“But not unthought,” he replied, his lips drawn back in a snarl. “They had already crossed the line before the constables arrived. They did not have the decency to temper their speech for your sake or mine. And now”—he snorted his disgust—“they would remake me in Philip’s image.”
“Give them time. They may yet soften their approach. Especially when the reality of Philip’s absence hits home more fully. They will not want to ruin their relationship with their remaining son.”
“‘Their remaining son.’” Lewis twisted his mouth into a display of disgust. “Ah, yes, the spare. How useful of me to exist.”
Jillian drew the back of her fingers softly across his cheek. “Try not to think of yourself in that way, my darling. It does you no good. Besides, you know it isn’t true.”
“Isn’t it?” Lewis huffed wryly.
“You know your worth. In court. Among your friends. With me. It is only your parents who have left this sour taste in your mouth. Why should their opinion outweigh those of so many others?”
“Because they are my family. And they should have loved me more.”
Jilly grew quiet. There was not much she could say to counter such depth of pain. Instead, she leaned her head against his chest, curling her hands around his back, and gave him a little of the love he could not get from his parents.
“You know,” she said, her head still upon his heart, “I think they love you very much, indeed. That is why I frighten them.”
“They don’t sound particularly frightened,” grumbled Lewis.
“People who are confident in what they have do not need to protect their treasure with such vitriol. They are afraid to lose you. They think I will change you. They don’t realize that this is who you’ve always been. They are close-minded and particular in their expectations, but they love you the best they know how. It’s all wrong, I agree. But I am convinced their animosity toward me is borne of the realization that, if forced to choose, you would choose me.”
Lewis wrapped his arms tightly around her. “And so I would.”
“People who are afraid of losing someone are people who love. It is an insecure, possessive kind of love, and I have mercifully been spared such a miserable form of it. But I have seen it in our village. Even a seemingly tranquil place like Ermenbrough has its darker corners.”
Jillian grew quiet, as if recalling these places and the ugliness that such relationships brought to them. Then she drew a breath and said, “The point is, you are not merely ‘another son.’ They were upset even before we heard the awful news. They are misguided in their approach, certainly. But you are valued nevertheless. Just as they sigh at Penelope for refusing any talk of marriage, yet they leave her be. Give them time. Our engagement has been a shock, followed by an even greater and irreparable wound. Let things settle. I can be patient.”
Lewis nuzzled his face into her hair. “I wish they knew you as I did.”
They stood in this way, two hearts united, until Miss Bradford found them.
“Mother is asking for you, Lew. I cannot console her. I fear it will be a while before anyone can.”
“You are both so brave,” Jillian said, squeezing Miss Bradford’s hand.
The siblings looked at each other and said nothing.
“You do not have to be brave with me,” Jilly tried to reassure them.
“It is not bravery, Miss Kinsey,” said Miss Bradford. “It is an absence of connection. Certainly, we are sad. But Philip was not an endearing sort of brother. There was very little relationship to mourn the loss of. Our parents, on the other hand, had pinned all their hopes upon him. For them, it is a very real tragedy. Lewis and I, however, have always lived more along the periphery of Philip’s orbit.”
“I see,” answered Jilly.
“I hope I do not shock you with my bluntness.”
“No, I am not shocked, only grieved that this should have been the case. I cannot tell you what excruciating pain it would cause me to lose one of my brothers. The fact that such pain is absent here is a sorrow in and of itself.”
“It is not absent in its entirety,” admitted Miss Bradford. “No doubt the shock will release its grip within the hour and we will recall happier times. But, you will forgive me for saying, there were not many of these. It will be strange not to see Philip striding to the stables. His seat will be oddly empty at the table. But we never conversed warmly or laughed together or shared interests. Philip carried all our parents’ hopes. They kept him upon a pedestal beyond our reach. He was not so much a brother as an example to us of what we should have been.”
Jilly pictured the family dinner table at the Kinsey cottage. What Penelope had described was so alien to her, she could not transpose their image upon her own at all.
“It seems to me,” she said, “that you have associated sadness and disappointment with him all your lives. There is hardly any room for more.”
“Thank you for not judging us,” said Miss Bradford. “We really do not deserve such grace when almost none of it was granted you today. Please know—though my views carry little weight in this house—I will be happy to call you sister soon. It may be small consolation for your mistreatment, but it is all I can offer.”
Jilly felt her eyes prick with tears at these words. Kindness had a way of nudging open a heart that was trying to keep its pain firmly sealed. Jillian gave a few quick nods as both acknowledgement and thanks but dared not speak these sentiments aloud for fear of her tears flowing hotly down her cheeks. Her lips bunched into a tight clench through which she attempted a smile.
“Oh, Miss Kinsey!” Miss Bradford reached out and pulled her into a firm embrace. “You have been sorely wronged today. And you have borne it well. That is exactly the sort of quality a true lady should have. Our parents are such fools not to see it!”
