“That is a fair point,” Henry conceded, uncertain of what to do with his hands now that she had moved away from him.
She turned back to look at him, her eyes now glinting with something like hope. “You think so?”
Henry did not respond. Instead, he sifted through his own thoughts on the matter, trying to decide how best to answer.
“When he said he was not who he was two years ago,” Thalia continued urgently, “I believed him. I do not know why; I justdid. And after remembering that argument, Istillbelieve him. The brother I saw today was not the one from that memory.”
With a steadying breath, Henry met his wife’s gaze and though every impulse urged him to look away so he would not be pulled in by those green eyes, he held his nerve.
“I shall never trust your brother after his past transgressions,” he said evenly. “However, I am sorry for the way I spoke to him today, and for causing you undue distress because of it. I, too, was seeing him as the man who had to be dragged from this manor by Baxter two years ago. I did not pause to think that he might have changed.”
She frowned. “Dragged out by Mr. Baxter? I do not remember that part.”
“Baxter does, and I do, after hearing of it,” Henry replied, hoping that he had not just given away his informant.
Then again, she was an intelligent woman, she had probably already guessed. The Thalia who had existed before the accident had certainly been wary of Baxter, always falling silent whenever he entered a room where she had company. The butler had mentioned it a few times over the years, but then, Baxter also had ways of overhearingwithoutanyone knowing he was there.
“But that is by the by,” Henry continued. “In truth, Thalia, it is your father that I do not trust. He thought he would gain far more than he has from our marriage, and a man who feels slighted is a dangerous creature.”
Thalia stilled. “Whatever do you mean?”
“He thought he was entitled to part of my fortune and was not pleased when he discovered that was not true,” Henry explained somewhat vaguely. “He is often manipulative, he often makes demands, and when they are not fulfilled, he keeps Dorothy from you. And in the weeks leading up to your fall, he had visited more than he has ever done before. I also know there were conversations between the two of you, but I do not know the nature of them.”
He realized he ought to stop talking, lest he influence his wife’s mind more than he should, coloring her opinion of her father with his own misgivings. Then again, maybe she deserved to know how weaselly her father had been over the years; it was proving to be a delicate balance that he did not yet know how to manage.
“But, I agree that your brother is probably not capable of hurting you,” he said, circling back to what had begun the conversation.
Thalia fidgeted with the tasseled edges of the blanket, staring down at the woven pattern. “Do you have siblings?”
“One. A younger brother,” he replied. “Walter.”
She waited as if she expected him to say more, and Henry felt himself compelled to continue.
“He is a year younger than me and has resided in Morocco for the past five years,” Henry said, thinking of the sparse letters in his writing desk drawer. Notes, really, from Walter, just to let his older brother know he was still alive.
Thalia’s entire face lit up, the residual shadows of the nightmare evaporating. “Morocco? Goodness, how exotic! Have you never visited him? Havewenever visited him?” She paused, a slight frown on her brow. “Have I met him at all?”
“No,” Henry replied, answering all of her questions in one. “He and I are very different.”
“You do not get along?”
To Henry’s surprise, Thalia chose that moment to lie back down upon the Arabian divan, curled up in the opposite direction to how he had found her. She rested her head upon the armrest that acted as a pillow and peered up at him, waiting for him to reply.
He turned his attention toward the fireplace instead of those beautiful eyes of hers and the inviting way she lay there, the shape of her sparking an impulse to lie there with her, behind her, his arm around her waist, holding her close to his body. To rest together in a way they never had before.
“It is not that,” he said at last, his throat tight at the thought of holding her so close. “We get along perfectly fine, but… we are just different. He is living his life as he sees fit, and so am I. There is no quarrel between us.”
There was no real affection either, for it had not been encouraged by their father. In their younger years, they had certainly been at loggerheads more often than not, but after their father died, the relationship between the brothers softened into one of understanding and respect, each learning why the other had acted a certain way when they were boys, each discovering why they were the way that they were.
“Your parents must have loved one another very much, to have two children in less than two years,” Thalia mumbled.
Henry’s mood darkened at the mere suggestion, glaring at the smoldering embers of the dying fire. Rather metaphorical, in truth.
“They were anythingbutin love,” he said coolly. “I do not think my father was capable of loving anything other than himself and life’s amusements. He was a selfish, wretched man. He?—”
Henry glanced down to find that Thalia’s eyes were closed, her expression relaxed, her lips slightly parted as she breathed in a slow, sleepy rhythm.
Are my stories so boring?His mouth quirked into a smile as he carefully took hold of the edges of the blanket and pulled it over her.
