Chapter 21 #2
She reached for Diana’s hand. “I want to talk to you about us.”
“About us? What us? Are you going to propose marriage to me, Madeline?”
Madeline tried to smile and make light of the joke that was meant to distance her. “Us, as sisters. I wish to apologize for some things.”
Diana’s expression relaxed visibly, and Madeline was glad she had been able to wrestle with her pride long enough to break the ice. Perhaps, this way, Diana would open her ears and actually listen.
“Do you remember when I was six years old, and you taught me how to walk with a book on my head?”
“Yes,” Diana replied. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Madeline tried again. “Do you remember putting me to bed at night? Climbing under the covers with me, lying beside me and reading, then stroking my forehead before saying good-night?”
“Goodness, Madeline, I don’t remember.”
“Well, I do. I also remember that when you packed up to leave for Auntie’s house to live in London, I did not say goodbye.
While you waited in the front hall for the carriage to arrive, I complained to Papa and accused him of loving you more than me, and I said you were spoiled. Tell me you remember that.”
Diana pursed her lips indignantly. “How could I forget? You ran off down the lane and then my carriage came. You, as always, were the one who was spoiled that day, Madeline, not me. Don’t think for a minute I was hurt.”
Madeline sighed heavily. “I said I was here to apologize. I am sorry for that. I was angry that you were leaving, and I knew I was going to miss you. I had no mother to hold me and console me after you were gone, and I was afraid.”
Diana was not moved. “I had no mother, either. Do you think it was easy for me? You never even knew her. I had to watch them put the mother that I loved into the ground.”
Swallowing uneasily, Madeline continued. “I am sorry for that, too. It was hard for all of us.”
For a long moment, they sat in silence. Madeline felt her courage faltering and feared that she would not be brave enough to say what she had come here to say.
She squeezed her hands together on her lap, then looked at Diana and saw the pain in her eyes, the memories of a distressing time in her life.
“I didn’t want to say goodbye to you that day, Diana, because I loved you. More than anyone in the world.”
There was a long silence. Diana’s arched eyebrows pulled together in a frown. “Why are you telling me this now?”
Madeline’s stomach began to chum. “Because I want you to know it, and because I want us to be close again.”
The color rose in Diana’s cheeks. “You think I am going to be an invalid, don’t you? You feel sorry for me. That’s why you’re saying all this.”
“No, Diana—”
“How can you expect us to be close when you will not do the smallest favor for me, like warming the water when I ask? We are nothing alike. You walk around like the living dead, keeping your thoughts to yourself, looking at me as if I am silly and frivolous for wanting to keep my hands soft or my dress clean, while you bounce about in the barnyard, taking pleasure in feeding the hogs!”
Madeline felt as if she’d been slapped in the face. But there was more….
“You judge me,” Diana said, “with that look on your face. I never know what you are thinking because you keep everything inside. At least when you were a child you expressed yourself by disobeying Papa and running off somewhere. You were such a difficult child.”
“I believe I did it for attention,” Madeline replied. “At least, that’s what the housekeepers used to say.”
“Well, thank heavens you gave up trying.”
I did give up, Madeline thought sadly. Just as she was going to give up now, for nothing was worth this torment. She rose from the bed.
“I should go downstairs and start dinner,” Madeline said. “I’ll summon Hilary for you.”
There would be no more apologies. No more attempts to reconcile with her sister.
She fluffed up Diana’s pillows, quite secure in the knowledge that she had been right to keep her heart closed.
At least toward her sister—and her father, who had deceived her and shipped her off without a second thought.
Diana blamed her for their mother’s death, and clearly she still resented Madeline for it. Madeline had been burdened with that guilt for her entire life.
The key Adam had given her hadn’t worked, after he’d made it sound so simple.
Just then, the noise of a coach pulling into the yard interrupted her thoughts. Madeline went to the window and drew the lace curtain aside.
“Who is it?” Diana asked.
“Good heavens. It’s the lieutenant-governor, Lord Blackthorne. He has returned.” With unsteady fingers, Madeline quickly untied her apron.
Diana shouted at her. “Wait! You cannot leave me now. I look terrible!”
“You have a maid, Diana, and I have work to do.”
With that, she hurried downstairs to greet the viscount, thankful to have something to keep her mind occupied. For she was damned if she was going to think about her heart, or ever try to open it up to her sister again.