Chapter 22
It was maddening. Thea was maddening. Without speaking, she pried him open like a chestnut, breaking past his defenses and peering inside, and Frederick doubted she knew the power she wielded with such precision.
Every time her gaze settled on him, calm and unflinching, Frederick felt a little latch inside his heart give way, widening it further.
But with each confession, he inched ever closer to that which he could not say: so much of it was wrapped up in his father, and that terrible secret he could never speak.
Not to anyone. Not even Thea. Frederick circled the truth, scraping against its edges, but some things were too terrible to voice.
Too cruel to share. And speaking it would only make it more real.
Father’s confession sat in his heart like a rot he could never cut away; he could only keep it from infecting others.
So when the words threatened to rise, he swallowed them back, forcing his voice to steady.
He spoke of figures, of crops, of creditors, anything to steer the conversation away from the one thing that haunted every corner of his mind like the specters in a graveyard.
“Oh, Frederick,” she whispered, her feelings woven into those words as though her grief was too great for her heart to bear. Reaching over, Thea rested her hand upon his, and Frederick clung to it. He wouldn’t squander this last opportunity.
“I am so very sorry,” she added, though her expression crumpled. “I suppose that is far too little a thing, and I wish I knew what to say—”
“Sorry suits well enough,” he said with the faintest of smiles. “Every time my mother looks at me with those reproachful eyes, I find myself saying them. There’s nothing else I can offer up. I cannot undo the past nor change our present course.”
The words faded, leaving only the sound of the wind whispering through the leaves above them. Thea didn’t withdraw her hand, and Frederick made no effort to release it. Her fingers were warm against his, steady and sure, and he clung to that touch as though it were a lifeline.
For a long while, neither spoke. There was nothing left to say that wouldn’t cheapen what had already been laid bare between them.
The weight of the debts, the ruin, and the shame pressed less heavily with her beside him, and if he closed his eyes, he could almost believe that this quiet moment beneath the tree was all that mattered.
But that was a dangerous thought.
Every instinct in him ached to close the space between them and let the world fall away.
To bury himself in her arms and forget—if only for a heartbeat—that everything was coming undone.
Thea made him believe that peace was possible, that comfort could be found even here at the edge of disaster, and the allure was almost too strong to resist.
Clearing his throat, Frederick considered his plans. Mr. Gleason and Mr. Moulton thought them sensible, yet he couldn’t help wondering what Thea would make of them.
“I have been considering what I should do with myself once all this business is concluded and our debts are settled in full,” said Frederick, his thumb brushing against the back of her hand. “I cannot be master of Dunsby Hall, but it is the only training and knowledge I have—”
“Rubbish,” said Thea with a scoff. “You have many skills and abilities, which could easily translate into other ventures. Your way with people, for one. You already have a sterling reputation for being a good landlord and treating your tenants with kindness and dignity, which I am certain would be beneficial in any profession. To say nothing of what you’ve learned about finances and investments. ”
“I hardly think learning about finances and investments from my father is of any use,” said Frederick with a self-deprecating smile that pushed back the bitterness that surged forward at the mention of that man.
And Thea met that with a gimlet eye. “Do not diminish your accomplishments, Frederick. Didn’t Mr. Moulton and Mr. Gleason praise you for your handling of the situation? Clearly, you are capable—”
“Peace, Thea,” he said as a hint of genuine amusement and warmth softened his expression. “I ought to know better than to berate myself in your presence.”
Tugging on his hand, she gave him another warning expression, and before Frederick knew what he was about, he lifted her hand to his lips.
Clearing his throat, he dropped it and shifted in place.
“I meant…” Frederick gave another cough as his gaze drifted to the tree, his eyes tracing the ridges etched into the bark. “I simply meant that I have been considering my options. I am too old for an apprenticeship—”
“Old? You are three and twenty,” said Thea with a huffing chuckle.
“And most begin their training when they are still lads. I am so far behind that I am unlikely to ever catch up.” Frederick sighed, adding, “To say nothing of providing for my mother and Phoebe.” Straightening, he forced himself back to the subject at hand.
