Chapter 21
For a long moment, Frederick could only stare at her—the rise and fall of her breath, the brightness in her eyes, the flush that deepened her cheeks.
Thea was magnificent when roused, all warmth and fire and stubborn grace.
Every line of her stood against him, fierce and unyielding, and heaven help him, he adored her for it.
He wanted to reach for her, to silence her with a kiss, to promise that all would be well.
That ache buried itself deep in his chest like an arrow piercing a target.
The pain was sharp and tangible, made all the more acute as it only reinforced the truth: Thea was everything he needed.
The perfect partner in every sense. So much more than a mere wife or sweetheart.
She was his motivation. His conscience. The person who loved him enough to harangue him over the hurdles he placed in his own path.
And Thea deserved better than him. That truth stood between them like a chasm: he could not have her and still be the man she believed him to be.
So, he let his gaze linger, tracing the curve of her mouth, still set in that determined line, and the faint quiver at the corner that betrayed how fiercely she fought to hold her ground.
The strands of deep gold woven into her hair that caught the sunlight.
The small freckle near her temple. Frederick wanted to remember it all.
This single moment suspended in the sunlight and shadow of a warm summer’s day would have to be enough.
“That! What was that?” said Thea, her finger rising to point at his expression. “Tell me, Frederick! We are not our parents, who speak to each other only when necessity dictates it. We do not keep each other in the dark!”
“I cannot marry you,” he said, stepping backward. “That is all.”
But Thea closed the distance. “That is not all! Tell me what is the matter. If this is impacting our future, I have the right to know. And do not try to lie to me. Do not pretend that your parading Sally Jenkins about was anything but a shallow attempt to convince me you do not care for me.”
Frederick scoured his mind for words. They usually came so easily, and he knew the sentence that could end this once and for all.
Yet the lie refused to emerge from his lips: in short order, the only thing Frederick Voss would have was his honor, and to speak that falsehood would rob him of that as readily as Father had robbed the parish. He couldn’t say he didn’t love her.
Before he knew what he was about, a jest rose to his lips.
That familiar urge surged to the forefront, bringing with it an easy smile and a light remark to soothe her ruffled feathers.
Then her exasperation would give way to reluctant laughter as the tension dissolved into something bearable, as it always did.
But her gaze narrowed as though sensing his intent, and it snuffed the flippancy as thoroughly as a candle caught in a gust of wind.
Hurt, deep and raw, lingered in her eyes, and the ache in his chest redoubled as the weight of her pain added to his. And Frederick knew it was all his doing. Not because of this twist of fate that had eradicated their future, but because of his silence.
“Can you please leave it be?” he began, stepping around her, but Thea moved with him. Reaching out, she caught him by the arms, and he allowed her to pull him to a stop.
“Tell me the truth, Frederick,” she whispered. “I will not leave until you do.”
They stood so close that the scent of roses filled his nose, and his unhelpful thoughts drew forth the memory of more pleasant times.
The feel of her in his arms. Her lips against his.
There weren’t words to describe how Thea’s embrace made him feel.
It was softness and strength blended into an incomprehensible mix, making him as wobbly as a newborn foal yet as powerful as the great lions of the Serengeti.
Lifting her hand to rest against his cheek, Thea turned his face to hers and whispered, “Frederick.”
Despite having done so many times over the past months, hearing Thea speak his given name still sent a thrill through him, and Frederick felt the truth in that moment: there was no need for secrecy any longer.
The die had been cast. The path forward had been chosen.
To tell her would not alter either, and silence would not protect her from the pain.
“My family is bankrupt,” he whispered. “We have lost everything.”
*
For a heartbeat, the words didn’t make sense.
They hung there between them, weightless and impossible, as though Thea had misheard him.
Surely, she must have. Frederick stood before her, steady and composed, his voice calm enough that she might have believed he was remarking upon the weather, yet his gaze spoke of devastation.
The distant music, the rustling leaves, the echoing laughter from the festival muffled as Frederick’s words rang in her mind. Bankrupt.
Thea searched his face, waiting for the jest or some spark of mischief to undo it all. But there was none. He wasn’t teasing her, nor exaggerating as men sometimes did when matters of money arose. He meant it. Every word.
Her mouth parted, but no sound came. He was Frederick.
Capable, clever, endlessly resourceful. The man could untangle any knot, soothe any trouble with his easy smile.
