David sat up straighter in his chair. He leaned toward Bell. “But what? What is it? Why is she so afraid of men?”
Bell braced an elbow atop the desk and let his head drop into his palm. He took a long, deep breath. “God, Elmwood. How could I have been so bloody stupid all these years?”
“What? Tell me.” David’s voice was rough, demanding.
“Our father,” Bell continued. He lifted his head to stare at the wall again. His jaw was tight. “The blackguard drank to excess and became abusive when he did so. He beat Mother, and…at times…he beat me.”
David swallowed the lump in his throat that had been forming ever since he’d seen the look of pure anguish on Bell’s face. “And Annabelle witnessed it?”
Bell nodded slowly. A pulse ticked in his jaw. “I’m ashamed to say she did. The bastard never struck her that I’m aware of. But she saw things. On more occasions than I care to recall.”
David pressed his lips together and briefly closed his eyes. What did he say to his strong, proud friend, who was admitting something that had to be beyond difficult? David didn’t trust himself not to speak in anger.
The pulse continued to throb in Bell’s jaw and a look of pure hatred shone in his ice-blue eyes. “Of course, that was when I was a child. When it wasn’t a fair fight. The moment I became old enough, big enough to hit back and do damage, the bastard stopped. Annabelle was still quite young then. I…I mistakenly believed she hadn’t been affected, perhaps didn’t even remember it.” Bell shook his head. “I’ve been a fool.”
Another lump formed in David’s throat. He could only imagine what it had cost his friend to stand up to his own father that way. No wonder Bell was so strong.
“Annabelle thinks a man striking his wife is normal behavior,” David finally breathed, his mind racing. “Which would explain her fear. She also told me she didn’t want any children.” David’s chest was tight. It all made sense now. So much sense. Awful sense, but it explained all of Annabelle’s reticence.
Bell nodded gravely. “It makes me ill to think that, but it stands to reason. I’ve heard her mention things through the years about not wanting to ‘belong’ to a man.”
So many things made sense now. David nodded toward Bell’s teacup. “It’s why you don’t drink, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Bell said, lifting his cup in the semblance of a salute. “Though for years, I’ve lived with the regret of not coming to my father’s bedside when he was dying. The man was a bastard most of his life, and I never could forgive him. But apparently he was regretful in the end.”
David reached out and clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I don’t blame you. And if you ask me, you should have no regrets. Any man who beats a woman or child isn’t worthy of any title, especially that of ‘father’.”
Bell nodded, once.
“As for drinking, you must know you’re nothing like him,” David continued.
The marquess stared unseeing at the wall again. “Perhaps, but I never trusted that I wouldn’t turn into him if I drank. That is a fear I’ve never been able to conquer.”
“That sort of violence isn’t in you, Bell,” David assured him, pulling his hand away.
“I hope not, Elmwood. But I don’t intend to ever find out.” Bell stood and walked toward the door.
“Where are you going?” David asked, turning in his seat to face him.
“To have a long overdue talk with my sister.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Annabelle was in Lord Worthington’s splendid conservatory as dusk approached. The magnificent space was filled with all sorts of flowers, including orchids, of all lovely things. Annabelle had always adored orchids. So unique and beautiful. None of her silly suitors in London had ever thought to send her any. None of them had ever asked what she preferred. She was sitting on a stone bench near the delicate flowers when her brother came hiking through the mulch toward her.
Without saying a word, Beau sat beside her and expelled his breath. He stared straight ahead, not looking at her, his forearms resting on his knees.
Annabelle waited for him to say something. Beau was never at a loss for words, but when several interminable minutes passed without so much as a greeting, she decided to be the one to speak.
“Yes?” she prodded. She knew her brother well enough to know he hadn’t just happened by. When Beau came looking for you, it was because he had something to say, usually something one would do well to listen to. “Why have you come?”
“To speak with you,” he replied simply, as he stared directly ahead at the orchids.
“And yet you do not speak.” She tried to smile at the jest, but Beau turned to look at her just then and their gazes met. Were those tears in her brother’s eyes? Oh, no. She couldn’t stand it if Beau cried. Beau was the strongest, bravest person she knew. What was wrong? Why did he have tears in his eyes? Tears filled her eyes too.
“The problem is,” Beau finally said softly, “for once in my life, I’m not entirely certain what to say.”
Annabelle swallowed a lump in her throat. “Do you want to say something about my impending marriage, perhaps?” she offered. That had to be why he was here. She’d embarrassed her brother by being caught in a scandal at his wedding, of all events. Was Beau ashamed of her? She couldn’t bear it if he was ashamed of her.
