Chapter 27 #2
We both smiled. “Spending time with Juliet is never dull,” I said.
“I suppose that is why we became friends so quickly and enjoyed each other so much. She always kept my mind off missing my family, and I think she enjoyed being with someone who was calmer than she was. But I have to warn you—I am not always calm.”
“Oh?” He raised his brows, his lips quirking up at the corners.
“I can get very angry at times.” I smirked. In truth, I was rarely angry, but it did happen.
“What kinds of things make you angry?”
“I get angry when my brothers fight and strike each other, especially when they hurt each other. I get angry when someone doesn’t say thank you, or when someone is inconsiderate or unjust to someone who is weaker than they are.”
“What do you do when you are angry?”
“Before I answer that . . . Just as you said before, if I am answering your questions, you have to answer them as well. What makes you angry?”
“Very well.” He looked amused, then grew serious. “I get angry when someone harms someone I love. And when someone is inconsiderate or takes advantage of a weaker person—the same things as you. I get angry when I see hypocrisy and cruelty and injustice.”
I nodded. “I believe the next question was, ‘What do you do when you’re angry?’ Sometimes I yell at my brothers. Sometimes I tell my mother how I feel. And sometimes, if I get really upset and feel that nothing I am doing is helpful, I cry. It’s embarrassing, really.”
“You shouldn’t be embarrassed. I once knew a young lad when we were in school who would cry when he was angry. He was teased unmercifully for it, which of course did not help.”
“But you never teased him.”
“Not I. I was no bully.”
“That is good. And I would not have thought you were.”
A look passed between us, a look that said more than I could put into words.
“It is a woman’s prerogative,” he said. “She may cry when a man may not—according to society’s rules, at least.”
“True. But even a woman may not cry in certain circumstances.” Such as at a ball, just after she is insulted by a gentleman. “Now you. What do you do when you’re angry?”
“Of late, I seem to be in the habit of challenging the person who has angered me to a duel. But I had never done so before. I generally hold my anger close and don’t let anyone know I’m angry.
It is sometimes helpful to do a bit of fencing practice, or to go for a fast ride through the country and jump a few fences.
Though I have been known to yell at my sister, especially when we were children. ”
I gave him an encouraging look, hoping he would go on.
“When I confronted Skeffington for what he did, I was calm, but I told him what he should do, and I informed him what would happen if he did not do it.”
“Very good. And what if you become angry with me? What will you do?”
“Well, in the past I have falsely accused you and then treated you coldly, which I greatly regret.”
“But what about in future? If I were to make you angry, if I were to say something you didn’t like, or if I didn’t do something you asked me to do, or if I did something you didn’t approve of?”
“I would speak to you about it. I’d tell you what I didn’t like.”
“You wouldn’t yell at me or strike me?”
“Of course not. Only an evil man would strike a woman.”
“You wouldn’t treat me coldly and refuse to speak to me?”
“I would not.”
“Would you seek to understand why I did what I did, and if I asked forgiveness, would you forgive me?”
“Yes. Yes, of course. And if I ever in the future do not do it, you may remind me of this conversation, as I do sometimes avoid speaking of unpleasant things.”
His answer made me feel warm and pleasant. I said, “Thank you.” I wasn’t sure why I felt tears spring to my eyes, but I blinked them away.
“And if I make you angry, will you scream and throw things at me, as the wife of one of my friends does?” He was smiling.
“No, I will not scream and throw things at you.” I tried to imagine doing such things, but he was waiting to hear what I would do.
“I will talk with you about the thing that made me angry, to seek to understand. I will forgive you if you ask me to, and I will forgive you even if you don’t think you did anything wrong and don’t ask me to forgive you.
And I will ask your forgiveness if I have done something wrong. ”
“Ah. As will I. But I cannot imagine you ever making me angry, to be truthful.”
“Can you not?”
“No. You are a sweet, angelic dove. What could you ever do wrong?”
I laughed. “I am sure my sister Lavinia will tell you differently. Certainly, I’m not always sweet or angelic, and I’m afraid I will disappoint you if you think that I am.”
“I understand. No one is perfect, and you do not have to be perfect for me to love you.”
Did he truly mean that?
I’d never really thought about it before, but I supposed love between a husband and wife must require that kind of mindset.
My mother and father loved each other. I was sure of that.
But they were not perfect. My father could be irritable with my mother when his gout was acting up.
And my mother was known to completely ignore my father the next day when one of the babies had kept her up most of the night.
I loved my brothers and sisters, and none of them were perfect.
I’d dreamed of my husband since I was a child. I’d imagined our marriage to be perfect, but of course, there would always be occasional quarrels and tension between two people who lived together and who have children together. After all, everyone has flaws and foibles.