Chapter 36
Jerking to a halt, Thea turned to see Mama standing in the doorway to the parlor with Papa beside her. Carefully, Thea shifted the shawl to drape across her skirts; it wouldn’t hide all the damage her work had done, but it might keep her parents from looking too closely.
“Where have you been?” demanded Mama, lifting her chin as she examined her daughter.
Thea was no liar, and even if she were, it would do little good to attempt it when the hard glint in her father’s eye warned that they already knew.
“I was at The End House,” she replied.
“We have told you again and again that we will not stand this nonsense,” said Mama with a scowl, which only deepened when she strode over to Thea and snatched away the shawl. “What have you done to your frock?”
“It is only a bit of soap and water.”
But Mama seized hold of Thea’s free hand and turned it over, examining it. “What have you done to yourself? No man will want a lady whose skin is coarse and cracking.”
“Mrs. Keats,” interrupted Papa, and the lady released Thea’s hand and stepped away with a sharp huff.
Turning to his daughter, he watched her with a furrowed brow. “Your mother has barred you from visiting The End House, yet you continue to disobey her.”
“I am rendering aid to a widow in need,” said Thea, forcing her fingers to loosen their grip on Phoebe’s letter before she ruined it entirely. “Charity baskets offer only the meagerest of aid, and the Brinns have been our tenants for an age. Surely there is no harm in my being there.”
“We are not fools. You are not there for her benefit, though I haven’t the foggiest notion what you hope to accomplish with this outrageous behavior.
” Mama scoffed as she crossed her arms, tossing a raised brow at her husband as though daring him to believe that flummery.
But he said nothing as he stood there without a single ounce of feeling in his expression.
All three stood in silence, the air between them thick and unmoving.
The clock in the hall ticked out each second, steady and indifferent, and Thea’s pulse matched it, the beat loud in her ears.
She tried to hold his gaze, but the longer the silence stretched, the harder it became.
Her fingers twitched at her sides, the letter crackling faintly in her grasp, and she forced her shoulders to remain square despite the prickling heat creeping up her neck.
Mama shifted once, a small, impatient movement, but even that died beneath the weight of Papa’s stillness.
Thea could not discern his thoughts. She never could when he wore that look—the one that made her feel as though he were weighing her, measuring her every word and deed, and finding her wanting.
The quiet drew out until it seemed to fill the entire hall, and though she longed to speak, to defend herself, the words tangled uselessly in her throat.
“Your uncle invited you to stay with them when Mina returns home,” said Papa, the shift in subject so striking that it took a moment for her to grasp the change. “And of course, they wish for you to join them for the Season when they return to London in the spring.”
“You are sending me away?” asked Thea in a hollow voice.
“I am protecting you from your stubbornness. As you refuse to see sense and abandon this foolish course of self-destruction, I must do what I can to free you from temptation.” Papa’s tone remained even, betraying no emotion as he spoke of travel arrangements and the details established with Mina’s father.
Mama’s chin lifted higher with each word, her posture swelling with silent triumph as the gentleman expounded on filial duty and “putting childish notions aside,” but the words flowed past Thea, unable to touch her mind as she realized the time had arrived.
She felt it with a strange, dizzying clarity.
Her toes hung over the edge of this precipice—the dizzying drop lay before her, and the safe, comfortable path lay behind.
Yet Thea felt oddly calm, even as she stared into the gaping void below.
For months, this deadline had left her in a dither, stealing away her sleep and plaguing her throughout the day, and all the while, the answer had taken shape, piece by piece.
The lessons with Mrs. Brinn had given Thea a glimpse into that world, granting her clarity and context.
Visiting with the likes of Mr. Downey had allowed her to see the other possibilities.
And now, the letter clutched in her hand whispered of truth, and Thea looked down at the bit of paper and ink as her pulse slowed. Choosing safety had not spared Phoebe.
Was the contentment that came from security and familial unity worth sacrificing Frederick? Was any level of comfort worth the loss of the children they would have? The life they would build? Could any joy equal those blessings?
