“I can’t fault you. Well, I can but ’twouldn’t do anyone any good. He’s rather lovable even when he isn’t likable.”
“It’s odd, isn’t it, that everyone else sees it the other way around?” She shared then with John a deep look, an intimacy that she had heretofore only shared with her sisters.
“Then I will tell you—and only because you’ve admitted you love him, and I adore finding someone whose flaws line up so preternaturally with mine—all my secrets about him.”
“I’m all ears.”
“To start with why Alexander is the way he is, you must look where one always must look: the parents. My father is—”
“I’ve met the man.”
“Brilliant; that saves us time. Rather embarrassing of me to be actually related to him. I was always envious that Alexander wasn’t.”
“Truly?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be so callous as to wish to be a bastard. He was quite mistreated by my father until I became … unviable. But knowing you have that man’s blood in you in some way is rather like knowing the wine you drank with dinner was poisoned. Our mother was … well, she was stunning. No one had better taste—her only blind spot was men, I’m afraid. She did her duty and married my father, and they made each other miserable until she provided an heir, and then she left. Then, as you know, she returned with a spare. And then she left again.”
“Have you seen her?”
“No, but I wrote to her. And her solicitor wrote back on her behalf on occasion. Once or twice I’d receive a letter asking for money, which I sent. I didn’t mind who she turned out to be as much as Alexander did.”
“How do you mean?”
“She was so young when she had me, and trapped in a marriage with an older man. I felt for her, even if I didn’t understand her. I saw my parents together—it was hell. Alexander never really did. I felt happy when she left the first time; it meant a more peaceful house. And then she returned and gave me the best present I’ve ever received: Alexander. I was happy when she left the second time too. Only Alexander was miserable. He was three or four and he howled through the night. Eventually, I let him into my bed just to shut him up long enough to sleep.” Harriet felt a bit like weeping at the thought of it.
“He said he saw her once.”
“He did. He discovered she was in Calais, so he took a boat over. I warned him not to. That he might not like what he found. But by then, he was a young buck who’d charmed every single woman he’d ever encountered and he never imagined she might be immune to him.”
“What did she do?”
“Nothing, rather. I think they were alike in so many ways. They knew how to get what they wanted from the opposite sex when it came to romance, but neither of them knew how to go any deeper. In truth,she never had any use for a son, but one never outgrows their need for a mother. Privately, I’ve always held the opinion that that visit is what shipwrecked him. The first abandonment stung, but at least he could imagine that she was avoiding our father. This time, it washim.”
Harriet didn’t know what to say to any of this. It was precisely the sort of information she’d been seeking and yet it hurt like the devil to hear. Furthermore, she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do about it now that she had it. Feel badly for him? Understand why he couldn’t love her?
“Pardon my saying this, but how did you get to be so …”
“So much more astute than the rest of my family? I dare say it’s a surpriseI’mnot the by-blow!” He laughed at himself, which resulted in an unfortunate coughing fit. John looked immediately older after it happened, subdued almost at the reminder of his frailty. Harriet’s first inclination was to pretend as if nothing had happened, assuming that was the kindest way forward. But something stopped her.
“You really must stop sneaking so much brandy into your tea,” she teased when the coughing stopped. She saw no spirits of any kind in the room, but she hoped dearly the jest read as such.
The joy on his face afterward was worth the risk. “You know, you’re the first person to tease me about it. My disease.” He said it happily, his eyes twinkling again.
“I am?”
“Well, I don’t have much company, as you sokindlypointed out.” She opened her mouth to defend herself and he waved her offwith a grin. “But you know, everyone else is either counting down the days till I die—my father—or in total denial—my brother.”
“He doesn’t believe you to be ill?”
“He believes it on some level, otherwise he wouldn’t insist on keeping me here. But he doesn’t accept it. He stays away because, and perhaps this is the poet in me—I am prone to being quite generous in my assessments of my brother—because he thinks he’s stolen my life. And he’s ashamed.”
“Stolen your—”
“He thinks he’s living out the life I was supposed to have. Hence why he didn’t want to marry and why once hedid, he’s been careful to avoid me.”
“But that’s—”
“Absurd? Yes. But such is grief,” John said with a shrug, his tone belying the casualness of the gesture.
