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Christian nodded to himself. He was. He finally was. He could see it all now.
One. He needed to talk to his mother.
Two. “Draft a note to Lady Judith,” he said. “Tell her I must speak with her. It’s urgent.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Lillian. Mother.”
It had taken Christian an hour to convene this counsel in his parlor, another fifteen minutes to manage the niceties of tea (for those who partook) and sandwiches and lemonade (for him).
“Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
His cousin reached out and squeezed his hand. “We’re worried about you, Christian. You did so much for me when I came out. How could you imagine I would do anything else?”
“I didn’t.” He smiled at her. “Still. Thank you. I know I’ve been difficult recently. I asked you both here because I need your help, and because I need to tell you something.”
They both leaned forward attentively.
“Oh, thank God.” His mother smiled. “Do you mean to tell me you’ve changed your mind about my physician? I’ll send for him—”
“No.” Christian set down his glass of lemonade. “Mother. I apologize. I have done you a disservice.”
“You have?” She frowned at him. “I have no recollection.”
“I have.” He reached out across the table and took her hand. “For the last decades of my life, I’ve allowed you to believe a falsehood. A comfortable falsehood, I thought, but a falsehood nonetheless.”
“You’re only twenty-eight. What kind of a secret…” She trailed off.
“Laudanum.” He allowed the word to settle into the conversation, waited for her face to slowly change to a mask of confusion. “I don’t refuse it because it makes me muzzy-headed, because it gives me vivid dreams, or even because I dislike the taste. I refuse it because I developed an addiction to it when I was young. It was so severe that when I was at Eton, I took a dose that nearly killed me. I stopped breathing.”
She inhaled and tried to pull her hand away. Christian held on tightly.
“When I was…imbibing, I would set my day by my doses. It took over everything I was, everything I wanted. There is no safe dose, not for me.”
His mother set down a trembling teacup. “I’m… I have no idea what to say, Christian. No idea what to think. Words can’t begin to describe how I feel. I’m so sorry.”
“No. Don’t be sorry.” He reached out and took her shaking hand.
“You must know, I never intended…”
“I know. I know, Mama. I know. You did it because you loved me. You did it to save me. And you did. It’s why I never wanted you to know—not because I don’t trust you, but because I never wanted you to doubt that I loved you. You never gave up on me.” He slid his arm around her and held her close. “I love you. Thank you. But…it’s enough. I’m done telling you comfortable falsehoods.”
His mother laughed shakily. “No, no. Don’t go so far, Christian. All of British society is built on comfortable falsehoods. What else will we have to talk about?”
“Well.” He smiled. “Here’s one thing. I hope I’ll be marrying Judith Worth, and if I do… Well, let’s say there will be no room in my life for comfortable falsehoods. Or, possibly, British society.”
Possibly even more. Lillian had been quiet the entire time. She looked over at him. “Judith Worth? The daughter of the unfortunate Earl of Linney? That Judith Worth?”
“Yes. That Judith Worth.”
His cousin inhaled. “Christian. You know she’ll never be accepted in society. Her father—her brother—”
“I know,” Christian said. “I don’t care about society, and quite frankly, I think she’ll be too busy with her own concerns to care, either. I care about my family. If she says yes, will you accept her?”
The moments seemed to pass, infinitely long. His mother looked down. Lillian set her teacup on the table and adjusted the sleeves of her gown.
Finally, she looked up. “Will she make you happy?”
“The happiest.”
Lillian gave him a firm nod. “You idiot. What part of I will do anything to see you as happy as I am did you not understand?”
“No part,” Christian said. “None at all.”
“Then go ask her. What are you waiting for?”
“This.” He put his arms around both of them and squeezed. “Just this.”
Christian had asked Judith to meet him in Hyde Park the next day.
She had arrived before he did. He saw her as she came close, standing on the bank of the Serpentine. Her hands were clasped behind her back and she paced up and down. Occasionally she’d reach up and touch her bonnet, adjusting the brim.
She watched the waterfowl drift past, a pair of swans gliding in tandem. Her hands squeezed together. The sheer hunger in her gaze as she contemplated them nearly knocked him back a pace. She was hurting, too.
A low, insistent sense of longing filled him. He touched the hat on his head as he came up to her. She turned to him. Her eyes were wide and dark and oh, just a little hurt. As if she’d been wounded.
