taught him was desirable. She imagined him as a beautiful little boy, with his long-lashed green eyes still innocent, hearing from this woman that he must be hard and withhold every emotion so no one saw them, saw him, as he really was. Her teacup clattered in its saucer and she hastily put it down and hid her clenched fists in her skirt, shaking with sorrow and rage. Her poor Chris.
But Mrs Alexander was oblivious, reliving that moment of her triumph. "And of course he was finally fulfilling the position I'd always imagined for him. His cousin was never fit to be the earl. Watching him grow up, so close to Christopher, I often thought their positions should be reversed. Christopher with his intellect, his restraint, his many gifts, set against that reckless wastrel-It does not do to speak ill of the dead, but it did seem to me that much had been set right by that single accident."
Elizabeth crumbled the remains of her tea cake in her fingers, handling it too harshly. She dropped the crumbs into the dregs of her tea, and dusted her hands together. "So it all worked out satisfactorily," she said with a brittle, empty smile.
"As well as could be hoped for, all things considered. Even you have turned out unexpectedly well. I did recommend Christopher keep you in the countryside so you would not be exposed to situations beyond your capacities. But you have surprised me, really. I have heard no ill reports of you." Her tone was graciously benevolent.
Elizabeth knew she was intended to feel gratitude for this immense concession. "You are too kind," she said mechanically.
Mrs Alexander gave her a pallid smile. "If you only continue as you have done, I think people will be well on their way to forgetting your origins. And of course once you've produced an heir then all will be as it should be. I don't suppose you are already increasing?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"No doubt that is too much to hope for. Still I trust it shan't be long."
Elizabeth stood, feeling that she had turned over a stone in the garden and discovered it crawling with nasty, squelchy things hidden from the light. Mrs Alexander was not someone with whom she could ever truly be friends. "It has been so illuminating to visit you. Thank you for the refreshments. No doubt I'll see you soon, at some gathering."
"No doubt."
"And I should thank you for your gift of the necklace. It is beautiful."
"Necklace?"
"Did you not give me a sapphire necklace? The one that was left for me in my room at Hensleigh Park?"
"I know nothing of it."
"Then I beg your pardon. Good day, Mrs Alexander."
"Good day, Lady Carhampton. Do send word if you discover you are breeding."
Elizabeth smiled that same, empty smile, inclined her head in what might be taken for agreement, and withdrew.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
There was a knock on her bedroom door.
"Enter," she called out, thinking it was her lady's maid. But Christopher came in. Her eyes widened. He looked all around himself, and began to frown at the sight of the furnishings, modern and light.
"Surely these weren't here while my cousin owned the house?"
"No. They're new."
He eyed the dressing table, the chaise longue, the airy, canopied bed. "You've added all these things?"
"Yes. They're so much better, don't you think?"
"They must surely have cost more than your allowance."
"They did, but I-"
"Did I not say you must economize? Did I not say you must do without?"
"Yes, but I-"
"This is not acceptable. You must send them back at once."
"No, I won't. I like them, and I-"
"There are greater issues at hand than satisfying your wants. I know you think the whole world revolves around you. You are self-indulgent beyond belief."
Her jaw dropped. What had happened to him, to suddenly change him from the kindness of the past days to full attack? Had something occurred she was not aware of? "It's only some furniture, to be used every day. It was a sensible purchase-"
"There was nothing wrong with the furniture that was already here."
"Nothing wrong? Nothing wrong? It was dark and depressing. The whole room looked horrid. And now it is lovely. Besides, I-"
"There are goals to be met. Goals far more important than a pretty bedchamber. Goals for which others have sacrificed more than-"
"I understand your goals. I have contributed tens of thousands of pounds to them-
"Which you would never have chosen to do. If you had your way it would all be frittered away on paltry things."
"Oh! Unjust," she cried.
"You resent the work that must be done. You resent the money that must be paid. You resent being tied to the burden of it, and all you have lost."
"I do not. Why do you say such things? There's no resentment in me. I accept these things are necessary. That we make sacrifices now, and in days to come we will profit, and move beyond this. Any resentment, any ill will, is within you. You think I feel these things because you do, and you can't imagine I do not.
He stared at her, his face twisted. "No-"
"Yes. You think you are tied to this with chains of steel, because of Sophia.” The name fell too harshly into the space between them, and they stared at each other, both breathing hard. Was this it? Was this the moment to tell him everything she had put together in her own mind?
