Chapter 17 - Claire
“Ithink you might have been right,” Claire said to Michael, all in a gust, the following day.
Afternoon sunlight streamed through the long windows in the small back parlor. The door was barely ajar, but Mara was mending one of Claire’s gloves in the corner and pretending she didn’t hear a single word.
Claire twisted her hands together. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said. It didn’t make sense to me, my emotions. There were times when I thought I was going mad.”
“How so?”
Claire bolstered her courage and said, “I was so angry with William when he returned. I was furious. And at first I thought it was because he hadn’t been here. To stop what happened, I mean. But I think it’s more than that. As terrible as it is to admit, I think I was jealous of him.”
“Jealous?” Michael raised his eyebrows, but there was no judgement there, only curiosity.
She nodded. “I had been working so hard for so long to keep our family afloat. And then William walks in and fixes everything without any effort at all.” She shook her head.
“I know that isn’t the truth of it, but that’s how it felt.
And all my sisters were so grateful, acting like William was the best thing since carriage springs.
But they still treat me as if I’m the ice queen. ”
She twisted her fingers together and continued, “Beatrice can hardly stand to be in a room with me, even though I’m the one who made sure that she was fed.
I was there protecting them, and William was nowhere to be found.
However, it’s as if with a few new pieces of furniture and some gowns, they’ve forgotten everything I did.
Yes,” she continued, nodding crisply. “I think I’m angry at the lot of them. Lily was the only one who—”
Claire bit back the rest of her sentence. That was Lily’s secret to tell, and she shouldn’t be sharing it.
“I hope you know that you have my confidence,” Michael said slowly. “I won’t repeat anything you tell me. Not even to my sister or mother.”
“Thank you.” In that moment, she loved him for it. Claire had learned long ago that with seven sisters, nothing that was said to one might not end up in the ears of the others. “But it isn’t my secret to tell.”
Michael nodded and picked up the brass duck from the side table. Claire had thought about moving the thing, but he seemed to need something to fiddle with during important conversations. It didn’t escape Claire’s notice that she and Michael had enough of them that she knew that about him.
“I understand why you’re angry,” he said. “Have you ever thought about telling your brother and sisters how you feel? It certainly isn’t William’s fault he wasn’t here—unless you don’t believe his story about not receiving the letter.”
“I believe him,” she said. “For some reason, it was easier to be mad at him than it was to be mad at my sisters.”
“I understand why that might be, but from all I’ve seen and heard, William is just trying to do the best he can for your family.”
Claire shook her head. “It was an embarrassment to realize how I truly feel. I don’t know how to ask his forgiveness for it.”
“It’s very simple. You explain and apologize and mean it.”
“Ugh.” Her body sagged.
“I said it was simple, not that it was easy.” Michael’s smile was kind.
“Very well. I shall try to catch him alone.”
The thought of requesting a private audience with her brother and then revealing the unfairness of her private thoughts was awful. Michael was correct, however. It was the right thing to do.
“Don’t let it go on too long or you’ll lose your courage. Either that or you’ll tell yourself that the conversation doesn’t matter. And it does.”
She nodded. “How did you get to be so wise?”
“Trial and error, mostly,” he teased. “You mentioned you’d speak to your brother. What about your sisters?”
“I don’t know.” Claire shook her head and resumed her pacing.
It was a short trek, as it wasn’t a large room.
“Speaking to William will be difficult enough, but I have no real charge against him. I can simply explain. Knowing who he is, he’ll forgive me readily, even if he teases me a little for it first. But Beatrice…
I get the impression that she’s mad at me, though I don’t know why.
And I’m angry at her as well. So where does that leave us, if neither will apologize? ”
“Perhaps you both should apologize.” He tossed the duck in the air and caught it.
“Perhaps. But that might be a tall order.”
“Relationships are difficult. There are so many little nuances, so many areas of hurt that the other person isn’t even aware of.”
Claire wondered if he was hinting at the unspoken hurt between the two of them. But if her conversation with William was going to be difficult, her conversation with Michael—should they ever have it—promised far more embarrassment on both sides.
“Do you think things can ever just heal on their own?” She winced, hearing the foolishness of her question even as she spoke it.
