“It has to do with your impending marriage, in a way,” Beau replied.
Annabelle’s hands were beginning to perspire. Worry was quickly spreading through her veins. “You’re frightening me, Beau. Please say it. It cannot be worse than what I’m imagining.”
Beau took another deep breath. He hung his head and stared at the mulch beneath his boots. “Annabelle,” he began. Her chest ached to hear her brother’s voice so vulnerable and raw. “Do you think I would ever strike Marianne?”
Annabelle gasped. What did he say? Unthinkable. “No, of course not.” She shook her head vigorously.
Beau nodded slowly before asking, “Do you think I would ever strike you? Or Mother?”
“Never,” she breathed, but the lump she’d swallowed was back and so large she could barely breathe. And the tears in her eyes had welled to a point where she couldn’t even see. The conservatory was a mostly green blur.
Beau nodded again, his head still bowed. “In the same way that I would never strike you, or Mother, or Marianne, there are other men who would never do such things either. Our father just wasn’t one of them.”
The tears slipped down Annabelle’s cheeks. They hadn’t spoken about these things in years. Never spoken about them as adults, certainly. The scars of their childhood had healed over without any discussion. That was the way of their set, wasn’t it? Stiff upper lip and all that. Now her brother was ripping open those long-forgotten wounds with a few simple words. “What are you saying, Beau?” she managed to ask, though her throat ached terribly.
Beau pushed himself back on the bench and met her gaze again. Ever the gentleman, he pulled a snowy white handkerchief from his inside coat pocket and handed it to her. “I’m saying I believe Elmwood is a good man. The type of man who would never raise a hand to you. I’ve seen him in his cups. He’s more of a jester than a fighter when he’s foxed.”
Annabelle wiped at her eyes with the handkerchief. “I suppose I’m a fool, but I’ve lived all these years never even considering the fact thatyouwould never strike anyone. Of course that means there must be other men who were honorable as well.”
“You’re not a fool, Annabelle. You’re a young woman who was exposed to things at a very young age you never should have had to see. I’m the fool who should have realized why you never wished to marry.”
“You’re not a fool, Beau.” Her voice cracked. “You were a boy who endured things he never should have had to endure.”
“I didn’t let that stop me from finding love, however,” Beau pointed out. “I was afraid of opening up too, believe me. I was married to my work until I met Marianne. But the right person only comes along once, Annabelle, and I’d hate to see you lose him because of your fear of the past.”
Annabelle sucked in her breath. Her brother, her wise, thoughtful, older brother, was telling her precisely what she needed to hear at precisely the moment she needed to hear it. Just like he always did with all his friends and loved ones. All she could do was nod.
“Have you ever wondered why all these years I haven’t insisted you marry?” Beau asked next.
Annabelle dabbed at her eyes again. “I…I thought it was because I told you I hadn’t yet picked a suitor I wished to marry.”
Beau nodded. “Partially, but I was under no delusion that you intended to pick anyone anytime soon.”
She laughed, though the tears continued to drip from her eyes. “I should have known I wasn’t fooling you.”
“Or Mother, either,” Beau continued. “The truth is we knew you weren’t ready to marry, and we didn’t want to force you.”
“You’ve always been the best older brother, Beau.” She reached over and placed her small hand atop his large one. “I hardly deserve you.”
The side of Beau’s mouth quirked up in a grin. “I don’t know about that. But more than anything, I want you to be happy, Annabelle. Whether that’s with or without a husband. I’ve always felt that way.”
She nodded, pressing the handkerchief to her eyes to dry what she hoped would be the last of the tears. “Thank you, Beau.”
“I won’t force you to marry now, either, but I have to ask. Do you think you could love Elmwood, if you weren’t so afraid of the past?”
Annabelle took a deep breath. She wrapped her arms around her middle. “I’m frightened, Beau. I’ve never been as strong or as brave as you are.” She hung her head. “I’m a coward.”
“I beg your pardon,” Beau sat up straight, a completely affronted look on his face. “You’re a Bellham, sister dear. You’re no coward, and you never have been.”
She shook her head dejectedly and let her hands drop into her lap again. “I never stood up to Father. I never fought him like you did.”
Beau reached over and squeezed her hands. “Think what you’re saying, Annabelle. You were achild. Alittle girl. Much younger than me. You were never a match for an adult man. And you never would be. Just like Mother was unable to win against him. It was never a fair fight. And as for you being cowardly, that’s nonsense. You had to run—withblood on your clothing—through the house at all hours of the night to find your governess and ask for help. How many little girls are brave enough to do that? You were frightened of the dark, Annabelle. Yet you still went. Think ifyouhad a little daughter. Would you want her to stand up to a grown man who was swinging a weapon, as Father often was?”
Annabelle felt as if the air had been knocked from her chest. Beau was right. She would never expect a child to fight a grown man. Why hadn’t she been able to think of it that way all these years? Shehadbeen brave. She’d gone to fetch Mary time and again in the terrifying darkness.
She took a deep breath, met her brother’s gaze, and nodded. “You’re right, Beau. You’re always right, of course.” She managed a smile.
“Now, I’m going to ask you again. Do you think you could love Elmwood?”
