Chapter 23 #3
“A life in which you do not require surrender.”
The younger man went still. Eric continued, hearing Adelaide in the shape of the thought. “If Violet believes marriage hands a man authority over her, assurances of your good character will not be enough. She probably knew good men before. She may even have loved one.”
“She did.”
“Then prove the question is not whether she can trust you with power. Make it clear you do not want that power at all.”
Theodore studied him. “That is rather progressive advice from a duke who is currently in trouble with his wife for his own provincial thinking.”
“It is advice learned at considerable personal expense.” Eric set the untouched brandy aside, and Theodore waited for him to continue.
“I followed my wife into a corridor tonight and reminded her she belonged to me. Not in those words, but close enough. I had promised her independence and then treated it as generosity I could withdraw when frightened.”
Theodore’s expression lost its humor. “That was beneath you.”
“Yes.”
“But not beyond repair.”
Eric looked toward him sharply. “You sound very certain.”
“I know Adelaide.”
“That is precisely the problem.”
Theodore settled back. “No, it is precisely why I am certain. She is furious. She should be. But fury is not indifference, and she has never wasted anger on people who no longer matter.”
The words offered more hope than Eric deserved. He studied Theodore properly for perhaps the first time since the man had arrived.
He had traveled across Europe and returned at once when the earl fell ill. He had sat with the old man through long afternoons, read aloud when coughing made conversation impossible, and walked at a pace slow enough never to make the earl aware he was being accommodated.
He entertained Elise without condescension, allowed her to cheat at games just often enough to preserve her pride, and treated Violet’s work-worn hands not as evidence of lower station but as something worthy of care.
There had been nothing careless nor covert in his regard for Adelaide, only the familiar devotion of a brother. Eric had taken everything admirable in the man and twisted it into threat because fear had required one. “I owe you an apology as well,” he said.
Theodore waved one hand. “You owe me nothing.”
“I resented you and judged you.”
“I noticed and you truly owe me nothing. Do not dwell on it.”
Eric leaned back, exhausted by honesty and oddly relieved by it. Theodore looked toward the fire.
“There is one thing I meant to ask you.”
“What about?”
“Your sister.” Every muscle in Eric’s body tightened before he could prevent it. Theodore saw the change immediately. “You needn’t answer.”
“Why do you ask?”
“I’ve seen the portrait in the west gallery.”
Eric said nothing, remembering that he had shifted the cover off of the family portrait weeks ago without replacing it.
“There is a resemblance,” Theodore continued carefully.
“To whom?”
He hesitated not long enough to seem deceptive. Long enough to suggest restraint. “To Elise, perhaps.”
Eric’s breath caught.
“She has a similar way of looking at people,” Theodore said. “As though she expects an answer even before she asks the question.”
The memory struck with unwelcome tenderness.
Olivia at seven, standing in the library doorway with both hands behind her back, already prepared to argue the moment he told her no.
Eric looked down. “She did that.”
Theodore nodded, though something thoughtful remained behind his eyes. He waited for the question he expected Theodore to ask, but none came. Instead, the younger man stood. “You should go to her.”
Eric remained seated. “What if she will not hear me?”
“Then you wait.”
“And if she does not forgive me?”
Theodore looked at him with a patience that felt almost insulting. “Then you continue being worthy of forgiveness until she can.”
The answer settled into the room.
Eric rose.
The shame had not lessened. It had changed shape, no longer something to hide inside but something he would have to answer for plainly.
Adelaide deserved more than regret spoken after the danger passed.
She deserved the truth he had withheld at every turn, about his fear, his jealousy, and the future he had begun wanting before he possessed the courage to name it.
He crossed toward the door, then stopped with his hand on the latch. “Theodore.”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
The younger man’s expression warmed. “Bring her back before breakfast. Elise will be most intolerable if either of you is unhappy and you know it.”
Eric almost smiled. “I shall do my best.”
“That is generally where apologies begin.”
Eric left the library and turned toward the stairs.
He had no rehearsed speech. No carefully ordered defense. Only the knowledge that every word he had spoken in the corridor had been false except the ones that revealed how deeply he feared losing her.
This time, he would not hide behind anger.
He would find his wife, take back what could be taken back, and tell her the one truth that had made a coward of him from the beginning.