“What do you mean?”
“Well, we allowed my father’s health to deteriorate without seeking better doctors, or second opinions, or forcing him to be mindful of how much he ate or drank. It would’ve meant coercing him, and Mama had always indulged him. She never commanded, she only suggested, and I did the same. Now he’s so infirm, he cannot leave his bed.
“Also, my debutante year came and went, Diana’s, too, and I did nothing about a Season in London, despite our aunt imploring us to take advantage of her sponsorship. I did this because my mother put little stock in the social whirl of London. The result is, Diana and I are unmarried and we have no reasonable guardian to stand in the way of your cousin. My mother was so very fearless, so capable. It’s all I know. But I am not her, am I? And I’ve not been able to manage it as she would have done. I’m not as bold; not as direct. This makes me vulnerable in a way she was not.” She chuckled sadly. “My experience is almost the opposite of yours, isn’t it? Your guardian would have you so very protected; and my mother would have me takeon the world—and perhaps neither was exactly right. And that says nothing of whatever values and priorities you learned from your early childhood, living in a palace, being influenced by royalty.”
Gabriel made a scoffing noise. “They were not so much guides as aspirational figureheads. We were raised primarily by nannies and nursemaids and tutors. I only saw my parents when their late nights overlapped with my early mornings. Or at state affairs with extended family. I felt as if I belonged to them, but they were hardly invested in the raising of me. My parents did not know me—obviously, because they arranged for me to marryyou.”
The feather quill in her hand, previously flickering back and forth, stopped when he said this. Ryan sucked in an almost imperceptible little gasp. In his peripheral vision, he saw her head drop. Carefully, silently, she settled the pen into the inkwell.
“Ryan?” he asked.
She looked up and her eyes were bright. She was crying.
Panic, sharp and frigid, stabbed his chest. Something inside Gabriel collapsed, like a giant oak felled by a storm.
He looked closer, trying to remember what he’d just said.
“What?” he said. “What is it?”
Ryan was being foolish. She knew it. And she must stop—she knew this, too. There had been no promises or declarations.
My parents did not know me,he’d said.Because they arranged for me to marryyou...
The offhanded comment hit her so very squarely and painfully in the heart, it took her breath away. Her eyes flooded with tears.
Any sane person would agree that childhood betrothals were relics of the past. They were self-serving to families and confusing to children and strange to everyone. The chances for a future happy marriage were next to none.
And yet.
And yet she’d come to believe that the two of them were somehow well served by the betrothal. Their childhood meetings had been happy and agreeable. Their letters had become keepsakes for both of them. And now, when she’d appealed to him for help, he’d tried to help her. He wastryingto help her.
But help was not affirmation of the betrothal. And an affirmation did not mean he loved her.
Even so, must he say he resented it? Must he say he resented his parents for uniting them? Must he say itto her? Oh, God, how had she allowed herself to become so attached? To hope?
He did not mean it as a personal affront, she told herself. And she wasn’t crying because of him. She was crying because she’d been overlooked for years—totally unnoticed by men—and now he’d piled on his indifference and she was universally rejected. His resentment was the straw that broke the camel’s back.
When he said thebetrothalwas unacceptable, it was the same as sayingshewas unacceptable. As ever. Again. Always.
And that’s why she was crying.
“My ramblings have offended you,” he was saying, “and why am I not surprised? This is why I’m loatheto... toexpound. My wretched life story should be discouraged at all costs, not goaded and prodded until I—”
He stopped. He looked over, and she could feel him studying her. They were shoulder to shoulder, leaning over the desk. She ducked her head, squeezing her eyes shut.
“Please, please don’t cry,” he whispered. “Oh God—Ryan. The very last thing I want to do is cause you distress.”
She shook her head. And now he would be sympathetic? She would never compose herself in the face of his compassion.
“Is it all this talk of your mother?” he wondered. “But your memories are mostly happy, are they not? Forgive me, my parents were preoccupied on the best of days, strangers on the worst. It’s a revelation to me each time I learn about the proficient ones.”
“You seemed very adherent to your parents when your family visited Winscombe,” she said, trying to change the subject. “Your letters mentioned your father in glowing terms.”
“Yes, well, I’d been conditioned to sort of reflect his brilliance; it was part of my job as a prince. If you detected a glow, it was manufactured. This is what I’ve been trying to say about the poisonous legacy of royalty. If the indoctrination begins within, the control becomes second nature. I was told from the earliest age that I’d been chosen by God to be a member of this ruling family. My father had been likewise anointed—even more ‘chosen,’ as he was more closely related to the king. The result was, I should feel honor bound to revere him and imitate him. And not because of anyfatherly effort on his part—simply because he was a prince. If the royal family itself does not believe it, how will the people?” He glanced at her. “Wait don’t say it—woe is me, the neglected princeling. I know this isn’t the reason you’re crying.”
She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “I suppose the people of France stopped believing in your divine right. In the end.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” he said. “But before the riots forced us to exile, I was a prince in every way. You saw this in my letters, I’m sure. I believed that I was so very fortunate to be one of the Chosen Ones. That’s the whole song and dance, don’t you see. You’re so very happy to be included, you don’t realize the control exerted over your own life.”
