“You mean, society’s prejudices against women?” Ottilie said.
“Exactly. As a woman, particularly a young woman, you feel pressure to be perfect in every way. You must relinquish your ideas, interests, and desires, lest society frowns upon you for behaving as ‘less than’. There’s no room for mistakes. And should you make a mistake, or go against society in any way, the consequences are dire. It’s as though women are not allowed to be human.” She shook her head. “Desdemona was near perfect, but even that wasn’t enough. Society always judges women so harshly.”
Henry shifted in his seat. Was she talking aboutOthelloor him?
“Hang on,” Bastin said. “Othello’s the flawed one—unable to control his jealousy and so easily manipulated. That doesn’t put men in a very flattering light, does it?”
“Othello is every man, is he not? Though he loves Desdemona, and though she is loyal and honest, he doubts her because society teaches us that women are not trustworthy. That is why we must be passed from father to husband, chaperoned, and censored. It’s assumed we cannot think or do for ourselves. And in the case of the play, Othello ultimately uses Desdemona’s love for him against her. She betrays her papa out of love for him, and instead of that making her loyal in his eyes, it serves as proof of her deceitfulness. In society’s view—like Othello’s—women are guilty because it’s assumed they are deceitful and disloyal from birth. It’s been my experience, and I feel sure, the experience of many women that a man will condemn a woman first, and only ask questions to determine the truth later.”
Henry’s stomach knotted with guilt, knowing that Anne directed her words at him. He shifted his eyes from his plate to Anne, expecting to meet her scorn. Instead, he saw hurt in her lovely green eyes. A wave of shame engulfed him. Once again, he’d allowed jealousy to rule his emotions, and once again, he’d behaved like a cad. How could he expect Anne to trust him if he kept doubting her?
*
Annabel heard Henry’sfootsteps before he sank into a chair next to her writing desk. She’d gone directly to the library after handing Alice over to Mrs. Teal so she could continue working on her essay for Headmistress Thomas. But she’d found it hard to concentrate. Nate’s words of warning still troubled her. Had she put too much faith in Henry? He’d doubted her once already, and his silence this evening confirmed her fears that he doubted her yet again. Now he sat staring at her.
It wasn’t to be borne. She lifted her head to glare at him. “If you’ve come to reprimand me—”
“I haven’t,” he said, cutting off her words. “On the contrary, I believe I owe you another apology.”
An apology? That was unexpected. She put down her quill and waited.
“I shouldn’t have watched you and Nate. I should have gone inside. I told myself that I remained to ensure you were safe, but I wasn’t being entirely honest. In truth, I’m curious about your relationship. I can’t help but wonder what hold the man has over you. Even if it’s none of my business. It feels off to me, and I’m concerned.”
She pressed her lips together. What could she say? She couldn’t tell him the truth. The secret wasn’t only hers. Others were involved.
Henry continued, “There’s another reason I didn’t mention my title to you. I didn’t want it to scare you away—spoil my chance to know you. I didn’t—don’twant you to think I wish to take advantage of you. My feelings for you are genuine. All that I have expressed to you is true.”
Her heart thundered at his words. She longed to reciprocate and tell him how his touch made her weak with happiness and how she longed to feel his lips against hers again.
But she could not.
Poor Henry thought she was upset because he’d withheld the truth about himself from her; if only he knew her own dishonesty was the thing that was crushing her.
What would he do if he discovered she was the daughter of Bernard Leonard, the same young woman whose life and death they’d frequently discussed? Even if he forgave her for lying, she couldn’t expect him to lie on her behalf. He would have to tell Headmistress Thomas and Mrs. Bastin the truth about her. And what would they do, knowing her secret jeopardized the ladies’ college? They’d send her home, and her papa would never let her out of his sight again—not until she’d been delivered to the sacrificial altar. She’d never be allowed to pick up a book again, let alone write essays and discuss her thoughts with a learned woman like Mrs. Thomas. And that wasifCraventhorp let her live! More than likely, she’d end up floating in the Thames. And what about Stella? She would never stay in hiding. Stella would come to her rescue. Then Craventhorp would…she couldn’t bear the thought of Stella coming to harm.
I cannot maintain my freedom and the safety it provides me and Stella, and my friendship with Henry.
It’s simply impossible. I have to let him go. But how to tell him gently?An idea occurred to her.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Henry said. “I don’t blame you for being angry. I’ve behaved abominably.”
“I’m the one who should be apologizing. I’ve misled you—not by my feelings—those, like yours, are indeed genuine. But I am not free.”
Henry straightened, and the pained look on his face tore at Annabel’s heart.This is the gentler way.If she kept telling herself that, then she could persevere. It was imperative. Her life—and Stella’s!—depended on it. “You are promised to Mr. Trawler, then?”
“What? No, of course not.”
Henry blinked, and his body relaxed once again. “I don’t understand.”
Annabel steeled herself. She hated this, hated lying to Henry, but she saw no alternative. “My husband only died a little over a year ago, and—well—my heart is not ready.”
Henry leaned forward in his chair, clasping his hands together on his lap and looking at her intently. “I beg to differ. You have opened your heart to me. Perhaps the affection you’ve shown me has made you feel guilty as if you are betraying your husband, but if he loved you as much as—well, as much as I imagine he did—then he would want you to be happy.”
Anne swallowed. How she wished she truly was an impoverished widow and not the daughter of a confectionary-making tyrant.
“What you said tonight at the table—about your reading ofOthello—that struck me. I’ve always thought of myself as a radical thinker. With a cousin like Ottilie, it would be hard not to be. But what you said made me realize that certain events in my life have colored my thinking.” He met her eyes with his own in a gaze as intimate as a touch. “There is something I wish to confess.”
“Confess?” A bubble of nervous laughter escaped her throat. “That’s a rather strong word.”