“But I have been considering… whether or not it might be a fine idea to… to open…”
Staring down at the grass between them, his free hand worried a bent blade until it tore loose from the earth. His tongue felt thick, his mouth dry.
Why were the words so blasted difficult to say?
Simple though they were, they tangled in his throat.
Which was ridiculous. Hadn’t he just spent the last hour speaking of ruin and debts, giving her every last bit of his shame and laying it all bare for her to see?
His family’s name meant nothing. His father was a liar and a thief. And yet, he couldn’t admit this?
Frederick Voss put little stock in pride.
In most cases, it was a useless thing that allowed the opinions of others to sway one from the path.
But what did ridicule matter? What weight did their judgment hold?
Only that which was granted to them, and Frederick had no interest in handing any of the villagers that power over him.
But Thea mattered. More than he could ever say. To see disappointment dim her eyes or shame steal across her cheek would break him.
Piece by piece, his home, his future, his security had been stripped from him until he was left with little more than his own two hands and his honor, and even those were dented and bruised of late.
Her good opinion was the last thing that felt unspoiled.
The one treasure left untainted by the wreck of Dunsby Hall.
To lose that would be to lose the very last piece of himself that still felt whole.
Frederick could weather ruin, could endure whispers and sneers, but not that. Not the quiet collapse of her faith in him. Swallowing hard, he forced the ache down. He drew in a slow, unsteady breath, steeling himself as though bracing for a blow.
“It is only an idea at this juncture,” he managed at last, his voice barely above a murmur.
“A silly one, perhaps. But Mr. Moulton estimates that I should have some funds remaining once everything is settled. Not enough to live on, but I might be able to set up shop. The ironmongers and smithies are always busy come planting and harvest time with repairing broken tools, leaving many unable to do their work as they wait. There’s always hope that a neighbor might be able to lend one—”
“But it isn’t always possible,” said Thea with a nod. “I’ve heard the men bemoan that very thing.”
“And though the forges often keep ready-made tools on hand, who would wish to replace a good-working piece of equipment when their current one only needs a bit of mending? So, I thought I might open a shop that hires out equipment,” said Frederick.
“Perhaps even venturing so far as to secure some of the modern machinery that most cannot afford to purchase themselves, but could be sent round to the various farms.”
Brows rising, Thea considered that. “I imagine that would be quite useful. And perhaps you could also do the same for the sheep farmers, with their wool presses and shearing frames. Even a carding machine, perhaps?”
“Precisely,” said Frederick. “I know of no shop that provides that service, and I believe this could fulfill a need within the community, even for villages far beyond Haverford’s boundaries.”
“That is brilliant, Frederick,” she said.
For a moment, he could only stare at her, certain he’d misheard. Brilliant? That was not the word he’d expected. Sensible, perhaps. Practical. Necessary. But brilliant?
Thea’s eyes shone with that warm, eager light, and her whole face grew animated as she spoke of presses and machinery and all the ways his plan might succeed, acting as though he’d told her of some grand inheritance that would save him from ruin, not a significant fall from grace.
“I will be a tradesman, Thea,” he said at last, more quietly this time, the words tasting strange in his mouth. “Not a gentleman farmer. Not a landholder. I will own a shop and deal in contracts and equipment.”
Frederick studied her face, half-expecting to watch the excitement fade into the same polite horror that would seize any lady of her standing when confronted with such an admission. Though Thea wouldn’t swoon as Mother had, this was no little matter.
“Though Phoebe is sensible enough to see the logic in the choice, I can well imagine that the rest of your family must be horrified at the prospect. No doubt your mother took to her bed at the thought,” said Thea, her brows pulling low.
“But you cannot live on charity, and pursuing the gentlemanly professions will only continue your struggles. Embracing a life of trade will be difficult, but it provides the best opportunity for security and a good income.”
Holding fast to his hand, Thea leaned close as the light grew in her eyes. “No doubt, it will require time to establish and will necessitate a delay in our engagement, but I know you will be successful. This will be a good life for us.”
“‘Us?’” Frederick’s voice cracked as his muscles tightened and realization crashed down heavily on his head. In all his unburdening, he’d fallen into familiar patterns and lost sight of the purpose of this discussion. “Nothing has changed, Thea. I cannot marry you.”