I contemplated that question, filling the silence with a worn sigh. “Yes. And no. I knew something was different. He didn’t do anything worse than usual, just more tension, I suppose. But he was also avoiding the house and avoiding you, I suspect, so that was a relief.”
“I’m going to forgive the debt.”
“Don’t. I have to marry His Grace either way. Father may as well have fewer pounds to lose when I’m gone.”
He didn’t respond to that. Somehow, I knew he would forgive it anyway.
The silence of the night, the certainty that the books would keep my confidences, and the way his thumb was soothing the outside of mine, it was too much. The words I had been holding back for weeks, months, and years burst forth.
“Sometimes I hate the person he made me.”
Now that I had started talking, it seemed I could not stop, did not want to stop. I felt lighter for unburdening. I wanted to feel lighter still, to float away.
“What do you mean?” His brow furrowed, concerned, I suppose.
“So unforgiving that I want him to suffer.”
“I have to disagree with that. You’ve been very forgiving with me.”
“You hardly count. You did nothing wrong.”
“I threatened your father in the middle of a ball.”
“In retrospect, I quite applaud your efforts.” That gained me a laugh.
“He’s made me hateful too.” The confessions would not stop.
“How so?”
I looked down at my lap. I wanted to confide in him. But, I could not bear to watch his admiration wash away. “My baby brother. My stepmother, Sophie, gave birth to a boy before she died. He only lived a few moments, but seeing my father so proud of the boy in his arms—I hated him. He did nothing more than exist, and in doing so, he earned the only thing I ever wanted. My list of failings began the moment I was born a girl. Nothing I will ever do can atone for that first sin. I still feel sick thinking about the hate in my heart for those moments. I don’t want to be like this.”
I stared at my lap, unable to look away. That was when his hand tightened around mine. He slid two fingers under my chin with his other hand, directing my eyes back to his.
“That’s your great sin? That you were envious for a single moment after a lifetime of vitriol directed at you? If that’s all that’s necessary for a trip to hell, I think you shall find yourself with a great deal of company. If the babe had lived, you wouldn’t even remember the momentary lapse.”
There was passion behind his speech, willing me to believe him, and, lord help me, a part of me did. His eyes were so sincere, no lie in them.
“You don’t think me terrible?”
He scoffed in response. “I’m envious and hateful all the time. I can hardly judge you for a momentary lapse. I hate Agatha every time I’m in her presence and my father every time I see his judgmental face above the desk in the study. I’m envious of Hugh frequently.”
“You are?”
“Has anyone explained to you our relation?”
“No, not really.”
“I don’t know my mother. I believe her to be an opera singer, but I can’t know for certain. I was the late viscount’s ward for years before he married Agatha. I was treated as a son in every way. If he never had a legitimate son— Well, who can know? When Hugh was born, I was cast aside entirely. Some days I hate him.”
“You don’t act as though you want to be viscount. I had no idea.”
“What would be the point? Wanting something, someone doesn’t change the situation.”
“Someone?”
He cupped my cheek with his free hand. My heart pounded. I was certain he would kiss me, and I wanted it desperately.
“I’m envious of Rosehill, also. Not the clothes—those are ridiculous—but of his choice of fiancée.”
