Leaning back in her seat, Helena studied him for a long moment, her expression giving nothing away. Finally, she spoke. “All right, what can I do to help?”
“This is something I need to do on my own.”
“Why do you insist on shouldering so many burdens?” Helena questioned. “Ever since Matthew died—”
Greydon cut her off. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
“That is no surprise. You never do.”
“That is because that part of my life is over.”
Helena gave a look that implied she didn’t believe him. “For the past five years, you have been running from what happened. It wasn’t your fault.”
Shoving back his chair, Greydon rose. “You know not what you speak of.”
“But I do.”
Greydon walked over to the window and stared out. This was the last conversation that he wanted to have. What happened to Matthew had been imprinted on his very soul. It was why he worked as hard as he did, never wavering for fear of failure; fear of having to acknowledge what had happened was, in fact, his fault.
He was the one that had recommended going to the tavern, knowing that it was in the rookeries. What had started as a night of drinking turned into something much more sinister.
“Greydon…” his sister attempted.
He put his hand up, stilling her words. “I know you are trying to help, but I am fine.”
“You don’t seem fine.”
Turning to face her, he went to lean back against the windowsill. “What do you want from me?” he asked, his voice rising. He knew his sister only had his best interests at heart, but he wasn’t in the mood to discuss this. Why couldn’t she drop it?
“I want you to acknowledge that Matthew’s death, although tragic, was not your fault,” Helena said. “You won’t be able to start healing until you do so.”
“Who says that I want to start healing?” Greydon demanded.
Helena looked as if there were more things she wanted to say on the subject, but instead she said, “I did not come here to fight with you.”
“It seems like you did.”
“No, I just wanted to know when Phineas’ funeral was,” Helena said. “Spending time with you was just an added benefit.” Her words were followed by a small smirk.
Greydon knew he was being defensive but he did not like talking about that fateful night when he had lost his best friend. It should have been him. He wanted it to be him. Instead, he was forced to relive that night, over and over, in his head.
Pushing off from the windowsill, Greydon said, “I would prefer if we would discuss something else.”
“We could always discuss Lady Enid,” Helena remarked with her smirk still intact.
He felt his body grow tense. “Why would we do that?”
“She is a perplexing choice, considering her past,” Helena said.
“What do you know of her past?” he half-asked, half-demanded.
Helena put her hands up in surrender. “You forget that I owe Lady Enid a great debt. I have no ill-will towards her.”
“I’m sorry… again,” Greydon said. “But I would prefer not to discuss Lady Enid either.”
“What can we discuss then?” Helena teased. “The weather? The state of the gardens? Or we could go practice our needlework together?”
Greydon shuddered. “That sounds dreadful.”
