Page 90 of Wicked By Design

Damian shook his head. “The arguments became worse, her temper more erratic. The doctor came to the house almost daily, and Mama changed. She would be quiet, staring into space for hours and hours, or singing to herself. But if she caught sight of Gideon, all that would change. Her temper would erupt and she would say the most dreadful things, wicked things. She… She frightened me.”

Honeywell nodded, his expression one of compassion. “A terrible situation for everyone, most especially you and your brother. Your father wished to protect and love his new son, but for your mother, it was a betrayal of the deepest kind. She was already isolated, by choice it appears, but then to lose the devotion of her husband, to discover that the child they had made together out of love had a sibling that was nothing to do with her. Even for a woman who had no such frailty, the circumstances were akin to living in a tinderbox. My heart aches for all concerned.”

Damian considered this, considered it from his mother’s point of view for the first time. The horror of what she had done could never be lessened, but perhaps he could believe she was not evil, not the devil made flesh, but deeply disturbed. “Yes. It… It was certainly that.”

“And she had no friends to turn to, no family to support her?” Honeywell asked gently.

Damian shook his head, the picture forming in his mind different from the one he had carried for so long. He looked up, meeting Honeywell’s eyes. “He betrayed her.”

“Yes. Though we cannot apportion blame when we do not know how he suffered too. You said he was sociable, funny, and warm, and yet his wife withdrew from the world, perhaps from him too. Loneliness is a terrible thing, as I’m sure you know.”

Damian gave a choked laugh. “Bloody hell, Honeywell, you’re a… a—”

“Yes,” the man said easily, smiling at him. “I’ve been called a lot of things in my time.”

Damian swallowed the last of the cognac and set down the glass. He leaned forward, putting his head in his hands. His mind seethed with everything that had been revealed to him, and yet none of this information was new, he’d just never seen it this way before. He had persisted in seeing his mother as a wicked creature, one who had hidden her evil nature beneath a sweet exterior. But the entire situation had been primed for disaster, and she had simply lost her mind.

“Damian, was your mother ever afraid she might hurt you or your father?”

Damian looked up with a frown. “No. No, never. At least she never said so. The rest of us were afraid of her, of what she might do, but she never appeared conscious of putting any of us in danger. Except for poor Deon, whom she had every intention of causing pain, but he was kept out of her sight for his own safety. Of course, it didn’t always work and then the scenes were horrific. But she always wanted to be with me, and with father. She wasn’t afraid of what she might do to him, or me.”

“But you are afraid of hurting those you love.”

He stared at the reverend, who held his gaze but said nothing. He was afraid, deathly afraid of hurting Celia, of any children they might have together. “I’m terrified.”

Honeywell smiled at him. “Well, that is a remarkable difference in your characters, is it not? I believe you are a rather sociable creature too. Certainly, your name has always been in the society papers.”

Damian snorted. “Regretfully yes. Whilst my behaviour in the past was not quite what it ought to have been, I do very much enjoy society, balls and the theatre, dinner parties. I am looking forward to sharing these things with my wife.” The realisation that he was the complete opposite of his mother did not pass him by Perhaps he did not have intimate friends, but that had always been the fear of letting anyone close to him, a fear that seemed to diminish day by day. He had let Celia in, even Hetty to an extent—their grandmother, Hawkney—his circle of intimates was growing, and he liked that.

“Quite right. Now, consider poor Hadfield, do you remember that sensational case? It was some years ago now. He fired upon the King himself. The physicians in that case did not attribute his derangement to wicked blood, but to grievous wounds received in war. Well, if madness may be born of a sabre-cut, of fever, of terror, or grief, then we must be cautious before we condemn an unborn child for the sins or sufferings of a parent, don’t you think?”

Damian had heard of the case but had not considered his own fate in the same light. Now he did.

The reverend hesitated, his expression somewhat rueful. “If I may dare to speak of our own dear King, whose mind is perhaps not entirely stable either, there is never any judgement passed down upon his children, is there? Is that not curious?”

“I—I suppose it is,” Damian said, frowning as he considered this.

“The world is too eager to make the terror of tainted blood a prison sentence. Mr Hadfield’s insanity stemmed from a brain injury. This was evident in the court's findings. If a man or woman may be driven from reason by wounds or suffering, shall we say every child of this sufferer is condemned? Is that not just superstition? I recently read an interesting book, which I shall lend to you. Written by the physician Thomas Arnold, who sadly died earlier this year. The doctor discusses multiple cases and classifications of insanity, which do not reduce all madness to bloodline. He does not believe that the children of an insane parent will automatically produce insane children.”

Damian blinked, hearing the echo of Doctor Grantham’s words to Celia.

“He doesn’t?”

“He does not and was a highly regarded physician. So, perhaps there are other theories to consider. My dear fellow, you have worn the mantle of your mother’s tragedy your entire life. It has become your identity, but it does not belong to you, Damian. It is hers, not yours. You are a different creature. Does that mean you will never become unwell? That I cannot say, but neither can any doctor guarantee that it will be so. None of us know how the future will play out, but life is full of surprises. Your story is yet to be written. Perhaps it is too early to judge how it will end.”

Damian stared at him, overwhelmed by the wealth of information, things he had never considered, theories and arguments no one had ever presented him with. “I hardly know what to say. You have given me a great deal to think about.”

Honeywell just smiled. “I am glad, and please return at any time. I should be most glad to discuss the matter further with you.”

Damian let out a breath, finding to his surprise the idea was one he welcomed. “I will do so, I assure you.”

“Excellent! I shall find you that book. In the meantime, might I make one little suggestion?”

Damian nodded, happy to agree to just about anything this wise man could offer him.

“Write to your aunt,” he said with a smile. “Now, then, I believe I shall have another glass of that splendid cognac. Care to join me?”

Chapter 20