by Wolf, Bree
Looking up at him, Louisa blinked, hesitation in her eyes before it passed, and she tried to lower her head.
Phineas understood instantly. It was what he had feared. “You don’t believe me, do you?”
Gritting her jaw, she pulled away, her hands all but pushing her away from him. “How can I? I know it to be a lie.” She whirled around and stomped a few steps away from him, anger and frustration in the way she moved, whether directed at herself or him remained unclear.
Perhaps both.
Phineas forced himself to remain still, to not charge after her. Of course, that was not an easy feat for he had never been a patient man. “It is not a lie,” he insisted, his gaze following her as she began to pace, her eyes now and then looking up, flashing in his direction. “Reading is a skill one can learn, but it does not speak to your intelligence. Believe me, there are countless shockingly dumb people who know how to read.”
Louisa stopped in her tracks and looked up at him, the urge to laugh sparking in her eyes. She did not though. She merely looked at him, and Phineas understood that she wanted to believe him, but did not yet dare.
Her shoulders seemed to slump. “Then why did I not learn when my sisters did? They could do it, but I could not. Is that not proof enough?”
Her eyes held his, and Phineas got the distinct impression that she was waiting for him to contradict her.
For years now, she had locked herself away, keeping her secret from everyone around her. Never had she spoken about it to anyone. Never had anyone been able to counsel her. To tell her that she was wrong to assume she was lacking in intelligence simply because she could not read. “It is no proof at all,” Phineas told her vehemently, his eyes never leaving hers as he strode toward her. “I don’t know what prevented you from learning when you were a child, but whatever it was, it does not mean you cannot learn now. Perhaps you were simply distracted, your attention elsewhere. As you said yourself, you have an infallible memory; perhaps you were simply honing a different skill.”
Listening, everything about her had stilled. Her eyes were wide, and yet, unblinking. The pulse in her neck jerked wildly, but it seemed as though she was holding her breath. “Learn now?”
Phineas nodded, reaching out his hands and grasping hers. They had been warm before, but now they felt chilled. “Of course. You cannot tell me that you do not wish to learn! I can see it in your eyes. You’re not one to run from a challenge nor are you one to hide when you can stand and fight. You’re a proud woman, and you know you want this.”
A soft smile came to her lips, and he felt her hands tightened on his. “I have tried before,” she whispered. “I could not do it though.”
“Then I shall help you,” Phineas stated, the corners of his mouth once more twisting upward into a playful smile. Of course, he did not mean to ridicule her, but it was simply who he was, who they were together. He hoped they would not lose that.
“You will help me?”
“Of course. I’d be delighted to.”
Her gaze narrowed. Still, the soft smile remained where it was. “And you will not tease me?”
Phineas chuckled, “That, I cannot promise for I admit I do enjoy it. What I can promise you though is that I shall never ridicule or humiliate you or make you feel…as though you are inferior to anyone, least of all myself.” Was that not what she had said? Had she not accused him of not thinking her worthy of his friend? “Can you believe that?”
For a long moment, she held his gaze. “I do want to, but a part of me cannot help but feel cautious. I suppose it’s force of habit.”
Phineas nodded. “Then we shall work on a new habit,” he told her, rubbing his chin as he thought about how best to proceed.
Suddenly, she laughed, “You look like Leonora when you do that, so thoughtful and concentrating, the way she does when she starts working on a new project.” The moment the last word left her lips, her eyes dimmed, and her smile vanished.
“Have you spoken to her?” Phineas asked, seeing with one glance that the night of the masquerade still stood between the two sisters.
“I have tried,” Louisa replied, softly shaking her head. “She does not wish to speak to me though. She barely answers me, turning away the moment she sees me heading toward her.”
Phineas sighed, “Perhaps…perhaps you should share your secret with her before asking her to share her own.” Her gaze snapped up to meet his, and he could see naked fear in those deep, green pools. “She’s your sister,” Phineas told her determinedly, his hands tightening on hers lest she try to pull away. “She will not laugh at you or think less of you. If she were the one to tell you she could not read, what would you do? Yes, you would be surprised, but you would not laugh at her. You would offer your help. You would protect her and guard her and stand by her side, would you not?”
