Chapter Eight #2
After the meeting, they had taken the Wintergreen and Marple cousins for the promised walk.
Bane had given up hope of having Livy to himself when Lady Marple inserted her own daughters into the outing, but the Marple sisters were easily distracted with bread and ducks, and Bane and Drake were each able to cut their own quarry from the flock.
It was then that Bane faced the question most people asked, sooner or later.
Usually, though, he refused to answer it, and nursed his distress at the memories for the rest of the day.
Hearing the question from Livy had not upset him though.
Despite his pessimism about his chances with the lady, she had a right to know the truth.
So, when she had said, “How did you become scarred, Mr. Sanderson?” he had answered her.
“My mother went mad. She became convinced that the spite and scorn of her neighbors was because of the birthmark on my cheek and my mismatched eyes, so she decided to cut them out. Fortunately, my father stopped her before she could take the eye.”
She gaped at him for a moment, and he was disappointed. He had believed her strong enough to hear the hard truths of his existence. He waited for her to change the subject or even to turn away from a boy so damaged that even his own mother hated him.
At least, that was the opinion of those few who knew the truth of his scarring—that his mother hated him. He had heard both his stepmother and his father wax eloquent on the concept, and Colin had tormented him with it for years.
It was not true. She had loved him. Mostly. When she was not drunk or totally focused on Father. She had gone insane, that was all. She had truly believed them both to be in danger and had attempted her surgery out of a misguided desire to protect him from the mob.
“Mr. Sanderson, I am so sorry,” said Livy. At least she was being polite. He waited for her to demand that he leave, or perhaps that he return her and the other ladies to Lady Marple’s and make no further attempt to see her.
But she had something else in mind. She touched him on the hand and said, “How awful for you, and how dreadful your mother must have felt when she returned to her own mind. I must say, sir, knowing your story makes me admire you even more.”
He could feel the smile spread across his face without any effort or thought on his part.
Livy admired him! “Sadly, I do not know if my mother ever knew—really knew—what she had done. When I asked after her, while I was recovering, Father said he had sent her somewhere to be cared for. An asylum for the insane, I found out later. She died there a few months later, while I was still an invalid.”
Again, she surprised him. “I cannot say I approve of your father having a mistress and a wife, both at the same time, and I am quite cross with him for treating you and Drake so differently to the way he treated Mr. Colin Sanderson, but he wins my respect for saving you and bringing you home with him. Yes, and giving you an education, too, for you are clearly as well-educated as your brother Drake. I am glad. Thank you for sharing your story with me. I cannot imagine you tell just anybody.”
“I have never told anyone,” he admitted, somewhat surprised at himself. “Except Drake, that is, when we were boys. My father knew, of course, and he told my stepmother who told Colin. Others have learned of it from them, but never from me.”
“I am honored,” said Livy, her voice soft and warm.
Turning the conversation in a different direction, Bane requested a dance at the debut ball. It didn’t quite work out as he expected. Livy’s lovely eyes sparkled with the light of mischief as she announced the request to her cousins.
“Girls, Mr. Bane Sanderson wishes to request a dance from each of us at our ball.”
Bane repressed a chuckle and aimed a bow at the duck-feeding trio. “I would be delighted,” he told them, and added, in an undertone that only Livy heard, “Minx.”
“You are, after all, coming to a ball. I must suppose you intend to dance,” said Livy.
“I like dancing,” Bane conceded. “Thank you, Miss Wintergreen, for organizing partners for me. Five of them, with you and your sister. I would ask for a second dance, but I do not want your aunt to be cross with you.”
“You know she has warned us not to encourage you?” Livy asked.
“I suspected.”
“And yet here you are.” Those silver eyes flashed as she challenged him.
“Here I am,” Bane agreed, peaceably. “I’m not such a poor thing as to let a little opposition scare me away.
Lady Marple does not have the power to choose your husband.
Nor, for that matter, does your own father.
You are of age to choose for yourself—and your nature is not the kind to bend to the pressure of others. ”
“You might as well give up,” Livy told him. “I am not inclined to marry.”
At that moment, Miss Marple yelled for help, and Bane raced to chase away a feathered bully of a duck.
It was not until they approached the Marple townhouse that he had an opportunity for the final word in their conversation.
He touched her arm to stop her as she was about to ascend the steps, the last in a procession of ladies.
He bent closer and murmured, “I am not scared away, Miss Wintergreen. When you are ready, you can tell me your objections, and I shall do my best to counter them.”
She had time for nothing more than a harrumph of displeasure before her sister called, “Do hurry up, Livy.”
Bane watched her hasten inside and only then let himself smile. Yes. He was not at all displeased with the afternoon.