Chapter 10 #4
“You have just spent half the evening criticizing society for teaching people to perform,” Augusta said softly. “Perhaps you know what it cost her more clearly now.”
“I never tried to become her friend, either,” Ronan continued, and she could hear the guilt in his voice.
“I convinced myself that friendship was unnecessary in a marriage arranged for duty, and I believed that treating her with courtesy was sufficient. I never raised my voice to her, I never denied her anything, and never demanded her company, so I considered myself a decent husband.”
Augusta tried to imagine what their marriage must have looked like once more. They had a child together, so surely there must have been some degree of closeness between them.
That was the part that confused her.
“But...” she said, biting down on her lip. “How is it possible that you were not. close?”
He seemed to understand her immediately.
“I touched her once, on our wedding night, since an heir was expected and neither of us questioned whether expectation was reason enough. She was afraid, and I never touched her again after that night.”
The idea alone made her heart wrench. Surely, such a relationship must have been confusing and lonely for both people involved.
“She always kept her distance after that,” Ronan continued, his gaze fixed upon the wineglass in his hand.
“I told myself that leaving her alone was the most considerate thing I could do. Whenever she seemed uncomfortable in my presence, I withdrew before she had to ask. I believed it was better to remain hidden in my study and spare her the burden of my company than to force her to discover that there was nothing to fear.”
Augusta did not speak, although the silence between them had changed, and it no longer felt like part of their game.
“The truth is that I chose the easier course,” Ronan said, setting the glass down. “Showing her that she had nothing to fear would have required patience, honesty, and a willingness to be rejected more than once, while distance required nothing from me.”
“Ronan,” Augusta said quietly, “you cannot know that every attempt would have failed, although you also cannot return to that marriage and change what happened.”
“No,” he replied, finally meeting her eyes. “I cannot.”
A silence fell between them again. But somehow, Augusta felt as though she understood him better now.
“But now you know,” he said after a moment, “why I have nothing to offer Sarah when she asks about her mother. What am I to say? If anything, I am ashamed to tell my daughter that I knew so little about the woman who gave her life.”
Augusta remained still, stunned by the openness of the admission and by the severity with which he judged himself.
“You could tell Sarah what you have told me,” she said after a moment. His eyes widened at the prospect alone.
“Not all of it, although one day you could tell her that you regret not knowing her mother better. That would still be the truth.”
Ronan looked away. “That remains a question for another time. She is far too young at the moment to understand any of this,” he sighed.
Their little game of questions had gotten too deep now, and there seemed to be no getting out of it either.
“Is it my turn to ask you a question now?” he looked at her intently, as though he was trying to piece together some important bit of information about her. “Have you ever been in love?”
Augusta blinked. The question seemed to surprise Ronan as much as it surprised her, although he concealed it quickly and reached for his wineglass again, as though the movement could make the question appear casual.
He told himself that he had only changed the subject, and that after exposing so much of his own past, it was reasonable to ask something equally personal of her.
He could even claim that the rules of their game demanded it, although none of those explanations accounted for the sudden attention with which he waited for her answer.
I don’t care if she has been in love before. That was an obvious thing that he told herself, and it was only curiosity that had compelled him to ask the question.
But a part of him wanted to know, and an even bigger part of him wanted the answer to be a no. She was his wife, and therefore the prospect of her having found love before was something that appeared unsuitable to him.
It also wasn’t lost on him that she was taking more time than usual to answer.
“Well?” he pressed, looking at her again. A small smile formed on his face, perhaps motivated by his impatience alone.
“If you really must know,” she drew a sigh, “I have never been in love.”
Relief moved through him so quickly that he almost resented it. Ronan lowered his gaze to the wine in his glass, unable to explain why the answer pleased him, while Augusta continued watching him from across the table.
“Do you wish to ask anything else?” she said.
“It’s not yet my turn.”
He wondered if the same question was going to be directed towards him now, and panicked internally when he realized that he wouldn’t know what answer to give her. Thankfully, though, she seemed to be satisfied for the moment.
Neither of them asked another question.