At once, his face brightened, the awkwardness forgotten as he launched into a lively account of his ventures. “We’ve made remarkable progress with it—securing contracts with several London merchants. If the next quarter proves as profitable as the last…”
He trailed on, speaking with an ease that had been absent a moment before. Thea let him talk, her polite nods and soft murmurs of encouragement coming automatically as his voice filled the space between them, steady and bright, and she found herself oddly grateful for it.
It was easier this way—listening, smiling when appropriate, and letting the conversation settle into something harmless.
*
“I am surprised your brother chose not to attend,” said Mr. Curtis, glancing about the gathering as though he might spy the gentleman in question. His tone mirrored so many others, who came up to ask “innocent” questions about the family and estate, affecting neighborly care whilst scrutinizing every aspect of Frederick’s response, searching for crumbs that exposed more of the Vosses’ business.
“Yes, he returned to Leeds. He was allowed a respite during our bereavement, but the time came for him to take up his dutiesonce more.” Or rather, Timothy preferred fishing for a dowry in more varied waters.
Mr. Curtis nodded as though that were entirely expected, though the gentleman had asked the question in the first place. “Ah, yes. I suppose the engagement was so sudden that he couldn’t alter his travel plans.”
Mother gave a chilly smile. “With Mr. Godwin needing to return to his flock and my leaving Haverford, the speed cannot be helped.”
Frederick’s breath caught, and it took all his composure to keep from gaping. Leaving? The noise of the crowd faded into a dull, distant hum as the word echoed, hollow and disbelieving. The chill of the mist settled deeper in his bones, and he couldn’t say whether it was the weather or the revelation that sent a shudder down his spine.
“You are leaving Haverford?” asked Mrs. Curtis, slipping in beside her husband as though summoned from the ether.
“It is high time,” said Mother with a wan smile. “I have long wished to be nearer to my eldest daughters. Lucille has been begging me to stay with her for ages, and with Pippa so close, I would be able to see my grandchildren as often as I wish. And they both would welcome the assistance.”
Mother carried on, though Frederick scarcely comprehended her explanations. Her tone, all light and composed, gave every indication that this plan was long-standing—something the family had known and accepted—yet this was the first he had heard of it, and each word fell like a slow, deliberate blow that only caused the great, yawning hole in his chest to deepen.
Frederick tried to school his features as his heart collapsed in on itself. Timothy gone. Phoebe soon to follow. And now the last tether to his family spoke blithely of leaving, abandoning him to the strangers sifting through the last of his family’s holdings.
This was for the best. His mother and Phoebe would be cared for. They would have roofs over their heads, warmth, and stability—all things he could no longer guarantee.
A strange stillness crept in, dulling the clamor in his chest, and his lungs expanded, taking in a deep breath that almost felt clean. But the relief carried an edge. It hollowed out his chest as it settled there, leaving behind a curious lightness that was more an emptiness than a comfort. His heart sank into that space as the rest of him went curiously numb.
“Such a great deal of change for one family,” said Mr. Curtis, his tone mild, though his eyes gleamed with quiet curiosity.
Mother’s smile did not falter. “Yes, that is life. Great stretches of nothing, and then everything happens all at once.”
“Indeed,” said Mrs. Curtis as her husband nodded beside her.
The conversation carried on, a careful dance of politeness and probing. The pair’s voices rose and fell in smooth, measured tones, each remark crafted to draw out some new morsel of information, and his mother’s replies demonstrated her great skill at deflecting and avoiding, saying much without giving anything away.
In truth, he couldn’t blame Mr. and Mrs. Curtis. Curiosity was a part of human nature. Though reporters claimed their profession spread information and knowledge, their newspapers often resorted to the very same speculation that filled this churchyard. Misfortune drew attention the way warmth drew icy hands, and his family was merely the parish’s latest hearth.
And yet, not a one of them would say anything outright.
No, they spoke in vague terms, offering up condolences and sympathy while a polite barrier stood between them and honesty, and each careful word and meaningful pause pressed harder against his patience. The whole thing felt like a performance so absurd that it might have been comical were it not so hollow.
They all knew.Every person gathered in this churchyard had heard of the Vosses’ troubles, and yet they tiptoed about it as though truth itself were indecent. Would not a single person speak plainly? But courtesy demanded that “troubles” be acknowledged in whispers and that sympathy be hidden in innuendo.
Frederick’s throat tightened, the muscles along his jaw drawing taut like piano wire. To have everyone know and no one speak up. To lose everything and pretend he hadn’t. The absurdity of it all lodged in his chest, pressing against his ribs. He longed for someone to speak plainly, but no one would—not when people cared more for appearances than truth.
Chapter 30
The murmur of conversation ebbed and swelled around him, a tide of meaningless sound. Frederick’s thoughts circled restlessly, pressing against the tight confines of civility until he thought he might choke on the effort of holding them in.
Then a flicker of movement caught his attention, drawing his eye through the crowd toher. Even through the gray light and the mist that blurred the edges of the churchyard, she stood out with quiet distinction. Thea needed no bright frock or bold ornament; she simply carried herself with an ease and confidence that couldn’t help but draw him in.
As though guided by some quiet instinct, her head turned and met his eyes across the distance—steady, unflinching, they sliced through the gray haze that hung between them. For a suspended moment, the bustle of the churchyard receded, and the hum of voices dulled to a faint murmur as the world narrowed, blurring out everything and everyone.
And in that gaze, Frederick saw no hint of disappointment or shame. No censure. For all that he had shattered their dreams and erased their future, Thea gave him no silent reproach. In those eyes, he felt the depth of her esteem, and it wrappedaround him like a cloak. Thea was proud of him. Of his sacrifices. Of his determination.
Something shifted inside him, subtle but deep, like a tightly wound cord starting to give way. The dull, suffocating ache that had smothered him for months cleared, allowing him to breathe once more. And Frederick saw the truth he’d allowed to be buried beneath the chaos in his life.