A muscle in her jaw twitched, but she held his gaze, then nodded slowly. “I would.”
“As would she,” Phineas told her. “I’m certain of it.” A new thought sneaked into his head in that moment, and he could not help the smile that spread over his face.
“What is it?” Louisa asked, suspicion darkening her eyes.
Phineas chuckled. “Let us make a wager,” he suggested, pulling her closer, his hand slipping from hers to wrap around her body. “If Leonora laughs at you, you get to punch me in the face.”
Laughter burst from Louisa’s lips, and her eyes widened. “Are you serious?”
“Deadly serious.”
“Indeed, you must be.” Her gaze became contemplative as she looked up at him. Then a smile teased her lips. “And if she does not?”
Phineas’ hands moved to the small of her back, pulling her closer against him as he lowered his head to hers. “If she does not,” he whispered, feeling the breath shudder from her lips, “I get to kiss you.”
Her hands snaked up to reach around his neck as a slow smile spread over her face. “Sounds as though I cannot lose.”
Phineas chuckled, “I’m glad you see it like that. Awfully glad indeed.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
From One Sister to Another
Later that same day, Louisa went down into the gardens after spotting Leonora walk down the small gravel path toward the fountain. As expected, the moment Leonora saw her approach, she turned around, her steps quickening, and hurried around back, trying to slip away.
This time, however, Louisa was determined not to let her run off. She, too, quickened her steps, her hands grasping her skirts and lifting them a fraction so she could move faster. “You might as well stop,” Louisa called, noting the way her sister flinched as her voice echoed across the lawns. “I’m sick and tired of you running away from me, and I will not let you escape any longer.”
To Louisa’s surprise, her sister did slow her steps. She all but hung her head as her feet proceeded onward, her gaze still fixed on something on the distant horizon. Step-by-step, she walked, on and on.
“Come with me,” Louisa said as she linked her arm with Leonora’s, pulling her along and toward the grove. They wove their way through the trees until they came to the old fort that had brightened many of their childhood days. “Up,” Louisa instructed, pointing to the dangling rope ladder, half overgrown with vines.
Leonora turned to her, a deep frown upon her face. “Are you mad? These ropes have been out here for years. They will not support our weight. They will rip, and we will fall and hurt ourselves.”
“Then I’ll go first,” Louisa stated, her hands finding the rope ladder quickly. Without another thought, she began climbing up it, knowing she could not stop now. “Come.”
To her utter relief, the ropes held.
As she pulled herself up onto the wooden platform, Louisa looked down, seeing her sister’s doubtful face. “You’ve done this hundreds of times. Do not pretend you are genuinely worried. Come!”
Leonora heaved a deep sigh, then she stepped forward, her hands grasping the old ladder. Step-by-step, cautiously, she moved upward
until she had almost reached the top. Then she grasped the hand Louisa offered her and allowed her sister to pull her up to sit beside her.
Together, they sat with their legs dangling over the edge, their eyes sweeping over the forest around them, bright sunlight filtering through the canopy overhead. “We need to talk,” Louisa said, feeling her sister stiffen beside her.
“I will not say anything,” Leonora replied, a darkness in her voice Louisa had never heard before. It worried her, frightened her, and a part of her wished she could simply turn and leave, ignoring that she had ever heard it.
But she did not. “Will you at least listen?”
Leonora glanced in her direction, a hint of surprise in her blue eyes. Then she nodded.
Louisa swallowed, then inhaled a deep breath, finding it harder than she had expected it to be to find the right words. To speak them. Out loud. Everything within her screamed out against it, and she had to fight down a wave of panic before the first words finally tumbled from her lips. “I cannot read.”
Three little words, and Louisa’s world turned upside down. Three little words that changed everything. Three little words, the hardest she had ever spoken.
