“I’m going to walk you back to the house,” he said, straightening. “When you’re dressed, if you’re desperate for more time with Tabs, she can show you around this morning, if you’d like. I have plans for us this afternoon.”
He wanted solitude, and I could give him that. Especially after all he’d just given me. I walked beside him back toward the little barn. “And what of you?”
He smirked. “Well, the chore I need to do next is not fit for a lady’s eyes or sensibilities. But it must be done. And then I must finish working on a formal proposal for a potential investment.”
“Always business.”
“If I could survive by sitting on piles of inherited coin, believe me, I would. But that is not my lot in life.”
My heart betrayed me. I had the sudden urge to take his arm, to comfort him, tocomplimenthim on the hard work he’d done to save his family despite what that had meant for my dynamic with Papa. I hadn’t the slightest idea what sort of disarray Graham had gone home to after his schooling. And directly after his grandfather’s passing. Nor the years between then and when he’d knocked on Papa’s door. All because the one man he should’ve been able to trust had left him.
“Do you know where your father is now?” I asked.
He held open a gate on the other side of the barn. “Not precisely. And I couldn’t care less. He came back only once, to gather a few things, making empty promises as usual, then nine months later we had another mouth to feed.”
“Tabs?” I asked as I passed through the gate.
He smiled. “Tabs.”
We shared a moment’s humor, imagining a world without that girl. Then another ache squeezed my heart. Tabs did not know her father. Graham had taken that role as well. How very strong he must be to carry such a load. As angry as I was at him, a little piece of my heart softened. “Thank you for telling me.”
He latched the gate, turning slowly to face me. When our eyes met, he seemed surprised that I’d thanked him. He offered me a gracious smile in return and said, “Thank you for asking.”
ChapterFourteen
Graham
She hadn’t laughed at me.
Nor had she taunted me, been cruel or biting about how I chose to spend my morning. It hadn’t always been a choice.
In that split second when she had pulled open the door, standing there with utter bewilderment on her face, I expected her to turn on her heel and leave. A show of shock, pity, perhaps even disdain. She’d certainly given me scowls for less.
Instead, she’d stayed.
She’d looked surprised, but more curious than disgusted. She’d walked with me out in the field in her thin nightclothes covered with an equally thin pelisse. And my mind was still reeling from it.
On mornings such as this, I scrubbed the muck and dirt off my hands so thoroughly, no trace was left for anyone to see those parts of me. Likewise, I took great pains to bury our past. We left behind Father’s crumbling estate, relocating far enough away to live a quiet life. But no amount of scrubbing could erase the callouses and scars on my hands, nor the worries that kept me up at night. The parts of my past thatweren’t worthy in the eyes of Society. I’d thought Anna knew some of where I’d come from. But now she knew everything.
That afternoon, I paced slowly, cautiously, down the hall and into the quiet, empty foyer, feeling like a fraud yet again. My clothes, the silver pocket watch on my fob, the shiny new boots I’d purchased not long after Anna had first berated my old ones—it was all an illusion. A means to an end. One day, after I’d secured us financially, I could strip myself of all finery and finally rest.
My carriage awaited us in front of the house, ready to transport us to the heart of Brighton. I planned to take Anna and my family around the town, stopping to visit both the lending library and marketplace, so she could see how lively and welcoming the people were.
After yesterday’s conversation, it seemed we’d formed a truce, but after this morning, I had no idea what to expect from her.
The drawing room sat empty, so I took a seat on the sofa, knees bouncing, facing the three paintings Ginny had painstakingly perfected over the last year. They brought color to the otherwise dull brown room. I’d not inspected my home with such a critical eye in some time, but now I noted the worn arm of the sofa, how the fabric had started to wear almost to a tear. What did Anna think of this room? Had she noticed the imperfections and stayed despite them?
Footsteps sounded in the foyer, and I jumped to my feet.
“Graham,” Mother said, Ginny and Tabs on her heels. She wore a wide-brimmed hat with roses bunched at the front that matched her pink-lined dress. Never once, not even in our dreariest of times, did she fail to impress when shewanted to. Because of my mother, no one knew how terribly we’d suffered.
“My husband is unwell,”she’d begun saying years ago. It was better than,“My husband does not want children, nor a wife, nor any responsibilities, and has decided to try his life over again in America.”Among other truths.
She kept the girls home, tutoring them herself. Having prepared for the worst, she’d had a meager savings. That, plus a small storage of goods, kept us alive until my first investment—funded by a small inheritance my grandfather left me in his will—paid out. If anyone saw the truth buried beneath my mother’s careful falsehoods, they were too polite to ask. And now we were well enough off to bury the past for good.
Whyhad I told Anna the whole of it? She’d seemed so willing to listen, and the more she asked, the more shewaited, the more the words had flowed. And she’d stayed.
Mother frowned. Always aware, always measuring. “What is the matter?” she asked.
