“Tell me.”
He did as she asked, though it seemed an effort for him. There was a restless energy in his limbs. “I received a letter from my steward in Whitehaven, stating that I needed to come and inspect the mill. The repairs were going to be expensive, andhe wanted my approval. It was a three-day trip, and things had been so peaceful, I thought little of going.”
He swallowed convulsively and said, “When I came back, Francine was… She was a different person, a hundred times worse than before. She ranted and raved and cried, claiming that I’d set her aside for another woman. She truly believed that was where I’d been.” Bradford met her eyes and shook his head. “I promise you, I was never unfaithful. I never would have been unfaithful.”
“I believe you.” She squeezed his hand with both of hers, wishing she could press comfort through the callouses into his very bones.
“It was so bad that I sent for the doctor. He took one look at her and said I should have her committed, that he’d seen such things before.” Bradford gritted his jaw and stared forward as if he couldn’t bear to meet Lily’s eyes. “And this is the point of my true guilt in the matter. All else that came before can be forgiven as sheer ignorance and stupid naivete, butthisis where my pride nearly cost me all.”
He took a deep breath and met Lily’s eyes. His expression was bleak, full of self-recrimination. “The doctor told me, in no uncertain terms, that Francine was a danger to herself, and to others, especially our child. But I think the six weeks of temporary bliss had given me false hope. I wanted to believe that the true Francine was the one I’d met after Rebecca was born, and the other version was just a terrible mask she wore.
“I was a fool. A prideful fool. I thought I could reach her. And if I’m being completely honest, I didn’t want anyone to know what Francine was. I didn’t want to be the man who committed his wife when they hadn’t yet been married a year. Rebecca just born, besides.” Bradford shook his head and gave a noise of derision. “After all, what would peoplethink? What would peoplesay?”
“It was a natural response. Your hope.”
“It was mostly pride, I fear. When I refused to commit Francine, the doctor prescribed a very strong sleeping draught and told me to remove the child from her room. Thank God I listened to him on that point, at least.” He stared straight ahead. The cords on his neck stood in stark relief as he swallowed. “For a few weeks, we retained a measure of peace. I hired a wet nurse, as the doctor said the draught was too strong to be safe for the child, and Francine was only allowed to see Rebecca when I was present.”
He shook his head. “But then the draught stopped working. One night, I was woken by the nurse’s scream. Francine had gotten into to the nursery, and—” He shook his head. It appeared he was choking on the memory.
Lily gasped. “Rebecca’s scar.”
Bradford gave a single nod that appeared as if it cost much. “Thank God the wet nurse woke up. Thank God she had the courage to smother the flames in the crib with her own hands.”
“Mrs. Clark?” Lily gaped at him.
He nodded again. “Francine had already fled down the hallway. She went up the stairs to the roof.” His face twisted; he appeared lost to his recollection. “I followed her up. It was storming—lightning and thunder and sleet. She made it all the way to the edge of the east wing before I caught up to her. I grabbed her, thinking I would drag her back inside. But she broke my nose and jumped.”
Tears dripped from Lily’s eyes, but not for the lamentable, detestable Francine. Though she’d never say so aloud, in Lily’s estimation, Francine had performed her first charitable act toward the world when she jumped from the roof.
“I never want Rebecca to hear of it,” Bradford finally said. “She died in childbirth—that’s as close to the truth as I’m willing to tell her. Do you understand my reasoning?”
Lily nodded. Though she was most often on the side of truth as a rule, this was different. In this case, telling Rebecca the truth would only hurt her. What good was there to gain from what had really happened?
“I understand,” Lily finally said. “And though I am sorry for the pain she brought you—and others—I cannot bring myself to fully hate her. I love her daughter, after all.”
“You are more charitable than I am, then.” He shook his head. “What she tried to do to Rebecca…”
Lily had no answer for that. It was horrific, beyond comprehension, and by his expression, she could tell that Bradford was still fully in the memory’s clutches.
“Rebecca survived. She’s happy and loving. Her injury won’t hold her back from life in the least.”
“It isn’t simply guilt over what happened to Rebecca that plagues me,” he murmured. “Forgive me for saying so, but if I had heeded the physician’s warning, Francine might still be alive. Perhaps there could have been hope for her. Not to live a full, free life, maybe. But still to have life itself.”
“There is no forgiveness needed. I only think more highly of you, since I know you truly mean it.”
He shook his head. “You shouldn’t think highly of me at all.”
They stood looking out at the pond, side by side, hand in hand, sharing the silence.
Lily finally said, “I replayed that last conversation between us innumerous times after you left. I decided that my asking how your nose had been broken was to blame, somehow, for you leaving.”
Bradford winced. “I should have told you then. I’m sorry.”
“Why would you, when you thought I was faking my affection?” She smiled softly.
He shook his head. “I still should have had the courage to offer you the truth?—”
“You’ve offered it now, and nothing you’ve said has changed my mind. If anything, it’s improved my opinion of you.”
