Chapter 18
Pru
There were no words, just one blaring question in her head. Like a bell tolling in her mind, over and over. Like it was noon, indefinitely. Twelve clangs. Then twelve more. Over and over again. But she certainly did not want to voice it. It could do no good.
It bubbled out of her mouth regardless. “How could he do that?”
And as much as she hadn’t meant to ask it, she more certainly hadn’t intended for Fidelia to answer it, considering what must be her sister’s state of shock, given her numb movements, glassy eyes, and taut mouth.
“He’s a rake, Pru. That’s what rake’s do.”
Gah.
It was like she had run into a tree. Pru stopped walking. Stopped breathing. Stopped feeling or hearing anything. Only her heart.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
That’s what rakes do. How could she have been such a fool?
Tears singed her eyes. She blinked hard to keep them at bay.
Poor Fidelia. This was her life. A controlling, manipulative man.
A man given to outbursts of anger and most likely violence, given Fidelia’s flinch earlier in the barn.
And that man was supposed to be her husband.
A husband was supposed to protect and provide for his wife. Not steal everything from her.
Yes, Bart had provided a house.
But certainly not a home.
He’s given her food.
But not any kind of sustenance.
He’d stolen her joy. Demeaned her to the point of scooping out everything that had made Fidelia who she was. And now there was nothing left.
And she wanted to stay with him. It made no sense to Pru. Except one truth rang loud and clear. Louder even than the clanging question bells from earlier.
Bart was a rake. That’s what rakes do. Soren was a rake. That was what he would do.
Not the violence part. Not the controlling part.
Just the pursuance of pleasure with whoever he wanted.
It didn’t matter what he said now. The bits and crumbs—even the full petit four—of hope he had offered her. A rake didn’t change his ways.
Now, more than ever, she needed that tea.
Seeing the distance that had grown when Fidelia hadn’t stopped with her, Pru raced to catch up.
After a fresh pot of tea had replaced the old one, Pru studied her sister. She knew it could be a while before seeing her again.
“Why will you stay with him?” she asked quietly.
It was a mortifying question to have to ask her sister, but needed to know.
If there was any chance of her being able to protect her sister or help her in any way, she needed to understand the situation more.
It would be impossible to rescue someone who didn’t want to be saved.
And Pru was dreadfully afraid that was the case here.
“He’s my husband, Pru.”
“Wouldn’t you feel…safer with me and Temperance?”
An unamused laugh tumbled out of Fidelia. “In the house that my husband has arranged for you?”
“At least we’d be together.” She knew it was futile to point it out, so she tried another tactic. “You could stay with Verity. She’s all alone right now. You two could be together. That would work. Bart doesn’t own her estate.”
“No, he does not. But neither does Verity. And her time there is soon coming to an end.”
Pru didn’t dwell on that part because she didn’t know what Verity was going to do when she inevitably had to leave her home. “Won’t you come to her last house party at least?”
“I will not.”
“She needs you.”
“Verity needs no one. She’ll make up her own mind and choose her own path. Just as she’s always done.” Pru studied her sister and almost saw a glimmer of jealousy there as Fidelia spoke of Verity, their recently widowed sister. Who would have thought someone could be envious of widowhood?
“Don’t you want to be with someone you can trust, Fidelia?”
“I’m with my husband. It’s better if I stay with him.”
“You could just come for a visit?”
Fidelia’s eyes grew hard. “For how long, Pru? A week? A month? Do you know how much harder it would be to come then?” Distracted, she smoothed skirts. “No, thank you. I’ll stay here where I know what to expect.”
“But you could leave if you want to.”
“Leave him?” Fidelia scoffed again. “I’m his possession. I’ll never be free of him. Not until he’s dead and buried six feet under a heavy pile of dirt.”
“I’ll find a way—”
“Don’t.”
“Tempy and Verity—”
“Don’t you dare tell them,” she bit out, shocking Pru.
“What? How can I not?”
“My marriage is protecting Tempy. Providing for you and her. And if Verity has nowhere to go after the sale of her husband’s estate, she might be reliant upon the same house and provisions.
So don’t you dare paint me as a martyr. I knew what Bart was like.
I’m not naive. I didn’t enter this marriage with my eyes closed. ”
“You knew?”
“And I’m hap—” she stopped herself, recollecting her thoughts. “I don’t regret my decision, Pru. Don’t make this into something it’s not.”
“How can you ask this of me?” Pru’s insides quaked at the thought of leaving her sister in such a volatile situation. Fidelia claimed it was predictable, but to Pru it was anything but that.
“If it’s the only request you ever honor from me, Pru. Keep this to yourself and let me be.” She stood up just as the door to the parlor opened and Soren marched in. “Now, I think it’s time for you to leave.”
“But—”
“Don’t argue with me. I have a headache and must lie down. Good bye, Pru.” And she quit the room, leaving Pru all alone.
Despite Soren standing right next to her.