But even before she had made up her mind, she was speaking, the weight of these words crowding her tongue, too much to hold back a second longer. “You think everything you have must be poured in and away, to equal the weight of her death. To vindicate you choosing your estates, choosing your life as an earl, over her. You refuse yourself any enjoyment because she has none. You think because of her death, you must pay with your life, with all of you."
"I-"
"What when the estates reward you? When they start to return a profit? What then? How will you punish yourself then?"
"I don't-Punishment is not-"
"Of course it is. I see it perfectly clearly. And I do not stand in your way. I am beside you in this. And when you decide you are worthy of forgiveness I
will still be here."
"I am not-I will never be worthy of forgiveness," he said, very low. "So long as she is dead, I will never-"
"Do not lay that on yourself. Do not chew over that story. That is all it is. A story. You have chosen this narrative, because it satisfies your need for justice. Let me tell you something about the world, that my father told me over and over again when I was a girl."
"I don't need your-"
"Yes, you do!" Her tone was iron, hard and implacable. She stared him down. His eyes glittered, but he quietened. "People love stories, because the brain seeks reasons for what occurs. Randomness dissatisfies the mind. You try to make sense of Sophia's death, and to determine your place in that story. You make yourself the villain, because you believe there must be one. Sophia's death was a product of her own mind. You did not do that to her. She did it to herself."
"If I did not jilt her she would never-"
"Perhaps. We can't know that. But you are determined to find cause and effect, to piece together a story so her death is not just a random event, cruelly tragic but essentially meaningless. It is so significant to you that you must assign meaning where there is none, and blame."
"She killed herself because of what I did to her-"
"No. She killed herself because she thought it was the right thing to do. Was it?" He stared at her, lips drawn back from his teeth in a snarl. "Well? Was killing herself the right thing to do?"
Slowly, he shook his head.
"No?"
"No." He said it in a rusty voice.
"So she made a mistake. She had many choices before her, of what she could do with a life that did not have you in it. She made the wrong choice. Not because it was inevitable. Not because it was the logical outcome of events. Because her system was overcome with melancholia and in that state she thought it her only option."
He crumpled to his knees, dropped his head into his hands. She padded to him, knelt beside him and wrapped her arms around him.
"You have to forgive yourself for this. It was her choice, not your doing. You cannot join her in that grave. You have a life here, and it is precious to me. I want to share it but you barely let me in."
"I cannot-" he broke off.
"You can," she urged him. "Only give yourself permission. Let this unnatural burden go. It does not belong to you."
He shook his head, slowly. "Where does all this wisdom come from?"
For a moment she thought he negated her words. Then she realized the set of his shoulders had changed. They were no longer bowed. Had he found hope in what she said? "I have thought about this endlessly, and talked it over with my parents. I have prayed about it, too, and asked for divine guidance. You are not alone in this."
"I cannot-I cannot just let her go."
"You must. She has gone beyond. Your sacrifices mean nothing to her, now. Whatever connection you had is gone. Let it go. Be at peace, as she is."
"You think she is?"
"I think she is in the arms of God."
"But a suicide-" He broke off with a twist of anguish in his tone.
"You know, I have always thought that was nonsense. Why should God shut suicides out of heaven? And she is buried in a church graveyard, is she not? Obviously your vicar thinks she has a place there, whatever religious tradition may say. Society has to teach that suicide is a bad idea. Otherwise people would do it the moment life became too grim, trusting that the next life would be a paradise. But no loving, merciful God would look at the suffering of one of his children and bar the door to them because they were not strong enough to bear it. That is not right."
"Oh, Beth."
"Let's go for a walk. I would like some fresh air. And to take you away from my bedroom, that displeases you so much."
"Your bedroom does not displease me. It is only that this furniture must have cost-"
"You will not think about it," she commanded. "It was all bought by my parents, when we went shopping together the other day. It cost you nothing."
"What?" Now he went white around the lips. "It is not your parent's task to provide for you. "That is my role, now."
"I'm sure as time passes that will proceed better and better. But you must know I've never been very good at waiting. And there was no need to, in this case."
"How can I face them, when they have had to-"
"Oh, don't tie yourself up in knots. I explained the situation completely, and they are very understanding. They like you, you know, though I think Mama is still a little in awe of you. But that will pass. Think of the furniture as a wedding present."
He squinted at her a little balefully, his lips pressed together, but he could not hold the expression for long. "You are incorrigible."
