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She smiled. “You.”
He lay back on the bed, and she rested her head on his chest.
“It’s quiet downstairs,” she said. “Fanny and Dick stopped arguing.”
“Do you think they killed each other with rolling pins, or poisoned themselves?”
“More likely they went out to the stables and fell asleep. But whichever it was, I hope they cleaned the kitchen first.”
As he held her, tenderly stroking her hair, Mary’s conscience began to needle her. “There’s something I should tell you,” she said, hoping he’d take the revelation well. “Something I should have told you before we married.”
“There’s something I should have told you, too.”
“What’s that?” She was happy for him to go first.
“I want a family. I should have told you this before you agreed to elope with me. But it’s not only that I need an heir. I want our child—hopefully, our children—to have a true home.”
Oh, Sebastian.
He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. “My youth was a string of broken promises. You know that. You were there. How many Christmases did I spend at your house when my own father failed to collect me from school?”
“I don’t know. But we were always happy to have you.”
“You pitied me,” he said. “The worst part was, you expected my presence, every year. Always a place set at the table, small gifts wrapped and waiting. Packets of sweets, fishing lures. I always assumed you scavenged a few odds and ends from about the house to give me, so that I wouldn’t feel left out. Until the year you knitted me a muffler. You probably don’t recall.”
“Of course I do. I made Henry one, as well.”
“I still have it, you know. Blue and gold stripes, my house colors at school. That’s when I finally understood. A muffler in my house colors couldn’t have been produced on a moment’s notice. You had to have knitted it in advance, and you had it wrapped and waiting.”
“Sebastian…”
“You knew. You all knew what I didn’t want to believe. That my father’s excuses were inventions, and his promises meant nothing. He would never keep his word to come for me. I should have realized it myself.” He passed a hand over his face. “I’d never felt so stupid.”
Mary sat up in bed. “You should not have felt stupid,” she told him. “You were a boy who wanted to believe in his father. There’s no shame in that. I’m only sorry he never lived up to your hopes.”
“You can’t know how it feels. It’s like being tied to a cartwheel, tumbling from hope to disappointment over and over again. Eventually, your spirit is simply crushed. I won’t put a child through that.” His eyes met hers. “Can you understand?”
She nodded.
“So it’s not enough for me to simply sire an heir and be done with it. I want to be a good father. To be there for every Christmas, every birthday. Teach our children to ride and fish, patch up their scrapes, put them to bed at night. I know it’s more than I let you believe when we eloped. I was selfish. Because I knew if I had any chance at that life, it would have to be with you. If you not for you and Henry and your father, I wouldn’t know what family is.”
“You darling man.” She leaned over and kissed his lips. “Nothing would make me happier than a family with you. Nothing.”
“You’re certain?”
“Have you ever known me to be otherwise?”
“I suppose not.” His mouth tipped in a lopsided smile. “So what was it you wanted to tell me?”
She stroked the space between his eyes. For once, there was no furrow in his brow, and she couldn’t bear to carve a new one.
“I wanted to tell you that I love you.”
His expression shuttered. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I think I do have to say it. Because I’ve been keeping it to myself for years now, and it’s burning a hole in my chest. You don’t believe me, do you?”
He shook his head. “Not for a moment. That is, unless you mean it in some sort of friendship or fondness way. There are different sorts of love, and—”
