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Chapter Thirty-Four
Thomas sat there, stunned, for a long moment.
Then he began to laugh.
It wasn’t a happy laugh—no, it wasn’t happy in the least. It was upset, and confused, and betrayed, and unsure. More than anything, though, Thomas could not free his mind from the absurd irony of it all.
Of course, something like this would come into his life now! Father had been murdered, his own life had been targeted, Evelina likely hated him, and now his mother had long ago had an affair and fathered a bastard.
As soon as the word flitted across his chaotic thoughts, Thomas sobered. No matter what else, he would not think of his brother in such derogatory terms. Gerard was Gerard. That was all that mattered.
He looked back at the letters. They’d been so neatly stacked inside the little box, and they had smelled of perfume.
Why had Father had these, of all people? Had he eventually learned of the affair? If so, why was their family not shrouded in disgrace?
Thomas shook his head, feeling as though he did not truly know his family at all.
Perhaps this should have served as his cue to quit messing around and re-organizing the study for the day, and get back to resting up. Instead, Thomas found himself pressing to his feet and hustling into the hall, determined to call after his mother immediately.
“Your Grace,” said the butler, as Thomas rounded a corner and nearly plowed headlong into him. “My apologies—”
“Think nothing of it,” said Thomas quickly. “Where is my Mother?”
“She’s—I believe she’s dressing for the evening meal, Your Grace.”
Thomas huffed in irritation. It was around the time Mother would be dressing for dinner. Since Thomas had been taking all his meals in his room, she wouldn’t expect him to join her, nor could he go busting into her bedroom when she was in a state of undress.
“Give her word that I will be joining her tonight after all,” Thomas groused, before brushing past the butler and heading downstairs, his footfalls careless and heavy.
Thomas attempted to sit and wait for her in the drawing room. He quickly found that sitting did no good, and that pacing was a necessity. As he paced, he internally berated himself for saying he would meet Mother for dinner. This was not a dinner conversation. He resolved that when she did at last arrive—what was taking her so long, anyway?—he would insist on pushing dinner until later in the evening, and retreating to the study where they could truly discuss this catastrophe.
Yet the longer Thomas paced, the more his resolve weakened.
This was devastating information, to be sure. He could not believe his mother had kept this from him all these years. But was it really his right to know? Surely, she felt a great deal of shame at being involved in such an intense scandal, and then keeping it under wraps all these years.
Did he really want to outright attack her with accusations and questions? She was his mother, still, no matter what, and he loved her. He did not want to hurt her.
“Thomas,” said his mother, appearing suddenly in the archway that led into the drawing room. She was dressed in attire far finer than usual—she always dressed nice, but for a night in, the heavily-embroidered gown with the silk trim seemed excessive. “I was so overjoyed to hear you would be joining me once again at the table, so that your old Mother would not be forced to eat alone. I thought I would dress up to celebrate the occasion.”
Thomas’ mouth felt dry, and guilt weighed upon his heart. Mother’s eyes were bright with mirth and excitement. And over nothing more than the prospect of spending quality time with her eldest son.
“Mother,” Thomas began, clasping his hands behind his back before she could reach for them. He intended to follow up with the words,I need to see you in my study at once. Dinner will have to wait.
But the sweet, crestfallen look in her eyes at Thomas’ refusal to let her touch him felt as though it was a stake to his heart.
“Shall I escort you to the dining room?” he said instead, and offered his arm.
Mother accepted with a happy, genuine smile. Thomas walked them to the dining room in a haze, a ghost in his own body. The world felt unreal around him, like if he let himself, he would float right through the ceiling and up into the sky. After they sat down, Mother asked after him, as overly concerned over his wellbeing as she had been ever since the attack, despite his recovery.
“I’m all right,” he lied, once he was settled in his chair. “Merely trying to get back in the swing of regularity.”
“Just do not push yourself too hard, My Boy. We don’t want another incident like last week’s.”
Thomas couldn’t help but agree, though he didn’t say anything. The servers brought out the first course, and Thomas tried to focus on the food, though it wasn’t until the soup had been entirely finished that he realized he hadn’t truly tasted a single bite.
Mother kept asking him questions about how he was healing up. Thomas answered routinely, as though she hadn’t checked in on him personally every afternoon since his collapse in the study.
“Where is Gerard?” was the only question of true consequence he managed to return in their conversation, deep into the second course.
