Yet fortunes came and went. Families rose and fell. A trial, to be certain, but not insurmountable. Her heart still hammered against her chest, but the tightly woven cords coiling around it loosened their grip. This they could bear. Heaven knew it would be difficult, but it was not the end. Not of him. And not of them.
Only then did she realize that they stood in the lane, and though this was a quieter stretch of road, it was a miracle no one had interrupted them yet. Glancing about, Thea motionedhim to the side, to the copse of trees that shivered overhead. Choosing a trunk that was far enough from the road that no one could accidentally eavesdrop, she settled onto the ground so that she was tucked out of view from passersby.
And before he could protest, she tugged him onto the grass beside her. Leaning back, his hands propping him up, the fellow stretched his legs out as though they were lazing about on a fine summer’s day, and Thea ignored it. That he was talking at all was something of a miracle, and she wasn’t about to do anything that might encourage him to retreat once more.
“Tell me all, Frederick,” she said, tucking her hands in her lap as she turned her full attention to him.
“There is little more to tell,” he murmured as he combed his fingers through tufts of grass.
“I doubt that,” she said, her lips pinching together.
Frederick grunted. “There is no money. The family is bankrupt. That is all there is to say.”
“I am trying to be patient and approach this situation with delicacy, but you are making that quite difficult, Frederick Voss,” she said with a frown. “Must I resort to scolding again?”
Holding up his hands in surrender, he drew in a deep breath, and once the first words left him, something within gave way. Like a breached dam, the story poured out. Sputtering and disjointed at first, then steady and unstoppable. Every detail, every miserable sum, every desperate effort to set things to rights spilled into the quiet between them, and thoughts of courtships and Sally Jenkins vanished from Thea’s thoughts as Frederick unburdened himself.
His tone was matter-of-fact, as though relaying facts and issues wholly unrelated to him, yet she heard the exhaustion, bitterness, and shame layered beneath it. He spoke of ledgers and debts, of the household cutbacks that had yielded too little,too late, and his family’s stubborn pride that compounded his strain.
Every word struck her like a blow, and Thea’s thoughts raced ahead, searching desperately for something—anything—that might mend his broken heart. Surely, if the right words were spoken, the right plan formed, these troubles would be undone. Frederick carried himself with the sort of easy strength that made others believe the world could never best him, and to see that certainty falter and his careless charm strip away was more than she could bear.
Thea’s heart twisted under the weight of it, and a deep, helpless ache pressed against her ribs until she could scarcely breathe. She would have given anything—her comfort, her pride, her very future—to ease that pain from his eyes.
Frederick tugged at the grass, tearing at the blades and scattering them on the breeze as his gaze fixed on some far, unreachable point. It took every ounce of discipline she possessed to remain silent and keep her hands folded in her lap when she wanted to reach for him, to touch his arm, and to promise that she would fix it all if only he’d let her. She sat there instead, listening as he unburdened himself, her body thrumming with unspent energy, and her throat tight with unspoken comfort.
And yet, for all the truth he gave her, Frederick skirted any mention of his father. Yes, his role in this mess was clearly defined, but the son who was bearing the brunt of his father’s sins remained mum concerning anything beyond the facts. Only a slight pause every time the gentleman was mentioned—the tiniest of hesitations that could be easily overlooked.
But Thea heard each one.
That familiar ache swelled in her chest, not the sharp rush of new affection but the deep, steady pulse of something long rooted. The world may know only the laughter andjoie de vivre,but she knew the man beneath it. The one who bore pain without complaint, who met shame with resolve, who would rather ruin himself than wrong another.
And oh, how she loved him for it.
Chapter 22
It was maddening.Theawas maddening. Without speaking, she pried him open like a chestnut, breaking past his defenses and peering inside, and Frederick doubted she knew the power she wielded with such precision. Every time her gaze settled on him, calm and unflinching, Frederick felt a little latch inside his heart give way, widening it further.
But with each confession, he inched ever closer to that which he could not say: so much of it was wrapped up in his father, and that terrible secret he could never speak. Not to anyone. Not even Thea. Frederick circled the truth, scraping against its edges, but some things were too terrible to voice. Too cruel to share. And speaking it would only make it more real.
Father’s confession sat in his heart like a rot he could never cut away; he could only keep it from infecting others. So when the words threatened to rise, he swallowed them back, forcing his voice to steady. He spoke of figures, of crops, of creditors, anything to steer the conversation away from the one thing that haunted every corner of his mind like the specters in a graveyard.
“Oh, Frederick,” she whispered, her feelings woven into those words as though her grief was too great for her heart to bear. Reaching over, Thea rested her hand upon his,and Frederick clung to it. He wouldn’t squander this last opportunity.
“I am so very sorry,” she added, though her expression crumpled. “I suppose that is far too little a thing, and I wish I knew what to say—”
“Sorry suits well enough,” he said with the faintest of smiles. “Every time my mother looks at me with those reproachful eyes, I find myself saying them. There’s nothing else I can offer up. I cannot undo the past nor change our present course.”
The words faded, leaving only the sound of the wind whispering through the leaves above them. Thea didn’t withdraw her hand, and Frederick made no effort to release it. Her fingers were warm against his, steady and sure, and he clung to that touch as though it were a lifeline.
For a long while, neither spoke. There was nothing left to say that wouldn’t cheapen what had already been laid bare between them. The weight of the debts, the ruin, and the shame pressed less heavily with her beside him, and if he closed his eyes, he could almost believe that this quiet moment beneath the tree was all that mattered.
But that was a dangerous thought.
Every instinct in him ached to close the space between them and let the world fall away. To bury himself in her arms and forget—if only for a heartbeat—that everything was coming undone. Thea made him believe that peace was possible, that comfort could be found even here at the edge of disaster, and the allure was almost too strong to resist.
Clearing his throat, Frederick considered his plans. Mr. Gleason and Mr. Moulton thought them sensible, yet he couldn’t help wondering what Thea would make of them.
“I have been considering what I should do with myself once all this business is concluded and our debts are settled in full,” said Frederick, his thumb brushing against the back of her hand.“I cannot be master of Dunsby Hall, but it is the only training and knowledge I have—”
