Page 30

“Very well,” he said eventually, the sound of his low chuckle causing warmth to spread over her chest quicker than she could overlook. “I shall not trouble you with pleasantries you have no wish to entertain. Let us simply attend to the business at hand, as you would clearly prefer.”

“That would be ideal,” she noticed curtly, relieved despite herself that he had not pressed the matter further.

The sooner the charade was over, the sooner she could acquire her peace of mind.

He folded his hands atop the table, his gaze steady on hers as all traces of the earlier teasing faded, replaced by something far more serious.

“Tell me about them,” he prompted. “From the beginning, if you would. I find I know almost nothing of the months I missed, and I should like to remedy that, if you are willing to indulge me.”

Anna set down her toast, considering how much of the truth she wished to supply to him. In the end, she decided there was little use in withholding facts that could not hurt her now – only the feelings attached to them, which she would keep locked away where he could not reach.

“I did not know for certain until well into the second month,” she began, her voice careful not to betray the fear she had felt during that time. “I had my suspicions before that, of course, but I told myself they were nothing – exhaustion, or nerves, or the strangeness of that whole dreadful period. When I could no longer deny it, I told no one beyond my siblings and a select few of this household. I could not risk word reaching you before I had decided what I wished to do.”

She paused, turning her teacup slowly by its handle, watching the liquid inside catch the light. “Rowland helped me a great deal, once I did confide in him. He objected strenuously to my keeping it from you, though. He said it was quite unfair, cruel even, and told me so more than once. He has quite the noble spirit – which I usually admire, but this time it infuriated me greatly because I had no intention to heed his words. But he helped regardless, because that is the sort of brother he is. He arranged for a physician I could trust to keep his silence. He saw to it that the household staff who might have gossiped were encouraged to find work elsewhere before the onset of the months I could not yet hide my condition.” She felt a slight smile tug at her lips. “And I suspect his low opinion of you made it rather easier for him to agree to my terms, in the end, regardless of whatever reservations he held as a principle.”

Hudson’s jaw tightened almost unnoticeably at the mention of Rowland’s opinion, but he did not comment on it, nor did he ask her to elaborate. He seemed, instead, entirely focused on the facts as she laid them out, absorbing each detail with a stillness that surprised her – as though he meant to commit every word to memory in a big to make up for all the months he had not been present to witness any of it himself.

“And the birth?” he asked quietly.

Anna hesitated. That, more than anything else, was a memory she did not particularly wish to revisit. Sometimes she recalled the long, frightening hours of it in her dreams, the fear that had gripped her when the physician’s expression had grown grave halfway through, the relief so sharp it had felt like pain when she had finally heard two small cries fill the room. But something in the careful, quiet way he had asked made her relent, if only slightly.

“It was difficult,” she mumbled, loud enough for him to hear. “I was told twins so often are. But Miss Hill did not leave my side, and the physician was competent, and in the end, both of them arrived healthy and loud, which I am told is precisely as it ought to be.” She spared him a hesitant glance. “You would have been proud of them, I think, even then. Timothy announced himself to the world with a great deal more volume than one would expect from something so small. Which, now that I think about it, should have warned me of how consistent and deafening his cries would be.”

Something flickered across Hudson’s face at that – not quite a smile, but close to one, softened by something that looked, for a moment, almost like grief.

“I will not pretend the loss does not trouble me,” he said once he was certain her silence marked the end of her storytelling. “I did not witness the earliest months of their lives. I was not there when they were born, nor in the weeks after, when you must have needed help the most, whatever help I could have offered. That is a wound I cannot undo, and I will not insult you by claiming otherwise, or by pretending it does not sit ill with me.”

Anna nodded, choosing the right and high road of understanding, because it would be petty and childish to refuse him the very fair feeling of disappointment that she could tell would haunt him for a long time.

In fact, she almost felt sorry, and it took a lot to ignore the strange urge to comfort him. Instead, she chose to focus on his unwavering gaze, telling herself that perhaps she owed him some accountability.

Soon, he continued in the same level voice, “But I intend to be present now, in every way that remains available to me. I did not wish to be a father before this – I will admit that freely, as I have never been a man to lie about my own failings, however unflattering. We had spoken about it in passing, and I will admit that I had meant what I said at that time. But the fact remains that I am one now, and I mean to act as such, regardless of how much you despise me for the manner in which it came to pass.”

The sincerity in his voice unsettled Anna greatly – as much as the warmth in his eyes did, as the latter was rather difficult to reconcile with a man she had known to be very cold by way of disposition. She wondered if she was allowed to marvel in it, to reminisce in the way it seemed being a parent had affected the way it had affected her.

She pushed the thought away before it could take root, uncomfortable with where it might lead her if she allowed it to linger.

“If you say so,” she sighed, refocusing her attention.

They continued their breakfast in silence, the awkwardness of it so uncomfortable that she felt she had to do something about it because for some reason, the idea of simply leaving felt wrong.

“I heard that your brother Cornelius went on a Grand Tour,” she mentioned suddenly, wincing at the subject choice. “Edith left to the countryside once the season ended. We exchange letters, though I confess they have grown shorter with each passing month, and considerably less hopeful in tone than they once were. I wonder if you are satisfied now – knowing that you did ruin what they had between them, in the end. Whatever affection existed there, it withered the moment you intervened, and I do not think either of them has quite recovered their spirits since.”

“That is hardly my fault. Perhaps they eventually realized it was not affection at all, but infatuation,” Hudson said evenly, unbothered by the accusation, though something flickered briefly behind his eyes that suggested the matter was not as simple to him as his tone implied. “A passing fancy mistaken for something deeper – such unfortunate instances occur far more often than we allow ourselves to acknowledge. I hardly forced the realization upon them, Duchess. I merely removed the obstruction that had previously prevented them from seeing it clearly for themselves.”

“How convenient,” Anna scoffed, setting her cup down with more force than was necessary, “Somehow, you always manage to portray your interference as some manner of kindness. You cannot hope to be a decent father to your children, Your Grace, if you continue to refuse ownership of your own actions. Fatherhood requires more than good intentions declared honorably. It requires honesty – with them, and with yourself, regardless of what it might cost your pride.”

She did not wait for his reply, though she thought she might have caught a glimpse of an emotion that was the most honest he would let himself be in front of her. She finished the last of her tea in a single mouthful and bowed slightly at him.

“I wish you a good day, Your Grace.”

She started for the door when his voice stopped her.

“Seeing as we have borne children between us, I believe there is no need for formality any longer. You can call me by my name… Anna.”

Anna didn’t look back, refusing to let him see just how affected she was by the syllables of her name uttered by his voice. She simply nodded.

“As you wish.”