“You’ve unwound too much string,” he told Penelope. “If you shorten it, we can make another attempt.”
She followed his directions while he collected the kite. It was fluttering from side to side as if attempting to leap up into the air. “Ready?” he asked once the string was taut. She nodded and he took a second to assess the wind’s direction. “Move a little to your left. That’s it. Now here we go.” He released the kite and watched it rise above his head. “Unwind the spool slowly. That’s it. There you go.”
Penelope laughed with delight and for a brief moment, Devlin allowed himself to savor her exuberance. Until he heard a voice at his shoulder quietly murmur, “A pity her father’s not able to see her like this. He loved flying kites.”
Cassandra.
If she’d sliced him open with a knife, he reckoned it would have hurt less than the words she’d just spoken. Not that he didn’t deserve them.
Dropping his gaze toward her, he half expected to see her face wracked by painful emotion. Instead, she looked shockingly composed. And he was stunned to realize how much he hated her ability to do so when he was coming apart at the seams. If she’d only rail at him or dissolve into tears, he’d understand her response. But this cool expression she’d donned wasn’t something he knew how to deal with.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, because it was all he could think to say.
“Why?” She tilted her head up and stared him straight in the eye. Devlin’s heart immediately crumpled, because he’d never seen anyone look so hollow. And then she whispered, “You have everything you wanted.”
He drew a sharp breath.
Not everything. Not even close.
But he kept the words to himself. Held himself utterly still so she wouldn’t see the precision with which her comment had struck its mark. And then, when he finally felt able to move without breaking, he turned away and marched up onto the quarterdeck.
“Mind if I take over for a bit?” he asked Monty.
“You look like hell,” Monty said as he stepped aside to give Devlin the wheel. “Dare I ask why your hands look like they’ve been flogged?”
Devlin stared straight ahead. “Remember Ludlow?”
There was a very distinct pause – a hesitation suggesting Monty was wondering where this was going. “How could I not?”
“Apparently, the woman he was about to marry that day when the carriage hit him was Cassandra. My wife,” he added for clarification.
“Dear, merciful God,” Monty muttered. “And she knows this?”
“I had to tell her.”
“Of course you did.” Silence followed and Devlin lost himself in his own thoughts. He almost forgot Monty was there until the man said, “It wasn’t your fault, Dev.”
“Of course it was.Iordered the bloody carriage.Itold the driver to hurry. If it wasn’t for me he wouldn’t have been on that street at that hour, nor would he have driven as recklessly as he did.”
“Perhaps not. But it’s also not nearly as clear cut as you wish to make it.” Devlin’s head jerked sideways, his eyes snapping onto Monty’s. “You weren’t there, but I was. I remember precisely what happened.”
“I know.” Devlin gnashed his teeth and tightened his grip on the wheel’s handles. “You gave me a detailed account.”
“And yet you still choose to forget Ludlow’s part in the accident.”
“The man died.” Devlin practically spat the words with all the contempt he felt for himself.
“Yes. He did. But only because he failed to check for oncoming traffic.” Monty’s voice was quiet, deliberate, and full of regret. “Had he done so, he would have seen the carriage coming, for it rounded the corner before Ludlow stepped out into the street. And that’s a fact, Dev.”
“Nevertheless.”
“Nevertheless what?” Devlin had turned his gaze away from Monty, but he could hear the exasperation in his friend’s voice. “Christ, man, you have to stop blaming yourself for this. There were too many actions at play that day for it to have been your fault. You only did what you had to, what any other captain in your position would have done.”
“Maybe,” he allowed, “but she’ll never understand that.” Not after he’d made sure she thought he was solely responsible for what had happened. It was what he’d been telling himself for thirteen years – what he’d always believed. But what if that wasn’t true? What if it wasn’t his fault?
“You know, even the driver’s role in all this was bigger than yours, and I think, if you explain it to her properly, your wife will see that.”
Devlin sighed. “I don’t know.” The last thing he felt like right now was another discussion on the subject. And besides… “Ludlow was everything to her. My involvement—”
