That brought his head up. Surprise flickered across his features before the mask reasserted itself.
“I presume Oliver repeated our conversation.” Thaddeus set down his quill with exaggerated precision. “I spoke only truth. Teaching the boy not to grieve over inevitabilities serves his ultimate wellbeing.”
“His ultimate wellbeing.” Maribel tasted the words, finding them bitter. “You believe teaching a four-year-old child to wall off his heart constitutes caring for him?”
“I believe teaching him emotional discipline will spare him considerable suffering.” Thaddeus rose, his posture defensive despite his carefully maintained composure. “He has already endured profound loss. Encouraging further attachments to those who cannot remain strikes me as profoundly irresponsible.”
“Those who cannot remain.” Something sharp and cold settled behind Maribel’s ribs. “Tell me, Your Grace—does that category include only groundskeepers’ sons? Or does it extend to scandal afflicted-wives?”
The barb landed. She watched his shoulders stiffen.
“That is not what I meant, and you know it.”
“Do I?” Maribel advanced into the room, her skirts whispering against carpet. “Because from where I stand, your philosophy seems remarkably consistent. Do not become attached. Do not permit intimacy. Maintain distance at all costs, regardless of who suffers for it.”
“This conversation serves no productive purpose.” Thaddeus moved toward the window—that familiar retreat. Presenting her with his back. “I appreciate your concern for Oliver’s emotional state. However, his upbringing remains my responsibility.”
“And mine.” The words emerged sharp as broken glass. “Or have you forgotten our arrangement? I did not come here merely to warm your nursery, Your Grace. I came because that child needed someone who would fight for his happiness.”
“Love.” He turned then, and the expression on his face sent ice flooding through her veins. “You speak of love as though it were simple. As though caring for someone carries no consequence. As though attachment does not inevitably lead to?—”
“To what?” Maribel demanded. “To loss? To pain? Yes, Thaddeus. Sometimes it does. But the alternative is this—” She gestured between them. “—this hollow existence where we deny everything real and call it strength.”
“What would you have me do?” The question emerged raw. “What precisely would satisfy you? I have provided for you. Protected you. Given you authority within this household. And still you stand here, demanding—what, exactly?”
His words struck deep because they carried truth she couldn’t deny. He had done those things. But he hadn’t given her himself.
“I am not demanding anything.” Her voice dropped. “I am telling you that I cannot remain in a household where I am trusted with a child’s heart but denied acknowledgment in yours. Where I am essential yet treated as temporary. Where my presence must be erased to preserve your precious control.”
“That is unfair.”
“Is it?” She laughed without humour. “You kissed me, Thaddeus. You held me as though I mattered. And then you spent three weeks avoiding me as though that moment never occurred. As though I were something shameful rather than?—”
She stopped, swallowing against the tightness in her throat.
“Rather than what?” His voice had gone very quiet.
“Rather than someone you chose.” The admission cost her everything. “I thought, perhaps foolishly, that our kiss meant you had begun to see me. Not as obligation. Not as convenience. But as someone you... wanted.”
For one terrible, suspended moment, she saw walls begin to crack. Saw longing flicker behind his eyes.
Then he turned away.
“What I want is irrelevant.” His words fell like stones. “My wants have destroyed everything I ever—” He stopped, breathing hard. “I must think of Oliver. His needs supersede everything else.”
“His needs.” Maribel’s hands were shaking now. “And you believe Oliver needs a guardian who teaches him that caring is dangerous? Who models fear rather than courage?”
“Enough.”
The single word cracked through the room. Thaddeus whirled to face her, and the expression on his face stole what little breath remained in her lungs.
“You want honesty? Very well. I cannot be what you need. I cannot be soft and open and vulnerable. Every time I permit myself to feel anything beyond duty, disaster follows. My mother died, and it nearly ruined this family, ruined me... Nicholas and Margaret perished, leaving their child orphaned. And when I dare to want something?—”
His voice fractured.
“It never is different,” he finished quietly. “Wanting leads to loss. Attachment leads to suffering. I learned that lesson young. I have no desire to teach it to Oliver through further demonstration.”
Maribel stared at him, her heart hammering so violently she wondered if he could hear it.