She had come. That was what he held on to. She had come. She inhaled as he stepped toward her, tilting her head up to look at him.
He smiled at her. “Oy, Fred,” he said. “How’s the algae?”
Judith’s eyes narrowed. “No. You will not get me to play your male swan lover. Not now. Not in Hyde Park, of all places. I’m trying to forget you, not—”
He held a finger close to her lips and she stilled, looking up at him. “Then listen to me. I made a list, and lists solve everything. They really do.”
She let out a desperate laugh. “They don’t. They really don’t.”
“This one does.” Christian gave her his best cocky smile. “Listen and learn. One, you don’t trust me.”
She flinched.
“And I don’t blame you.” He dropped his voice. “I know what I did. I know what you think. I wouldn’t trust me either, were I you. I know what happened with your brother. Trust needs to be earned, not expected.”
She didn’t step away from him at that mention of Anthony.
“That brings me to two.” He leaned down so he could look her in the eyes. “The only way you will learn to trust me again is if I am trustworthy. Nothing else will serve.”
“You are.” But her eyes looked down as she spoke, avoiding his gaze. “You are, Christian. It’s only—it’s simply that…”
“I know what it is.” Christian hoped she understood the warmth in his voice for the caress he wanted it to be. “It’s the next item on my list. Item C: Anthony is alive.”
She stilled. Even her breath ceased. Her head tilted back and she looked at him with wide eyes.
“Don’t fear,” he told her. “Don’t fear. Whatever worries you have, we can get through this.”
She shook her head. “No. Before that. You said one, two, C. Something is wrong. Dreadfully wrong.” She fumbled off one glove and reached a hand up to his forehead. “You don’t look like you’re running a fever.”
He caught her hand in his. He could feel her wrist against his thumb. He imagined he could sense her pulse, gently beating.
“No. And that’s not the only thing I’ve done wrong, Judith. I’ve kept quiet about a great many things—so many I didn’t realize it until now. I’ve told too many falsehoods in the name of comfort without even realizing that was what I was doing. I chose my comfort eight years ago, over yours and your family’s. I chose my mother’s comfort over the truth about her medicine. There are too many ways…” He shook his head. “If I am going to move forward, it seems only fair that I should learn to shut my mouth about your brother.”
“But—”
He squeezed her hand in his. “What would I say anyway? I don’t know anything about him now. No matter what I do, what I choose, the world will stay imperfect. I can’t solve all the problems of the British empire today. All I can do is choose where my loyalties lie. And that brings m
e to the fact that I’ve been reciting my list out of order.”
“Out of order? You? Impossible.” She didn’t pull away.
He nodded. “My lists have been out of order all these years. Would you know that all this time, I believed lists started at one? I was wrong. Lists start at zero, and I’ve been skipping the beginning my entire life.”
Her hand turned in his—not to escape, but so her fingers could interlace with his. “What is zero, then?”
“Item zero,” Christian said. “It’s you, Judith.”
She let out a long, slow exhale.
“Nothing ever made sense because I was trying to sort everything into place from one to ten. That was the mistake. You are the start of every list I’ve ever made. You are the beginning, the zeroth item, the unspoken predicate of my heart. You can’t put me first; I know that.”
Her eyes were wide and shining. “Christian.”
“You can’t put yourself first,” he said. “You have a younger sister collecting cats, another one who is still missing. You have another brother who is off in the world. I know you can’t put yourself first. So let me do it for you.”
She let out a long, shuddering breath. “Christian. When I walked away from you, I… I knew I shouldn’t. I wanted to do anything else. I’m sorry. I should have trusted you.”
“Trust me now.” He pulled her close. “If trust was low, it’s because the world has given you no reason to trust. Let me change that.”
“You can’t change the world.” But she looked up into his eyes.
“Maybe not all of it,” he said. “There are parts of it we will never put right.” He slid his fingers down her wrist to her elbow. “I can’t promise you perfection. There is too much wrong. But there are also little things that will go right, and I can promise you those. There will be perfect sunsets. Perfect kittens.”
“Perfect sandwiches,” she put in.
“Perfect walks,” he told her. “Perfect arias at the opera.”
“Perfect bread.”
