Page 50 of Sharpen Your Claws

“Anyone could see it. She seems rather keen on you.”

“Oh.” The bridge of Henry’s nose wrinkled. He glanced between the door and William before asking, “Whatever for? We hardly talk.”

“But she must want to. You should invite her to tea outside of the tower.”

“I’d rather not.”

William didn’t expect his brother to be so blunt. He didn’t know what to say.

“Romance and the like. I have no interest in it, truthfully.” Henry shrugged nonchalantly. “The future I see for myself is one of science and discovery. I suppose you and I have that in common, our futures differing from what our parents might expect.”

Henry wasn’t looking at him. He inspected one of his books as if he hadn’t knocked the breath from William’s lungs. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t look away from Henry, who read him as easily as the book in his grasp.

“Whatever do you mean?” William whispered, sounding like a child again, frightened and paranoid.

The corner of Henry’s lips curled. “You don’t need to hide the truth from me. I know if Miss Thomson was after you, you wouldn’t be that interested, either. I don’t mean to alarm you by bringing it up, but what I’m trying to say is, I get it. We’re not exactly the same, but we want different things and that makes us stand out.”

He didn’t expect that and wondered if it was alright that he loved to hear it. He felt like the odd one out, but maybe he wasn’t so odd anymore, and maybe it was okay to want that.

“Then you don’t want marriage or children, either?” he asked.

“By the Souls, no. I adore Alice and I am excited to meet Eleanor and Richard’s child, but I do not want any of my own, nor do I want to walk down the aisle. I’m not entirely closed off to the prospect of a relationship, something of mutual trust and understanding, but I can’t see myself as infatuated with someone as the rest.” Henry shuffled his weight from one foot to the other. “Do not tell anyone about that. You are the first person I’ve ever said anything about it to.”

“Because I would get it?”

“I hoped you would,” Henry muttered, sounding timid for once.

“I do.”

“Good.” Henry cleared his throat. “Sorry for holding you up. I imagine you have a lot of work to attend to.”

“Not as much as I normally would. The king was ever so kind to hire another doctor for the clinic. I won’t have to worry as much about leaving.”

“That’s relieving.” Henry caught him by the shoulders to give a fierce hug. That time felt different in the best of ways. He wanted to tell his family one day about who he loved, but that had always been such a distant prospect, something that felt out of reach no matter what he did. But now Henry knew and accepted him and was a little different, too. It brought about a light in his darkened days that he never expected.

“Stay out of trouble,” said Henry.

“I will do my best.”

18

William

Matildatendedtothegarden, where she enjoyed plucking weeds and speaking to the flowers. She believed they would grow more beautifully when given love through words. William once tended regularly to those flowers alongside her where they spun tales, like bedtime stories made specifically for the garden. If he had such an imagination, he lost it years ago. But at least there, she would be the most comfortable, so William took the opportunity.

“Mother,” he called hesitantly.

“Oh, you’re out early this morning.” She gestured for him to join her.

He knelt. With his gloves on, he was always prepared to pull weeds. He added a handful to the bucket behind them, wishing that was all he was there to do. He always suffered sleeping, but last night was worse than usual. Nothing eased him into comfort, so instead, he laid in the dark, considering how to break the news to his mother. No scenario ended well.

“Is there something you want to discuss? You’re never out this early with me.” Matilda had joy in her eyes, a hopeful gleam he hated to snuff out.

“There is.” But he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

He hadn’t wanted to leave home since his return, even if he worried his presence caused more harm than good. Matilda worried about him traveling to town after his return. She followed him around the house, trying to make up for the years lost. He had no complaints.

But now he had to leave, and she would not take that news well. He thought of every reason he could give, the kindest way to tell her the truth. Nothing fit. The moment he mentioned leaving, even if he conjured a lie less frightening than the truth, Matilda would panic and there was no telling what could comfort her.

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