Chapter 26 #3
"He knew," Thelma whispered.
Roman turned. Thelma was staring at the signature at the bottom of the page. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, her hands trembling slightly.
"He knew she was alive," Thelma said, looking up at him. "He knew where she was. He paid for her food. He paid for her clothes."
"He kept her alive in the only way he allowed himself," Roman said, his voice thick with a lingering anger. "Through money and distance. He bought his own peace of mind, Thelma. That is all he did."
"It was not enough," Roman continued, stepping away from the window. "He was a duke. He had the power to protect her. He had the power to defy my mother and defy society. He chose not to. He abandoned her."
Thelma looked at the letter one last time. She slowly folded it, her movements careful and deliberate. She did not throw it into the fire. She did not rip it apart.
"No," Thelma said softly, her brown eyes meeting his. "It was not enough. It was cowardly. It was cruel." She took a step toward him. "But it was what he had, Roman. It was all he was capable of giving. He was a man trapped by his own weakness, and he knew it. He died knowing he had failed her."
Roman stared at her. He looked at the woman who had suffered in a freezing cellar, who had spent her life watching her sister endure the pain of rejection. He looked at her and saw absolutely no malice.
"How do you do it?" Roman asked, his voice cracking slightly. He closed the remaining distance between them, stopping mere inches from her. "How do you stand there and offer him grace? How do you forgive them so easily after everything they stole from you?"
Thelma looked up into his face. Her expression was fiercely tender. "I do not forgive easily, Roman. The anger is still there. It burns every time I look at Liliana and realize Yvette is not here to hold her."
She lifted her hand, her fingers gently brushing against his chest, right over his heart. "But holding onto the rage will not bring my sister back. It will only poison this house. It will only poison Liliana's future. And I refuse to let the past ruin what is left."
Roman felt the air leave his lungs. He looked down at her, at the quiet, unyielding strength radiating from her small frame.
He admired her in that moment more than he had ever admired anyone in his entire life.
She was brilliant. She was brave. She was everything this decaying house needed to survive.
He did not think about the open door. He did not think about the staff moving through the corridors outside.
He reached out, his large hands gently cupping her face. His thumbs brushed across her cheekbones, tilting her face upward. Thelma’s breath hitched, her eyes widening slightly before fluttering shut.
Roman leaned down and kissed her.
It was not a hesitant brush of lips. It was a slow, consuming kiss that pulled the floor right out from under him. He poured every ounce of his fear, his gratitude, and his overwhelming affection into the contact.
Thelma let out a soft, breathless sigh, her hands sliding up his chest to wrap around his neck. She pressed herself against him, returning the kiss with a desperate, beautiful heat that blocked out the rest of the world.
He tasted tears on her skin. He tasted salt and warmth and the promise of a future that had nothing to do with ledgers or titles.
He pulled her tighter against him, his hand tangling in the loose hair at the nape of her neck.
He wanted to stay in that moment forever.
He wanted to lock the nursery door and forget the world existed.
A sharp, polite knock echoed against the doorframe.
They broke apart instantly.
Thelma took a stumbling step backward, her chest heaving, a bright, furious blush spreading across her cheeks. She brought a hand up to her mouth, her eyes wide as she stared at him.
Roman turned toward the door, his heart hammering a violent rhythm against his ribs. He dragged a hand through his hair, trying to force his breathing back to a normal pace.
Earnest stood in the threshold, looking entirely impassive.
"Forgive the interruption, Your Grace," the butler said smoothly, his eyes deliberately fixed on a point just above Roman's left shoulder. "Dr. Harrison has returned. He is downstairs and wishes to recheck the child's lungs, as promised."
Roman cleared his throat. He smoothed the lapels of his coat, adjusting his cuffs. "Yes. Of course. Send the doctor up immediately, Earnest."
"Right away, Your Grace." Earnest bowed and retreated down the hall.
Roman looked back at Thelma. She was still flushed, her fingers nervously smoothing the front of her apron. She walked over to the small writing desk in the corner of the room, opening the top drawer.
He joined her, taking the folded letter from his father and placing it inside the drawer. It sat next to the birth record and the stack of legal documents Orson had brought from Somerset.
He stared down at the neat pile of paper.
"This drawer is getting full," Roman said, his voice a low, intimate murmur. "Thirty years of secrets, all packed into one small space."
Thelma looked down at the drawer. She reached out and pushed it closed, the wood sliding shut with a quiet, final click.
She turned to look at him, her brown eyes steady and bright. "The house is getting lighter, Roman."
He looked at her face. He looked at the woman who had brought the light back into the stone corridors of his life. He watched the way she breathed, the way she smiled.
I am going to ask her, Roman thought, a sudden, absolute certainty settling deep into his bones. I am going to ask her to stay forever.
He just needed to find the exact right moment.