“But why does he think that?” she asked, scooting closer to him along the bench. “What reason could he possibly have?”
“I was the only witness to her death,” Winston explained. “And no body was found. But that was because she plunged into thesea! But of course, Egerton thinks I conspired with my sister to fake her death so that she could escape him.”
“I see…” Vanessa was thinking hard. He could tell from the slight furrow between her eyes. She looked up at him. “I hate to ask this, but—did you?”
“No,” Winston said, leaning back against his seat and looking up at the carriage roof. “I would have if she had asked me to, but she did not. She simply jumped, and I was powerless to save her.”
“But they never found a body…” his wife repeated slowly.
“Believe me, there was nowhere she could have gone but into the sea,” Winston said. “The drop is sheer. You have seen it. She is dead.”
“But what if she washed up somewhere?” Vanessa insisted. “What if she survived and swam to shore somewhere along the coast?”
Winston felt his stomach churn, and he looked away, sure for a moment that he was going to be sick. The idea that Clementine had survived, that she was alive… it was almost too much to bear. For ten years, he had assumed she was dead. For ten years, he had grieved her, and he had taken his revenge against the men of theton.
It is not possible. And yet…
“Why would she not have contacted me?” he asked, looking back at Vanessa. “If she were alive, why would she not have come to me for help?”
Vanessa frowned. “Maybe she thought it was not safe. Or that you would get into trouble. Or…”
“No.” Winston shook his head. “She would come to me. I am sure of it. We were very close, and I would have helped her. I would have protected her. Unless…” A terrible thought occurred to him, and he swallowed.
“What?” Vanessa asked gently.
“Unless she thought I was not capable of protecting her.”
“Why would she think that?” Vanessa asked. “Surely she knew you would do anything to?—”
“I tried to avenge her,” he whispered. He could not meet her eyes. He was too ashamed. “I challenged Egerton to a duel after her death. I was just seventeen years old, and he thought me pitiful. But he agreed to it. We met at dawn the morning after her funeral. Swords, not pistols. And I… lost.” Anger and regret reared inside of him like a horse, and he had to take a deep breath. “I lost, but Egerton left me with two reminders of his power: two scars on each of my hands, one from each of his swords.”
Vanessa was wide-eyed now. “I have seen those,” she breathed. “On your hands. I did not want to ask, but I have wondered.”
“Do you not see?” he asked, turning toward her fully. “I failed Clementine in every possible way. I failed to protect her while she was married to Egerton, and I failed to protect her after she was gone. Everything I touch falls to ruin. Everything I touch, I disappoint.”
“That isnottrue,” Vanessa argued, sitting forward and seizing his hands. They were gloved, but she laid her palms over his, as if touching the scars. “You fought for her despite the fact you were only a child! Do you know how much that means? No one ever fought for me! No one ever tried to help me—until you. Even when you lose, you keep trying, and that is what matters. That is what is important.”
Winston’s heart felt as if it were being torn in two. She was too kind to him, too good to him. He did not deserve it.
As if reading his mind, she said, “You deserve happiness, Winston. And you deserve to forgive yourself. What happened to your sister was not your fault. No matter how much you blame yourself, it just was not. The fault lies with Egerton and perhaps your father for allowing the abuse when he was in a position to stop it. Butnotwith you.”
“I was going to try and help her,” Winston said, desperation building inside of him. He wanted to believe her, he really did, but he just could not. “My father had just died, and I was going to do everything in my power to get her away, but then shebecame pregnant, and—she did not give me a chance to save her.”
“I know you would have,” Vanessa replied, and suddenly, he saw that she was crying. “Because that is the kind of man you are. You always defend the weak and powerless. And that is why I?—”
She stopped herself, sucking in the air, and then released his hands, wiping away her tears.
“That is why I admire you so much,” she finished, sitting back in her seat. “And that is why I want you to learn how to forgive yourself. Can you try to do that—for me?”
Winston half-laughed to keep himself from crying. He had never seen her cry before, and the sight of her tears was shocking—especially because it was about him.Himandhisredemption. It did not make any sense. When had he come to mean so much to her that she would cry for him?
Perhaps it was this, more than a genuine belief that he deserved forgiveness, that made him say, “All right. I can try, Vanessa. For you.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
It is a particularly cruel fate to go senile,Winston thought, several hours later as he sat in his study, a glass of whiskey in hand, looking out the window at the dark night.
Although in a way, it is better than Egerton deserves. He deserves to remember every evil thing he ever did.
