She tilted her head. “An accident, presumably.”
He laughed. It was worse than the smile. Harsh and discordant and self-deprecating. “An accident? It was many things, but not, perhaps, that.”
She forced herself not to reach for his hand. “I know what it is like to lose one’s parents. The worst pain imaginable. A year of mourning barely takes the edge off. One feels as though—”
“You haven’t the least notion how I feel,” he snapped. “I lost my parents, yes. And my little brother. I was twelve. Oliver was eight. Too old, I told him, to be dragging about a silly baby blanket, like an infant fresh from the cradle.”
Matilda’s heart clenched. The blanket at the bottom of her wardrobe. It must have belonged to Oliver.
“Father thought it foolish as well, and there was nothing I would not do to impress him. So I needled Oliver every chance I got. He had the blanket with him that day because we were going on holiday to visit my godparents. Oliver was deathly afraid of water. Every time we neared a bridge, his eyes would fill up with tears and he would hide himself under that blanket to block out the sight until the danger was gone.”
Matilda’s heart went out to poor Oliver. He’d feared the water as much as she feared spiderwebs and rejection. Matilda’s diced peels were her blanket. Sometimes, one took comfort wherever one could find it.
“I’d had enough.” Gilbourne’s lip curled in self-flagellation. “The next bridge we neared, I snatched the blanket from Oliver’s white-knuckled hands. Laughing, I dangled it outside the open-top barouche, and threatened to toss it into the raging river below.”
Oh no. Matilda held her breath, her skin crawling with trepidation.
“Father was driving. He loved to drive. But at that moment, on that bridge, because of my behavior, he turned and glanced over his shoulder to see what I was doing.” Gilbourne swallowed visibly. “That’s all it took.”
“What happened?” she whispered in horror.
“A stray cat, of all things, darted before the horses, who reared in alarm. They bumped into each other and lost their footing. The outermost horse put a shoulder through the railing. If the wood had held… But the bridge was old, its railing rotted. The sickening sound of the wood splintering was nothing compared to what happened next.”
Matilda’s stomach turned.
“The horses went over the edge first, followed by the rest of the carriage. Because there was no roof, we tumbled free, all four of us, landing face-first in the water and on the rocks. The carriage came crashing down on top of us, pulled by its yoke to the horses. I heard the gurgle of my brother’s last breath, as he died in the very manner he most feared.”
“Gilbourne…”
“They all died. Both of the horses and my entire family. Because of me. I broke eight bones that day, and had to be told later they thought they’d have to break my fingers as well in order to pry Oliver’s blanket out of my hand. Even in death, I wouldn’t let him have it.”
“No,” she burst out. “That’s not what happened.”
“I was there.” His eyes were haunted. “I’ll never forget a single scream.”
“Those may be the facts, but it wasn’t your fault. It was an accident, Gilbourne. A terrible, horrible accident. You cannot possibly blame—”
A knock sounded at the open study door, startling them both. “Milord?”
“Come in,” Gilbourne said as if he hadn’t been in the midst of reliving the most traumatic moment of his life.
Or, perhaps more accurately, as if he never ceased reliving his worst moments, and must muddle through his responsibilities and his duty despite the tears and the screams and the crunch and the pain echoing constantly in his head.
“It’s a parcel for Miss Dodd,” the footman explained apologetically. “Sent from Madame Theroux.”
“The first gown,” Gilbourne said briskly. “How fitting. Choose an invitation to accept, then have Buttons prepare you for an outing. I’ll meet you at the front door in two hours.”
She stared at him. “B-but—”
“Make haste,” he said sharply. “With luck, your future suitor awaits.”
Chapter 25
A fortnight of whirlwind invitations later, Matilda was just about to ring for a bath to be brought to her bedchamber when a knock sounded on the door.
When she answered the call, a footman handed her a parcel. “From Madame Theroux.”
“Thank you, Isaiah.”
