It helped that Theodore had not pushed him any sort of a confession. If anything, he had been the opposite and gently let the conversation flow to that direction naturally.
"No need to be so hard on yourself, brother," Theodore said to him. But Oliver was not done yet with his confessions.
"I have tried to remain indifferent. To persuade myself that affection is something I might safely set aside. But she…" He paused, unable to look his brother in the eye. "She has a way of…slipping past my defenses."
"That is often how it happens, I think," A faint smile curved Theodore's mouth. It was as though he had been expecting to hear this all along.
"She makes a mockery of all my intentions," Oliver went on, his voice roughening. "I had resolved, quite sensibly, I believed, that I should never allow myself to need anyone in such a fashion. That if I never ventured so far, I might never find myself lacking."
"And has it worked?" Theodore asked mildly.
"No. It has failed spectacularly," Oliver said, allowing himself a moment of lighthearted laughter.
At that, Theodore's brows lifted, his expression softening into something near to sympathy.
"Then perhaps it was never a sensible resolution to begin with."
Oliver let out a long, ragged breath and lifted his gaze back to the painting of their parents that hung above them. In a strange way,it was providing him with the anchor that he needed to continue on.
"I cannot pretend that I know how to be the sort of man she deserves," he said quietly. "I do not know how to…trust in something so precarious as love. But God help me, I cannot pretend that I feel nothing for her."
"It is not nothing, then," Theodore said. "You love her."
Oliver dared not deny it. He did love her. That seemed to him the most important truth in his life, at present.
"It is the most bewildering, impossible thing I have ever known. I find myself thinking of her at all hours. Wondering if she has eaten, if she is lonely, if she thinks of me in turn." He swallowed. "And yet…even in the same breath, I am afraid that I will only fail her."
"You have not failed her," Theodore said firmly. "You have only failed to be honest with yourself."
Oliver let his eyes fall shut. It was easier than bearing the clarity in his brother's face.
"I told her I could not give her children. That it was something I would never want."
"And do you truly never want it?" Theodore questioned. "Because that comes to me as a surprise, knowing how good you are with them. A natural, if you will."
His throat worked around the ache. It was a topic that Oliver found most difficult to discuss.
"I do not know," he admitted hoarsely. "I once believed it would be cruel to bring a child into the world only to have a father so ill-equipped to guide them. But lately…" He hesitated, the confession lodging in his chest. "Lately, I have wondered if it was simply cowardice disguised as caution."
"You, a coward?" Theodore regarded him steadily. "Absolutely not. That is the furthest thing from the truth. You have spent your entire life protecting everyone around you. But you never once thought to protect yourself."
"No," A faint humorless smile touched Oliver's mouth. "I have never considered that a priority. It is simply not so important when you have other more pressing responsibilities."
"But you will find that," Theodore said gently, "if you never allow yourself the smallest measure of faith, you will spend your life alone, regretting every moment you refused to claim."
Oliver could not quite summon a reply. The truth of it rang too plainly.
"Do you love her?" Theodore posed it as a question this time, leaving Oliver no choice but to give him a confirmation.
"I believe I do. Though I have never been certain of what love truly is. Only that she makes the notion seem less impossible."
"That is more than most men ever find," Theodore replied at once.
"I am not sure if it is enough," he replied, hanging his head now.
"It might be," Theodore corrected, "if you allow it to be."
He took his hand away then and moved around the desk, his gaze never leaving his brother's.