Leonora turned to look at her, a frown slowly drawing down her brows. “What do you mean?”
Louisa forced herself to hold her sister’s gaze. “I mean, I cannot read. I don’t know how.”
Leonora simply looked at her, her blue eyes holding confusion before they slowly widened as realization dawned. She looked aghast, shocked, completely taken aback. It was clear as day that she had never suspected this. Not for a second. “That cannot be true,” she mumbled, her gaze alternately seeking Louisa’s and then straying off into the distance. “I’ve seen you read. I’ve heard you read.”
Louisa shook her head. “No, you haven’t. You’ve heard me recite from memory, but not read.”
Silence fell over the two sisters as they sat in their childhood fort, looking at one another with new eyes. The wind whistled overhead, and birds chirped nearby. A blackbird settled on a branch before flying off once again. And all the while, the two sisters looked at one another.
“How is this possible?” Leonora finally asked, her hands settling on Louisa’s, holding them tightly within her own. Her eyes held tears, but they shone with warmth and compassion and love. As much as Louisa had feared to see disappointment and shame, she saw none of it now.
Her heart grew lighter, and holding onto her sister’s hands, she told her everything. The words all but tumbled from her lips now, one tripping over the other in their rush to finally be released out into the world, to be heard by someone who would not judge her. On and on, she spoke, watching her sister’s face first in confusion and then soften in compassion.
“Why did you never tell me?” Leonora asked as tears streamed down her face. “I would’ve helped you.”
Louisa wiped her own eyes, her voice choked with emotion. “I was ashamed,” she admitted, feeling a heavy weight lifted off her heart. “I was afraid of what you would think of me. I felt like a fool, especially compared to your intelligence.”
Leonora scoffed. “Don’t be foolish!” she chided. “Intelligence represents our ability to learn and grow, to understand the world, to ask questions and seek answers, to find connections between things that seem separate, but it is not represented by one single skill. Being able to read does not make you intelligent, and neither does not being able to read mean that you are not intelligent.”
Louisa chuckled.
“What is it?” Leonora asked, her wide blue eyes searching Louisa’s face.
“That is precisely what Phineas said.”
Leonora’s eyes widened. “Phineas? You mean Lord Barrington? Does he know? Did you tell him?” She frowned deeply. “I thought you hated him.”
Again, Louisa chuckled, overwhelmed by all these many changing emotions. “So, did I,” she admitted with a laugh. “However, it turns out that the reason why I hated him was nothing but a misunderstanding. A lot happened in the past few weeks that made me reconsider everything I thought I knew.”
“Including how you feel about Lord Barrington?” A small smile teased her lips, the first in weeks. “I remember a ball we attended—perhaps two years ago. You were looking at him, and when I asked you, you acted with such dismissal that I felt certain you would come to care for him.” Her eyes searched Louisa’s face. “But then everything changed. You seemed to loathe the very sight of him. It didn’t make sense to me, but I thought I had simply been mistaken.”
Louisa shook her head. “No, you weren’t mistaken. I think…I think I did care for him. Perhaps that was why it hurt me so much to hear what he said.”
Leonora frowned, and Louisa then told her sister about the misunderstanding that had made them enemies for two years. “But he did not know,” Louisa explained. “He said what he said because he wanted to dissuade his friend from pursuing me.” Her heart skipped a beat at the thought, and a smile pushed onto her face.
Leonora squeezed her hand. “He seems to care for you very much.”
Louisa stilled, looking into her sister’s eyes. “I think so too, but sometimes I do not dare believe it.”
Shaking her head, Leonora smiled. “I’ve never seen you so at odds, so vulnerable, so worried. Always have you been so brave and strong, facing whatever came your way head-on.”
Louisa swallowed. “Except this. This secret has been with me for so long that the thought of letting it go feels utterly impossible.”
“I’m glad you finally told me,” Leonora assured her, her hand reaching out and brushing a curl back behind Louisa’s ear that the wind had tugged loose. “It is not good for the soul to keep such things to oneself.”