“Not if it’s any matter of great import. For little slights, everyday things, like annoyance that’s brought on by a lack of tea, then perhaps. However, if there’s any real injury, then a conversation is the first step out of it.”
Claire grimaced. “I rather wish it was as the old adage says, that time heals all wounds.”
He chuckled. “If time were enough to heal old wounds, then everyone over the age of sixty would be blissfully happy. There would not be a single bitter old person walking around.”
“I suppose you’re right.” She wrinkled her nose at the admission.
He laughed. “Speaking of bitter people, I think I might have a line on a Tweed that fits all your parameters.”
The following morning, Claire sat herself at her delicate writing desk and gathered her courage. As she expected her brother to be the more reasonable of her recipients, she wrote him first.
Dear William,
Forgive me for writing a letter. Admittedly, it might be better for us to discuss this in person, but as you are often out of the house, I haven’t been able to find the time. Or perhaps I’m writing because I am a coward, as this is a difficult topic for me to broach.
The truth is, I’ve been angry with you ever since you returned, though I’ve only just become aware of the true reason. (And it has nothing to do with what transpired between you and Miss Warrington all those years ago—a subject of which we never need speak again.)
While you were away, I worked very hard to keep our family afloat.
With Richard dissolute and absent and then gone, the care of our seven sisters was left to me.
I did my best, though my efforts were often far from adequate.
When you returned, you relieved me of that burden and set things to rights in a way I could only have dreamed of doing.
But I confess I resented you for it even as I realized the right—and duty—of you doing so. Plainly put, I was jealous of your ability to fix things when I couldn’t. I begrudged you our sisters’ gratitude because I was never as deserving of it, no matter how hard I tried.
I’m sorry that it took me so long to realize the source of my ire. I hope you will forgive my petty grudge against you. I now realize that you were undeserving of my anger.
Sincerely,
Claire
That afternoon, she received a reply.
Claire,
Strange, to receive a letter addressed from one’s own house. It rather reminded me of passing notes back at Eton.
Thank you for your letter. I understand why you felt as you did. In case I didn’t appropriately say as much during the maelstrom of those first months— Thank you, Claire. For protecting our sisters. For keeping them safe and fed and sheltered—from both the elements and the judgement of society.
You are just as much to thank for the opportunity you and your sisters now have as I am. For if their reputations had been tarnished during that time, even a fortune as vast as mine could not have helped them.
So thank you, Claire. And we need never speak of this small issue between us again, unless you’d care to.
You are most heartily forgiven, though I don’t know that any forgiveness at all was required.
It’s entirely understandable that you felt the way you did.
Please forgive me for not seeing it from your point of view earlier.
-William
P.S. What’s this about your beau pilfering the silver? Do I need to hire additional footmen to keep the riffraff out?
Claire had laughed through the mist in her eyes at his postscript as warmth suffused her heart. Was apologizing truly that easy?
The first letter had been so well received that Claire immediately gained the courage to draft the second.
She sent it off with a lightness in her heart and a conviction that everything between her and her siblings would be nicely concluded—just a small divot in the frosting of familial felicity, easily smoothed over.
She had just settled onto the sofa facing the fire with a book when— Wham. Her bedroom door burst open so hard it smacked against the polished paneling. Claire jerked, eyes wide.
Beatrice strode toward her, waving the aforementioned letter. Her forehead was wrinkled, her mouth twisted into a grimace. “What is this drivel?”
“For goodness’ sake, Beatrice. You didn’t even knock.”
Beatrice glowered at her, stalked back over to the open door, and pounded upon it three times before slamming it shut behind her. “What is this?”
“A letter.” Claire was too stunned by the sheer volume of Beatrice’s entry to come up with a better answer.
“Of course it’s a letter, you ninny!” Beatrice snarled. “Goodness, you really do think I’m an idiot!”
“Why on earth are you yelling at me?”
Claire had thought it was a good letter, a sensible one. She’d even apologized in it, quite sincerely.
“I’m angry at you, Claire!” Beatrice rounded the sofa and stood before her. “You treated me like an idiot. Not to mention you lied to me for months. You’re lying to me still.”
Claire’s mouth dropped open. “Whatever do you mean?”