“Edith has a kind heart but no money,” Cordelia pointed out. “We would be a burden.”
“I have saved money,” Gwen said quickly. “I have a little put aside. From pin money, from small economies, from the jewels Papa left that Howard does not know I sold. It is not a fortune, but it will carry us there and keep us for a while.”
Cordelia stared at her, astonishment warring with dismay in her eyes. “You sold your father’s things?”
“Not the ones that mattered,” Gwen assured her. “He would not mind. He always said trinkets were for wearing, not hoarding. We can take the morning coach or hire a private carriage and pay well for discretion. If we leave within the week, we will be gone before Howard has written to St. Agatha’s that we are on our way.”
Cordelia’s eyes filled with tears. “You have thought of all this?”
“Yes.” Gwen nodded. “For months, in smaller ways. Tonight only gave the plan shape. Mama, we need not stay. We need not spend the rest of our lives walking on the crumbs of his temper, hoping he does not choose to notice.”
Cordelia’s hand trembled in hers. “He has provided for us.”
“He haspurchasedus,” Gwen corrected. “There is a difference.”
“He has a temper,” Cordelia mumbled. “But so did your father, at times. Marriage is not easy. Vows are not toys to be set down when they are too heavy.”
Gwen’s throat tightened. “Papa never left bruises where no one would see.”
Cordelia flinched again, more visibly. She looked down at her wrists, where the faint shadows had only just faded. “He does not mean to hurt me. He loses himself. Then he repents.”
“He repents only enough to soothe you until the next outburst,” Gwen scoffed. “We both know it.”
Her mother shook her head, as if physically rejecting the words. “You do not understand, my love. There is a promise between us. A sacrament. I stood before God and said I would remain with him in sickness and in health, for better, for worse. I cannot tear that apart because it has become… difficult.”
“Difficult,” Gwen repeated, almost choking on the gentleness of the word. “Mama, he means to banish me to a convent.”
“I know.”
“I know you know.”
“He believes it is for the best,” Cordelia argued. “That you will be safe there. That the world has not been kind to you, and you will find peace behind those walls. I begged him to reconsider. He would not.”
“Peace,” Gwen muttered bitterly. “In a place I do not choose, among women I do not know, because he has grown tired of my presence at his table.”
“He is frightened,” Cordelia replied softly, taking refuge in the word. “Of scandal. Of what the ton says. Of how it reflects on him. When he is afraid, he becomes controlling. If we love him, we must soothe his fear, not inflame it.”
Gwen stared at her mother, cold sorrow burrowing deep in her chest. “Mama, what of his love for us?”
“He loves us in his own way,” Cordelia whispered.
“In his own way,” Gwen repeated quietly. Suddenly, she felt very old. Far older than her years. “Is it enough for you?”
“Yes,” Cordelia said at once. “Ichosehim. Ichosethis life. I will not abandon it because it hurts.”
“And me?” Gwen asked. The question slipped free without permission. “Who chooses me?”
Cordelia’s composure cracked, and her tears spilled over. “Do not make me answer that question.”
“You already have,” Gwen said softly.
Cordelia reached for her, desperate. “You do not understand what it is like to be a wife. To be alone in the world and then find someone who says he will take care of you. It is not so easy to walk away from that, even when…”
“Even when the care becomes a cage,” Gwen finished.
“He can change,” Cordelia insisted. “He is kinder, at times. He laughs. When he is pleased, he is charming. I have seen goodness in him. He is not all darkness, Gwen.”
“I do not ask you to call him a monster,” Gwen said. “I ask you to imagine a life where your worth is not measured by how well you soothe his storms.”
