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“Fancy you remembering that.”
“With a feather in the hat.”
“Yes, I thought myself quite the fashion plate.”
“And a neck-or-nothing rider,” Kenver added.
His sister laughed. “In my wild youth. I am a staid and settled matron now.”
“You have a nephew, Kenver,” said Sarah.
He looked at his wife, then at his sister.
“My son, Henry,” was her fond reply. “He is ten years old.”
Kenver was assailed by a wave of shame and regret. Ten and he hadn’t even known the boy existed! He’d sent no birthday or Christmas gifts. He’d offered no uncle-ish advice or support. Encountering his smiling sister’s gaze, Kenver realized that his sympathy was misplaced. Henry probably had a jolly life, filled with unexpected hugs and laughter. The lonely, forlorn boy he was imagining was…himself. This felt like a body blow.
“I’m sorry I ran off and left you with our parents,” said Tamara, as if she could read his thoughts. “It really seemed the only choice. And I amnotsorry I married Donald.”
“I should have written you when I was older,” he managed. “I didn’t know exactly where…” But that was a poor excuse. He could have found her address if he had really tried. And he had not.
“Well, I’m sure they gave you a tale that made me a villain.”
He shook his head. “They would not have you spoken of at all. The slightest mention brought a tirade.”
“Ah.” Tamara nodded.
“But I shouldn’t have gone along. I don’t know why I did.” Except that he hated brangling. A poor excuse.
“Because our mother can twist any set of facts to put you in the wrong. It took me years to understand that.”
Kenver looked at her.
Tamara made a throwaway gesture. “If you come to Mama with some complaint or request that she doesn’t wish to hear, what does she do? She throws it back at you in an outrageous form. As if you’d demanded the moon and stars instead of some perfectly reasonable thing. Thrown back on your heels, you rush to deny any such overweening ambition. Which shifts the conversation onto her ground—you defending, she accusing. Until the original topic is lost in a tangle of denials.”
Kenver saw that Sarah was nodding.
“And if that doesn’t put you off, she begins to moan,” Tamara continued. “She wonders how a child of hers could be so cruel and ungrateful. Papa can chime in then with his reproaches and bluster. They are experts at it. Probably even worse after all these years.” She cocked her head as if asking Kenver whether this was true.
Her description sent his thoughts bouncing back through the past to light on exchanges that demonstrated her point.
“I was so glad to escape them,” Tamara continued. She stretched her arms as if reveling in the freedom. “But, Kenver, I don’t think you should have allowed them to driveyouout.”
She looked around the room, and Kenver felt a flush of humiliation. This bare house was so different from Poldene.
“You are the heir,” Tamara added. “It is your right to be there.”
Of course he should be at Poldene. The estate would be his responsibility someday. And he loved it. “Things are not so simple,” he replied. He didn’t look at Sarah.
“They didn’t want me there,” Sarah said. Of course she had caught his tone.
“Ah.” Tamara nodded. “And they made your life a misery. Did Mama set Cranston on you?”
“How did you…”
“Oh, she was my jailer, long ago.” Tamara smiled with narrowed eyes. “Not a very imaginative one, however.”
Sarah said nothing. Kenver was equally at a loss. What did one say to such forthright remarks? How deplorable? How fortunate?
