Violet sighed. “Hannah, it has been years.”
“That isnae what I asked.”
“I am well.”
“Ye were always well until ye werenae.”
Violet looked away. “That is cruel.”
“I like to think I’ve earned that right.”
The words landed so cleanly that Violet had no defense against them because Hannah was correct. Shehadearned the right to say them. Hannah had sat beside her through nights when her breath came in shallow bursts and everyone pretended not to listen for death in the room. She had fed her spoonful by spoonful when Violet could barely swallow, and had argued with physicians, servants, and sometimes friends.
People spoke of love as if it were only a gift, but Violet knew better. Love could become a burden when your beloved’s bodykept failing. Love could turn sisters into nurses, husbands into watchers, and children into future mourners.
She had seen what happened firsthand to people who loved too deeply, and she could never afford to let it happen to her. She could not build a home, let children need her, let a husband shape his life around her, then leave them all with the same helpless ache Hannah had carried.
“Ye keep saying John needs ye.” Hannah’s voice softened.
“Aye. He does.”
“But needing isnae the same as wanting.”
Violet’s throat tightened. “What does that mean?”
Hannah shifted slightly in her seat and sighed. “It means ye have always found it easier to be useful than honest.”
“That is unfair,” Violet protested.
She walked out of the room and crossed to the nursery. She opened the door quietly and looked in. John slept in his cradle, one small fist near his cheek, his mouth slightly open. Moira looked up from her chair, then returned to her mending.
Violet stepped inside and went to the cradle. She was not surprised that her sister had followed her.
“He is different,” she said, touching the edge of John’s blanket.
Hannah came to stand beside her, close enough that Violet felt her warmth at her shoulder. “Because Jane asked ye?”
“Because he has already lost enough.”
“Right. And what about yer future husband?”
Violet’s hand went still on the blanket. “What about him?”
“Has he lost enough?”
“Daenae do that.”
Hannah shrugged. “I am only asking whether he is only a duty too.”
Violet looked down at John because looking at her sister would cost too much. “Ye are the exception, wee one,” she whispered. “That is all.”
The words should have steadied her. Instead, they sounded thin.
She was still deep in thought when Connor’s voice came from the passageway outside, low and controlled.
“Tell Alex I want the western gate watched through dusk. No strangers near the bairn.”
Her body reacted before sense could stop it. Her pulse quickened, traitorous and immediate, and her hand tightened around the cradle rail. She kept her eyes on John as if devotion alone could hide the rest of her.
