Jane said nothing for a few moments. The silence seemed to stretch out between them, solidifying in the room around them. Her breath tickled his face again, and then she looked away. She stepped out of his grasp, and Blake felt the loss of her warmth.
“I do not understand. You come here, and you tell me that you love me, that you want to marry me and that you think I love you. Yet, not two days ago, you looked as though you were being sentenced to death at the mere thought of being married to me.” Jane’s voice broke again.
Blake winced at the pain he had caused.
Jane turned away from him. “I saw the look on your face, the agony as you began to propose. I cannot just forget that. How can I trust what you say when I saw how much pain just the thought of marrying me caused you?”
“It was not the thought of marrying you that caused me pain,” Blake murmured, his own voice breaking. “It was the thought of breaking a vow I made a long time ago.”
Jane looked at him sharply. “You cannot come here and propose to me and then tell me you are promised to another.”
“That is not what I am telling you.” Blake took a steadying breath. “The look of pain on my face, it was because I knew that I wanted to marry you. I was terrified of how much I wanted it, and yet I knew I could not.”
“Why not?” Jane asked.
“Because when my father lay on his deathbed, I swore to him that I would never marry. That his line would die with me, and all he had worked for and loved would be for naught.” Blake clenched his hands into fists.
“You told me your father was a harsh man,” Jane murmured, and Blake could tell she was replaying their conversation when she had covered him in trifle. “I remember thinking at the time how odd it was to punish a child for an accident.”
Blake swallowed. “My father was desperate for an heir. Desperate for his legacy to continue. When my mother died in childbirth, he was convinced that I would also die. And then when I did not die, he needed me to be perfect.”
“That is too much to demand from a child.” Jane shook her head.
“I was terrified of him. I did not want to disappoint him, did not want to let down the family. All my life, he told me that I must be a good little boy, that I must stick to the rules of propriety. That I must be a paragon of virtue.” Blake shook his head and rubbed his upper arm. “I stuttered for a long time because I was so terrified of him.”
Jane canted her head but did not speak.
Blake continued, “It was my stepmother who helped me get over it. He would beat me each time I stuttered. Scream abuse at me, tell me I was worthless. He controlled everything I did. Nothing was ever good enough.
“And then one day, when I was fifteen… I found him just outside the stables with one of the maids.” Blake glowered at the memory, clenching his fists. “And that was the day I left the name of Ambrose behind forever. That was the day I stopped being my father’s son.”
“He was a hypocrite,” Jane said. “And he punished you horribly and then did the things he told you not to do.”
“Exactly. And when he lay on his deathbed, I still wanted to hurt him. To make him feel some tiny part of the years of pain he put me through. So I told him I would never marry. That his name would die with me, and then he died.” Blake shook his head. “And I thought that it would hurt him, that in making such a promise, I would win.”
“Why did you not tell me?” Jane’s voice was soft.
“I did not want you to think less of me. And I thought that my wanting to break my vow made me just like him,” Blake admitted. “I wanted to hurt him, and the thought of admitting that to you… It was more than I could bear.”
“But it has only hurt you,” Jane murmured, and a moment later, Blake felt the warmth of her hand on his arm. “You have been hurting yourself to spite the dead.”
“That is what my mother said to me.” Blake smiled sadly at her. “She said I had already won because I was alive and he was dead.”
“I knew I liked your mother.” Jane smiled back at him.
“The feeling is quite mutual, I assure you,” Blake replied. “But do you understand, Jane, why I did not think I could marry you? I thought that if I broke that vow, I would be just like him. A hypocrite who would break a promise for his own happiness.”
“I do.” Jane nodded. “But I think it was a truly silly thing to do. Surely, a more hurtful thing would be to live the happiest life you could live? To grow into the man you want to be? To be all the things your father was not? To show him what it means to truly be a good man?”
“Maybe.” Blake tilted Jane’s face towards his. “But I find I do not care what would hurt my father. I want to live and grow, to be truly happy. He is a dead man—he no longer has any hold over me.”
“So there is some wisdom in you, after all.” Jane’s smile melted his heart, her familiar teasing a balm to his soul.
“Apparently.” Blake laughed softly. “What I am saying, my darling Jane, is that I choose life. And more importantly, I choose you.”
There was a sharp intake of breath as Jane considered in his words. Blake’s eyes found hers.
“So for the final time, will you marry me?” Blake asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
