So he remained sulking, sullenly following through darkness, until finally Hypatia and her little lamp stopped bobbing, before a middling-sized stone cottage of some manner.
‘We’re here,’ she said, breathlessly, waiting for him to be excited, but quickly finding herself disappointed, so turning to open the door instead.
He followed, because something inside still refused to not obey her commands; refused to injure her and tell her he was going back to bed. Stepping inside, his nose began to recognise scents, and then she was lighting candles, and he realised…
‘This is a forge,’ he breathed, stunned, blinking as his eyes found the hearth, the bellows, the tools, the anvil, the tables…
‘Mrs Siddows mentioned there was one here,’ she told him excitedly, her eyes still searching him, hoping for approval, or excitement, orsomethinghe couldn’t find it in himself to give, as a turbulent whirlpool of feelings swept his insides bare and raw. ‘She said it hasn’t been used in years. They used to have a smithfor the farm, but he was one of the first to go when the old earl was making cuts.’
‘These tools, they’re new…’
‘I hope they’re right. I asked around, and read what I could, but if they’re not right, Rowan at the ironmongers said you could switch them without issue. As for the rest, gathered where I could, and Danny and Ian and Fred helped, cleaning it all up, and getting it back into shape.’
‘You used your money for all this, didn’t you?’
‘Of course. This was my surprise, for you.’
It was…
So much.
Too much.
Thoughtful, and kind-hearted, and wonderful, and excessive, and the most incredible gift he’d perhaps been given, and it filled him with such joy, wonder, and marvel, and bewilderment that guilt, remorse, and self-hatred, also reared their ugly heads.
And in their true destructive fashion, they dimmed the rest, until all Thorn could see, or taste, or speak, was the worst of himself, and his mind.
‘Is this your roundabout way of telling me I should go back to what I’m good at?’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Surely you can’t have failed to hear them at market,’ he spat, rounding back on her, her dumbfounded expression worseningeverything, rather than forcing him to take a proper step back, and look at himself, and his egregious behaviour. ‘If such things were said to me, I can’t imagine what was said to you. And I expect everyone on this bloody farm, on this estate, and in the village, is thinking such things. Saying such things. That I’ve no idea what I’m doing, that you’re the one who knows everything, who’s out there negotiating prices, and fixing roofs, and handling pigs, and running things. You’ve been doing sofrom the first, without any aid from me, and so I must wonder, what purpose do I serve beyond being the imposter of an earl?’
‘I didn’t think you minded,’ Hypatia said quietly, searching her brain he could see for examples to prove his point. Part of him knew she would find none; the more cruel part told him she would find countless. ‘I’ve asked you, I thought we were working together…’
‘But we’re not doing it together, are we?’ he near shouted, throwing up his hands like the petulant, insecure child he knew he was. But he just couldn’tstop. ‘You do it all, and I’m just here to sign papers, or sayyes, Hypatia, or lift pigs from the muck, and even then, how many times have you donethatyourself? You make the decisions, and you know what’s best, and why shouldn’t I just step back, and go back to my old work, and let you save my legacy and restore the title, and do it all, and there we go.’
‘You don’t just… I want to do itwithyou,’ she told him, her earnestness chafing as she took a step towards him.
‘Why? Do you evenlikeme, Hypatia?’ That one stopped her, and he saw a doubt, a questioning, an examination of her mind that fuelled his anger. ‘You leave my bed when you’ve had your pleasure, and you never touch me otherwise, I am always the one holding your hand, or caressing your cheek, or…anything. Some days I wonder if you even like me touching you, or if you’re just enduring it to get what you want.’
‘I don’t mind it—’
‘You don’tmindit?’
Aghast, her answer proving him right on all counts, even if it did no such thing, he shook his head, laughing bitterly.
‘Thorn, please, don’t misunderstand me.’
‘Actually, for the first time, I think I understand you very well. It was my mistake again, believing something other than what was before me.’
‘Thorn—’
Even if he hadn’t waved her off, like some dismissive arse, and walked out into the warm, but cold to him night, her words would’ve been stopped by the crack he heard in her voice; a complement to those heart-wrenching tears he’d seen dancing on her lashes before he’d turned away.
Another man, a better one, worthier one, would’ve immediately turned on his heel, and marched straight back in there, and begged forgiveness for having injured her, as he knew he had. Not only by spouting some ridiculous nonsense he’d allowed to fester inside him, not only by saying very cruel things, but mainly, by being unwilling totalk, as they had so readily until now. Certes, he had valid feelings, doubts, questions—does she like me, do I serve a purpose, does she need or want me—but he’d not taken the time to open himself up to her. To be vulnerable, to express it all, andask, in a civilised, cool, andready-to-hear-the-answerway. For that sin, and perhaps, many others, he’d likely be punished with what might prove to be the worst fate possible; the loss of an incredible woman. One he cared for so deeply, and he…
She’d be better off. What have I to give?