With a few words, he brought light to the thickest darkness and set the world to rights once more.
How could the Vosses be ruined? It defied all reason.
And yet, as she stared at him, Thea saw the truth in those eyes, and the ground beneath her gave way. Was that it? Was money the source of all the fears and anguish of the past weeks? All the heartache and confusion?
A breath shuddered from her, half gasp, half laugh.
Thea pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, fighting the foolish smile that threatened to break through—despite being entirely inappropriate.
Air swept through her like a blustery spring windstorm, lifting her out of the winter doldrums, and Thea fought to keep the relief from overwhelming her.
Which made her heart twinge with guilt: this was not something to celebrate.
Yet fortunes came and went. Families rose and fell.
A trial, to be certain, but not insurmountable.
Her heart still hammered against her chest, but the tightly woven cords coiling around it loosened their grip.
This they could bear. Heaven knew it would be difficult, but it was not the end. Not of him. And not of them.
Only then did she realize that they stood in the lane, and though this was a quieter stretch of road, it was a miracle no one had interrupted them yet.
Glancing about, Thea motioned him to the side, to the copse of trees that shivered overhead.
Choosing a trunk that was far enough from the road that no one could accidentally eavesdrop, she settled onto the ground so that she was tucked out of view from passersby.
And before he could protest, she tugged him onto the grass beside her.
Leaning back, his hands propping him up, the fellow stretched his legs out as though they were lazing about on a fine summer’s day, and Thea ignored it.
That he was talking at all was something of a miracle, and she wasn’t about to do anything that might encourage him to retreat once more.
“Tell me all, Frederick,” she said, tucking her hands in her lap as she turned her full attention to him.
“There is little more to tell,” he murmured as he combed his fingers through tufts of grass.
“I doubt that,” she said, her lips pinching together.
Frederick grunted. “There is no money. The family is bankrupt. That is all there is to say.”
“I am trying to be patient and approach this situation with delicacy, but you are making that quite difficult, Frederick Voss,” she said with a frown. “Must I resort to scolding again?”
Holding up his hands in surrender, he drew in a deep breath, and once the first words left him, something within gave way.
Like a breached dam, the story poured out.
Sputtering and disjointed at first, then steady and unstoppable.
Every detail, every miserable sum, every desperate effort to set things to rights spilled into the quiet between them, and thoughts of courtships and Sally Jenkins vanished from Thea’s thoughts as Frederick unburdened himself.
His tone was matter-of-fact, as though relaying facts and issues wholly unrelated to him, yet she heard the exhaustion, bitterness, and shame layered beneath it.
He spoke of ledgers and debts, of the household cutbacks that had yielded too little, too late, and his family’s stubborn pride that compounded his strain.
Every word struck her like a blow, and Thea’s thoughts raced ahead, searching desperately for something—anything—that might mend his broken heart.
Surely, if the right words were spoken, the right plan formed, these troubles would be undone.
Frederick carried himself with the sort of easy strength that made others believe the world could never best him, and to see that certainty falter and his careless charm strip away was more than she could bear.
Thea’s heart twisted under the weight of it, and a deep, helpless ache pressed against her ribs until she could scarcely breathe. She would have given anything—her comfort, her pride, her very future—to ease that pain from his eyes.
Frederick tugged at the grass, tearing at the blades and scattering them on the breeze as his gaze fixed on some far, unreachable point.
It took every ounce of discipline she possessed to remain silent and keep her hands folded in her lap when she wanted to reach for him, to touch his arm, and to promise that she would fix it all if only he’d let her.
She sat there instead, listening as he unburdened himself, her body thrumming with unspent energy, and her throat tight with unspoken comfort.
And yet, for all the truth he gave her, Frederick skirted any mention of his father.
Yes, his role in this mess was clearly defined, but the son who was bearing the brunt of his father’s sins remained mum concerning anything beyond the facts.
Only a slight pause every time the gentleman was mentioned—the tiniest of hesitations that could be easily overlooked.
But Thea heard each one.
That familiar ache swelled in her chest, not the sharp rush of new affection but the deep, steady pulse of something long rooted.
The world may know only the laughter and joie de vivre, but she knew the man beneath it.
The one who bore pain without complaint, who met shame with resolve, who would rather ruin himself than wrong another.
And oh, how she loved him for it.