‘Should’ve told mewhat,Oliver?’
He closed his eyes, voice soft. ‘That he was in love with someone else.’
Ava felt the words land – felt their swift slice, the slow burn of pain low in her stomach. ‘What?’
She didn’t see the kitchen door swing open, and then swing shut again. Didn’t see Damien hesitate on the other side of it, another sopping rag in his hand.
‘He’s in love with someone else,’ muttered Oliver. ‘That’s why he couldn’t marry you. That’s why youhaveto believe it’s not your fault. Because if you didn’t, I couldn’t – Icouldn’t—’ Oliver’s eyes widened, and he flailed once more – reaching for the bucket hurriedly. ‘I’m sorry, Ava,’ he said – his voice echoing sadly into the tin.
She opened her mouth, and then closed it again. ‘Who is it?’
Oliver shook his head – only his blond hair visible atop the bucket. Her mind scattered like a hundred marbles. A woman he’d met at the shop? Or worse – was it someone theyknew?
And suddenly – Jem’s words made sense. What he’d said on the doorway – that there was more to life than ‘managing’ together.
You’d want more than that, Ava.
I’d want more than that.
And she’d thought he’d meant it in an idealistic way. In the same way Miss Fairchildwantedto marry someone rich and titled, or the way Lillianwantedto recast the entire theatre in gold.
But now Ava wondered if he’d meant it literally. If he’d said it like that becausehe’dalready found it. And whatever it was –whoever it was– it wasn’t her. And though the pain of that didn’t sting as it might’ve, once, it scratched at something in the darkest part of her mind. The part she tried to keep behind a door – the part she tried to shut away.
‘You knew this,’ she said slowly. ‘Didn’t you? That’s why you were so angry at him … so …so…’
‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled, spitting into the bucket. ‘I’m so sorry. I should’ve protected you better. I should’ve—’
‘Shh,’ she said, her voice a cracked whisper. ‘You didn’t do anything wrong.’
For it had always been the three of them, together.
Her, Jem and Oliver.
Until Jem had proposed.
And then it had been none of them.
And now …
Now Damien stepped through the doorway, a wet rag in one hand, and a glass of water in the other.
‘Here,’ he said, handing her the cup. ‘See if he’ll drink this. It’ll help.’
Oliver had slumped back onto the settee, sweat written in shining lines upon his face, his breathing becoming soft, and even.
‘Perhaps it’s best if we let him sleep,’ she said – feeling oddly numb, as though she had loosened herself from her body, and floated somewhere nearby instead. ‘You should go.’
Damien looked at her, his brow furrowed. ‘Let me make you a cup of tea or something first,’ he said. ‘You’re pale.’
‘Am I?’ She reached up to touch her face, rubbing the dampness from her cheeks before he could see it, and followed him.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Damien was surprisingly adept in the kitchen – hunting through the cupboards for two teacups – though he pulled out her mother’s fancy china, intended only for the day that Queen Victoria decided to pay an impromptu visit to their shambling house.
‘How much of that did you hear?’ Ava asked, crouching to fetch coal from the bin. From the corner of her eye, she saw his back stiffen a little.
‘Most of it,’ he admitted. ‘I’m sorry, I—’