Once Papa finished speaking, Mama took the lecture up in turn, reiterating everything he’d said, whilst the gentleman returned to his favorite armchair and dove back into the newspaper as though everything were decided.
“Do you think Frederick is the only gentleman to whom I have spoken?” asked Thea, interrupting Mama’s diatribe.
The lady straightened. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Since I was old enough to be in the company of men, I have met a good many,” said Thea, her own chin lifting as she felt her way through her thoughts and feelings.
“I’ve had countless conversations, dances, and outings with them.
In the past weeks, you’ve thrown me in the path of every unmarried man in Haverford, and I have willingly accepted their attentions so that I might explore all possibilities. ”
“You’ve been stubborn and willful,” said Mama with a huff. “Hardly giving them an opportunity—”
“I gave them proper consideration,” said Thea, the feel of the paper in her hand helping to ground her as she stepped into the void. “And not a single one of them will make me as good a husband as Mr. Frederick Voss.”
Papa leveled a dark look at her from over his newspaper. “Regardless, you cannot have him.”
“Then I shan’t marry at all,” said Thea. “The past weeks have seen me heartbroken, hurting, and miserable in so many ways, but it is a fraction of what Phoebe is feeling.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Mama with another huff. “She chose the best she could, but your beauty, social standing, and dowry will provide you a better match than Mr. Godwin—”
But her words stopped short when Papa held up a staying hand. “I do not care for your tone, Thea. This is not a discussion, and you will not go against our wishes.”
“I am a grown woman—” began Thea.
“I am your father,” said Papa, his voice rising as he stood, casting aside the newspaper. “I am the master here, and you will do as I bid. I will not allow you to ruin your future for Frederick Voss.”
The show of temper held Thea’s tongue in check as she stared at him for a long moment, and when she found her voice again, it was a whisper.
“I am not saying this because I am being stubborn or emotional. I have spent weeks—months, really—contemplating my future, and no matter how difficult it may be, I know any path will be infinitely harder without him by my side. Frederick is my closest friend and strongest ally. He brings light to my life as no one else can. I will have him and no one else.”
The stillness that followed her words crept through the room like frosty fingers on a window pane, its icy touch inching across the glass. Papa watched her, the sharp lines of his face frozen in place, and when he finally spoke, his voice was as low and chilly as a winter’s breeze.
“You think me cruel, but I have lived long enough to see what comes of sentimental choices made in haste, and I cannot stand idly by and watch you throw your life away. You have no notion of what hardship truly means. You do not know how it grinds a person down, Thea. It will dull everything bright in you and leave you empty.”
The words were quiet, devoid of any temper or bluster, but the strength of his conviction wove through it, and the muscles in his jaw tensed as he drew in a slow, deliberate breath through his nose.
“I cannot support a decision that will lead to your ruin,” he added. “You may think me hard, but I do this because I must. I will not allow you to fritter away your life.”
Thea stared at him, the echo of his words sinking deep before she found her own.
“Over the past few months, the two men I care for most in this world have declared, in turn, what my life is to be.” Her hand tightened around Phoebe’s letter until the paper crackled. “But it is not your choice to make. My future is mine to decide.”
Her father’s jaw tightened once more, but he said nothing.
The silence pressed against her ribs, but Thea did not look away.
Like a storm before the first crack of thunder, the air felt electrified, and Papa stood motionless, the sunlight from the window tracing the hard line of his cheek and the gray that threaded his hair.
Thea waited for him to speak, to chastise her again or dismiss her outright, but no words came.
He only stood there, shoulders drawn tight beneath the weight of what was passing between them.
Then something flickered behind that stern exterior.
Small and fleeting, but impossible to ignore.
His eyes, so sharp and certain, seemed older, as though bowing beneath the weight of centuries.
Sorrow seeped into the edge of his gaze, and the sight startled her, stealing the breath from her lungs and forcing an ache deep into her bones.
And with a heavy breath, Papa said, “If you wish to forge your own path in life, then you will do so without our support. You have tonight to pack your things, but come tomorrow, you are barred from our home until you come to your senses.”