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“None of this is coming out right,” he muttered, as he walked to the window as if he might find the correct words in the landscape beyond.

He stared out into the fog for a few moments, before expelling a strained breath and turning around, leaning back against the sill as though he needed the support.

“My late wife taught me mistrust,” he began again, haltingly. “We met on the night of her debut but, without my knowledge, she had already decided I would be hers. She had read about me in the scandal sheets. Nothing bad, but a list of the Season’s most eligible bachelors. I, however, had no interest in her. In anyone. I was there because my father forced me to be.”

Marina shifted in her chair, quietening her wounded thoughts so she could listen properly.

“What ensued was months of harassment although, again, I did not realize it at the time. Wherever I went, there she was. And I would receive anonymous letters, denigrating any lady that I happened to speak to, even in passing. Then came the gifts and the poems. I had no notion of who was doing it, and my friends said I should be flattered… but all I could think was that my every move was being watched.”

Oh goodness… A chill beetled down Marina’s spine, imagining the fear that came with such obsession.

“Then, the Season ended and I went on a tour of the Continent,” he continued. “For almost two blissful years, I did not have to contend with the constant bombardment of letters and whatnot. I had hoped to remain there a while longer, in Greece specifically, but I was summoned back early due to my father’s passing.

“My mother, you must understand, died while I was away at Eton. I was six-and-ten, and no one told me until I came home for the summer. Her letters to me simply stopped and I was left to wonder why, only to discover later that they stopped because her life did. She was already long buried, and the only one who apologized was my grandmother. But she was under my father’s rule then; it would have ended badly for her if she had disobeyed his instructions.”

A faint pain began to ache in Marina’s chest. Not like the pain of falling in love with Anthony and being parted from him, but the deep pull of sympathy, of sorrow for what he had endured.

“I inherited, I settled back into Knotgill, and I ventured into London for the first time in two years. I must have been four-and-twenty,” he said, his brows knitted together in consternation. “I met a pleasant woman at a ball, and began a courtship.”

Another feeling wriggled in Marina’s chest. One she had no name for, but one she did not like: a hot, uncomfortable sensation that had her squirming in the chair.

“We had a mutual understanding,” he went on to explain. “We both needed to wed and we did not mind one another. We were friends, I suppose, as much as men and women can be.”

“What do you mean?” Marina interrupted for the first time, confused. “I am friends with Doctor Stanforth. Is that not appropriate?”

Anthony mustered a tight chuckle. “Friendships between men and women are… somewhat frowned upon. And the situation can often be misconstrued, as evidenced by my own foolish behavior.”

“Oh… Oh, I see,” she murmured, nodding for him to carry on.

“That is when the letters and harassment began afresh,” he said. “But I learned to spot the handwriting and ceased reading anything that came in the post from that person. I continued the courtship and had declared my intention to propose. My friends insisted on taking me to the gentlemen’s club to celebrate… and I drank an inordinate amount of brandy and port and goodness knows what else.

“On my way home, Emilia appeared. She offered to help me sober up and led me back to her residence.” He shuddered, grimacing. “Needless to say, I made a grave mistake that night, and the very next day, I broke the courtship with the other lady. I felt I had a duty to Emilia and needed to fix the mistake I had made.

“We married, and a few months later, we found out that Emilia was with-child. She was overjoyed because all of her deceit had worked, but I… was indifferent at best.”

He closed his eyes, the pain of his memories evident on his face. “Unbeknownst to me, she had been speaking to a friend of mine while I was courting the other woman. He told her where I would be that night. She was just waiting for her moment to strike. I am not even absolutely certain that anything happened, but I was too inebriated to know one way or the other. So, it did not matter; I had been caught in a scandal regardless, or would have been if I had not married her.”

“It cannot have been a happy marriage,” Marina said quietly, as much to herself as to him.

He laughed bitterly. “That is putting it mildly. I learned of what she had done, and that she was my harasser, and I became even more distant. Of course, she was with-child, so I could not divorce her or annul the marriage, but I made it clear I wanted nothing to do with her.”

His hands gripped the windowsill, his knuckles whitening. “She began to have affairs, hoping to get a reaction out of me. She lied constantly. She would disappear for days without telling anyone, leaving our son in his nursery until his cries alerted someone to her absence.

“I began tending to him, but it made Emilia stay closer to me. When I was with my son, she would be right there, pawing at me, doing everything to try and claim my affection,” he murmured, his voice thick. “Then came the jealousy. She would harm William for ‘stealing my affection’, so I distanced myself. For his sake as much as my own sanity.”

“No…” Marina gasped, her hand to her heart, thinking of the poor boy.

He nodded. “Slowly but surely, when none of her schemes worked and I began spending more time in London and Scotland to be away from her, leaving William in the care of a nanny, she became hysterical.”

He swallowed loudly. “The next time I returned to Knotgill, there was a storm. I woke in the night to find Emilia at the end of my bed, holding William. She threatened to kill him.”

Marina remembered what the boy had told her, and felt her heart weigh heavy in her chest. Madness was a cruel affliction, not just for the sufferer but for those around them. It was why she had only skimmed the surface of mental ailments in her work, for it was so complex and individual that remedies were hard to make.

No wonder he does not trust anyone.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Anthony could almost see the haunted, terrifying look in Emilia’s eyes, could almost hear the rain hammering against the windows, and the venom in her voice as she had hissed, “If you mean to kill my spirit, Anthony, then I shall kill your legacy.”