“Then we’ll figure out how to make this work anyway.” He moved back toward the chair, beginning to unbutton his shirt. “But tonight, ye sleep in the bed. Alone.”
She should have felt relieved, should have been grateful for his consideration. Instead, she felt oddly disappointed though she couldn’t say why.
“Elijah?”
“Aye?”
“Why did ye really choose me over Lydia?”
He paused in his undressing, his hands stilling on his shirt. “Because when yer parents were explainin’ all the reasons ye werenae suitable, all I could think was that ye sounded like exactly what I needed.”
“A woman who’s too feisty and too difficult?”
“A woman who wouldnae break.” His eyes met hers across the room. “I’ve had enough of broken things in me life.”
The admission hung between them, vulnerable and honest. Before she could respond, he’d blown out most of the candles, leaving only one burning near the bed.
“Good night, Iris.”
“Good night.”
She changed into her nightgown behind the screen, hyperaware of every sound he made settling into the chair. When she finally climbed into the large bed, it felt impossibly empty despite its size.
This is what ye wanted. Distance. Safety. Control.
So why did she feel so alone?
“Elijah?” she whispered into the darkness.
“Aye?”
“Thank ye for givin’ me a choice.”
“Thank ye for stayin’.”
For staying.
Not for marrying him, not for accepting the arrangement—for staying when she could have run like Lydia did. As she lay in thedarkness, listening to his quiet breathing across the room, Iris found herself wondering what it would have been like if she’d asked him to stay instead of letting him retreat to that chair.
What’s wrong with me?
Deep down, she was beginning to suspect she already knew the answer.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Are ye sure she willnae leave?”
Iris paused outside the solar door, her hand frozen on the handle. Through the crack, she could see Codie sitting at the small desk Elijah kept for him, carefully copying letters with a quill that seemed too large for his small hands.
“She’s me wife now,” Elijah replied though his voice was strangely distant. “She’s nae goin’ anywhere.”
“But Maither left.” The boy’s voice was so quiet, Iris had to strain to hear it. “She dinnae want to stay with us.”
“That was different, lad.” Elijah’s tone was careful, controlled. “Yer maither was... she was sick.”
“Was she sick because of me? Because I wasnae good enough?”
Iris pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle her gasp. This little boy thought his mother’s death was somehow his fault?
