“Oh you have no idea,” she said, a smile growing on her own lips. She hesitated before walking up to his side, her eyes scanning his face as she slipped a hand behind his arm and placed it on his bicep. “When my parents first introduced me to him the first thing he asked was if I thought my mother was a failure for only birthing daughters.”
“He did not!” Christopher found himself walking alongside her in his gardens. And he was not entirely sure how that had happened.
“Oh he did! Though he was kind enough to assure me that he did not plan on taking a mistress until after I gave him an heir, maybe after a spare, but only if I was the epitome of a good wife.”
“The cad! And he did so in front of your parents?”
“We were promenading, so they were not right next to us. Though I think they heard. My mother even tried to persuade my father to find someone, anyone else to marry me off to. But it was of no use.”
“I am sorry about that, I never wished to make you a social pariah. It was completely unforgivable of me to leave you alone after everything. But it was never my intention to make you suffer.”
Christopher risked a glance at her only to find her already looking. “I’m sure it wasn’t, perhaps I should write a bit about them in the letters I sent you—which you never read. And if you didn’t want anything to do with me anyway, why should I unburden myself to you?”
He swallowed. “I read them. I… I couldn’t bring myself to reply. First my hands, and then…”
Veronica stopped walking then, the gentleness being slowly replaced by the fire, the anger that was becoming more and more familiar to him. “I would have accepted that if it took you a year, maybe a bit more. But it has been so long, even my younger sisters are approaching spinsterhood.”
“Should I guess that that too was because of the fire?”
“In part,” she left the rest of the sentence unsaid. But her glare finished it for her:
You not marrying me, publicly rejecting me, only made it worse.
He had known he would be having this conversation with her sooner or later. He only wished they had more time, that he had first told her about the best friend he lost in the fire, and how he could not bring himself to be part of a world that no longer accepted him
He could see he was losing her, and the tentative peace between them. She shook her head and turned to leave, but he caught her elbow. When she faced him, he took a steadying breath.
“I wanted to write to you, I must have started a hundred letters, but each time I tossed them in the fire. I always thought I had time. That I could still reply, and we could pick up where we left off. But then they stopped coming, and I knew it was too late.”
“I want to believe you. But it’s hard to trust what you say when so much of our marriage is still some big mysterious secret.”
He looked away from her wonderfully expressive eyes. He didn’t even know if she meant for him to see the war happening within her, but he could see it. And it was in his hand to help her decide.
“I know I have a temper, and I know it must be hard for you to be married to someone who cannot talk about his past. I promise to tell you, but I cannot right now.”
“I see,” her eyes studied him like she was trying to gauge if his words were genuine or not.
For a moment, neither of them said anything then he forced himself to continue. He had things he needed to say to her, and perhaps, if he played his cards right, he just might be able to save this moment.
So he took a deep breath and forced himself to speak. “I know I am not always the easiest one to get along with, but I wouldlike us to be able to at least be cordial with one another. To be... friends.”
Veronica stared at him wordlessly.
He struggled to interpret her expression so he pushed on, hoping for the best. Maybe if she saw him trying to meet her half way, she would meet him at least part of the way there.
“Is it too late for us?”
Chapter Nine
Out of everything he could have said, she did not expect him to ask her that. Nor did she expect what came out of her mouth:
“I don’t know. But maybe we could learn together. Perhaps over dinner?”
Now she was sitting in front of a mirror, getting ready for dinner with her husband.
[letter scene, instead have him read her letters? So he can see into her psychology and start trying to connect with her.]
Eventually, she found herself walking in circles. Unsure of what else to do, she returned to her room and sat down at her writing desk.