"I know," she said complacently. "That is why you have such affection for me."
"That must explain it."
She smiled, a warm glow within her at his agreement. Then she turned the conversation away, to small things, to give him time to digest every large thing she had said, hoping they would find a place inside of him.
A place of tender forgiveness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
"Do you have anything planned for today?"
She refilled his cup of tea from the teapot, enjoying the domesticity of the wifely task. "My friend, Julia Holbrook, has invited me to visit this morning. I said I could never dream of putting on a ball, and she said to come and watch all the preparations for their one and see how it's done."
He ate the last mouthful of his large breakfast, laid down his cutlery and leaned back in his chair. "Do I know Miss Holbrook? Mrs Holbrook?"
"It's Mrs Holbrook. She was Miss Preston before and I'm not sure if you would have encountered her. I first met her in the summer, when I stayed at the house where she was a governess. She married less than a month ago, and the ball is to celebrate the nuptials now they've arrived in town."
"I do know a Colin Holbrook. I don't suppose she's married to him."
"Yes. That's right. Colin Holbrook."
"Well." He raised a single eyebrow. "I don't know whether to admire your friend for capturing so elusive a prize, or pity her."
"What do you mean?"
"The Colin Holbrook I know was never made for matrimony."
"Perhaps not, but people may change. They do love each other. It was interesting to sit with them both, in the summer when they were-I don't suppose courting is the correct word. He pursued her, and she avoided. The air was almost singing with tension between them."
"Apparently he caught her in the end."
"You know, I find I am not comfortable with talk of catching a person, as if they were a trophy and not a person."
"Too close to the bone?"
He obviously referred to his dispassionate pursuit of her, and successful capture, or perhaps her family's triumph in snaring him. She shot him a look of hurt. "I prefer not to think of it like that."
He picked up her hand from the table, and toyed with it absently, his rough fingers sliding over her softer skin. "My apologies. There is little urgency to learn how to manage hosting a ball. It will be a long time before we can afford to do it ourselves."
"I know." She took a breath and nodded in calm agreement. "They are such a wasteful extravagance. Still, I didn't want to say that, even to Julia, who I think would not tell anyone we are so stricken for funds. I am gradually learning a little discretion, even if it does not come naturally."
He smiled at her. "So you will live vicariously through your friend."
"I will. I'm not particularly eager to host lavish entertainments. I'd be happy to wait until they are easy to fund. Yet I did promise my sisters I'd see them introduced to society. They'll do better under my aegis - launched by Lady Carhampton - than my parents'. Isn't that awful? But then I can't afford to truly help them yet, either. I suppose my parents could always give us the money for the-"
"No."
"No?"
"Decidedly not. I need no further gifts from your parents."
&n
bsp; "There's no need to be proud. They won't mind when it's for-"
"I mind. I know you are used to your parents' constant support, but it's not tolerable to me to live with my hand out."
She considered this, then nodded, accepting his determination. "Very well. Katherine is due to come out next year, and Jane the year after. I suppose I could ask them if they'd prefer to wait until I can afford to do the task credit."
"A succession of soirees and sit-down dinners will probably see the task well begun. We should be able to manage that by next year."
"Really? I thought it would be longer than that."
"There should be funds for some indulgence by then, and we can prioritise Katherine. I know how important your family are to you."
"So much!" She smiled at him, truly delighted. "Oh, you're very good to me. Thank you."
"You're welcome. I find I enjoy seeing you happy."
"I have been very happy this past fortnight, with you. Do you think maybe-" She broke off, and ducked her head to look at their entwined fingers.
"What is it?"
But she could not say it. She could not ask outright if he thought he could eventually love her. He seemed more affectionate every day, coming to her to cup her shoulders from behind while she was occupied with some task, or drop a kiss on her head or her upturned lips. He laughed at her chatter and now he was indulgent like this.
Surely she did not imagine that his eyes rested fondly on her at times?
He might still be making the best of his situation, and being kind, but she hoped it was more. With every day that passed he had her heart more firmly in his grip. She had always thought him very compelling, and now he was so warm and present with her, it was impossible not to want all of him. She wanted his love so much. His emotional, spiritual love, that was. She already had a luscious surfeit of his physical love.
Now she knew the pleasure his body could bring hers, it was difficult to remember she must not sit and mentally undress him when there were others about. He mock-scolded her for it if they were in public, even as he guided her from the room on some pretext or other, to find an empty room or even a curtained alcove and give her what she craved.