Louisa exhaled a deep breath. “No, it is not.” She held her sister’s gaze, waiting.
A long moment passed between them before Leonora dropped her gaze, her eyes closing. “I try not to think of it,” she finally whispered, anguish in her voice. “Still, I cannot keep it out of my head. It is there when I close my eyes at night, and it is there when I open them in the morning.”
Now, it was Louisa who gently took her sister’s hands into her own, holding them tightly, promising that she would be here, that she would always be here by her side. “What happened that night?”
A sob tore from Leonora’s lips, and she pressed them into a tight line to contain the ones that followed. Her hands squeezed Louisa’s to an almost painful degree as she breathed in and out, trying to calm herself. “I watched you,” she finally whispered, her eyes still closed. “I watched you dance and laugh, and although I was still worried, I felt myself beginning to relax. I looked around at all the masks and wondered at all the people beneath them.” She exhaled a slow breath, then drew another one back in. “I watched them, and questions formed in my head, so I watched them some more. My feet began to move, and I began to wander around, trying to understand what made them behave in such a different fashion than they would otherwise.”
Leonora’s eyes blinked open, and the tears caught in the corners of her eyes spilled over. “I know it was foolish,” she exclaimed suddenly, anger at herself evident in her voice. “I should’ve stayed with you.” Again, her lips thinned, and she shook her head as though disappointed by her own thoughtlessness. “I didn’t even realize that I was moving away or where I was going. I simply walked around, my notebook clutched to my chest, my fingers itching to take notes. I wondered about all these people, what had brought them here that night. I think…” She swallowed hard, and Louisa knew they were getting closer to the moment that had destroyed her sister’s life. “I think I was walking down a corridor. I cannot say that I remember exactly, but then I stopped, and I found that the sounds had grown dimmer and only a few people were around, walking past me, hurrying back toward the ballroom. I turned around and intended to follow them when…”
Louisa’s teeth gritted together painfully as she watched her sister relive her pain. Leonora’s hands were like an i
ron vice, almost squeezing the life from Louisa’s. “I never saw him coming,” Leonora whispered, her fingernails digging into Louisa’s hands. “I felt a hand grab my arm and then yank me sideways. I lost my balance and fell into his arms.” Her lower lip trembled, and she could barely speak, her words shaking. “I think…I think he pulled me into an alcove. It was so very dark, and I thought I saw a curtain swing closed.” Her mouth opened again, but no sound came out. Her breathing quickened as the panic of that night caught up with her.
“It’s all right,” Louisa whispered, pulling her sister into her arms. “I’m here! I’m here!” She held her tightly, perhaps too tightly for comfort, but Leonora clung to her with an almost desperate need. Choked sobs wracked her body, and she shook like a leaf as though it were winter and not summer, the cold creeping into every region of her body.
Suddenly, Leonora pulled away, her face tear-streaked, but her eyes narrowing with anger. “It’s been weeks!” She huffed out on a breath as her hands balled into fists. “It’s been weeks, and still I cannot put it behind me.” She shook her head, dumbfounded, staring at Louisa as though hoping for an answer. “I was not injured. I don’t even have a scratch. Even the marks upon my arms have faded…” Her voice lost a little strength when she realized she was speaking about something Louisa had not previously known.
Still, her hands trembled, the sinews standing out white as she clenched them together. “I can think of little else,” she mumbled, all strength suddenly gone from her body, her voice sounding weak and defeated. “I used to be able to lose myself whenever I discovered something that interested me. It didn’t matter what it was if it piqued my curiosity. I still feel echoes of that emotion now and then, but I can no longer drift into this other world where nothing else matters but to seek an elusive answer to a most pressing question.” Her eyes closed as she slumped back, almost crumpling into herself. “I should simply forget what happened, but I can’t. Even though nothing that happened has any bearing on my life now, I keep thinking about it, remembering it, reliving it.” Her eyes opened, and she turned to Louisa, the look upon her face almost pleading. “What can I do? What can I do to make it go away? I should be able to, shouldn’t I?”