Page 33 of When Hearts Are Wylde
“The actions are meaningless without the words, Phinneas, and the words are meaningless without the actions,” Hermione countered softly. She’d heard enough from Felicity in one oftheir quiet conversations to understand what all of it was about. And she also understood her sister-in-law’s reluctance to explain it all to Phin. After all, it was meaningless if he she felt he was only doing so to appease her. “A woman needs both. Your wife needs to know that she is more to you than a duty and an obligation.”
He shook his head, misery plain in the small gestures he thought no one noticed. “I’ve never said those words to anyone in my life other than you and mother. Father said them to her constantly. He told her time and again. And then he would break her heart a dozen times over. What if I am like him? What if I fail at marriage as spectacularly as he did? Isn’t it better to never utter them at all than to say them now and prove them a lie later? It’s the lies which wound the deepest, after all.”
Her throat tightened, but she didn’t let him look away. “Oh, you poor foolish man. You’re breaking her heart already. With your distance. With your relegation of her to something you must do, someone you must take care of…rather than someone you treasure. Someone you need. If you love her, tell her. And let her love you in return.”
“What if she doesn’t?” he asked, low. “We rushed into all of this—with lust-fueled impetuousness. There is no guarantee that her feelings are the same.”
Hermione’s heart twisted. He truly didn’t see it. “If she didn’t love you then what you said to her that night would not have mattered. It would have altered nothing between you.”
His eyes flickered with suspicion. “How did you know that I’d spoken to Felicity of my duties and obligations?”
She almost laughed at the question. “Women never keep secrets about such things, Phinneas. Not from one another. I am her friend. And the only person of her acquaintance with whom she can speak freely about the more intimate aspects of your marriage, such as the fact that she has locked you out of herbedchamber. Charity, Benny, and Cordelia would be mortified or of absolutely no help.”
He looked thoroughly discomfited now, and she allowed herself a brief, wicked satisfaction. “Exactly how detailed are these conversations?” he demanded.
Hermione laughed outright. “Not that detailed. There are things I do not wish to know and things she does not wish to say. Your dignity and modesty have been preserved in all things.”
His eyes narrowed. “And have you discussed Hartley with her?”
Her smile faltered, as it always did at that name. “As much as I will discuss him with anyone. Not everyone, brother, is intended to have a happy ending. You are. You must simply be brave enough to take it. Now, I advise you to muster your courage, humble yourself, and grovel. It would be nice, also, if you could do it before the ball tonight. The tension in this house is palpable, and your guests will surely notice. Also, if you haven’t gifted her with some very expensive jewelry, you should.”
She saw the smallest flicker of relief in his face, as though she’d handed him a rope in deep water.
“I’ll see what I can do. I have never groveled before,” he admitted.
“You’re a married man,” Hermione told him with brisk affection. “My advice would be to grow accustomed to it.”
Two weeks. Two long weeks since Felicity had been taken, since Baxter had met his end in a foul inn, and since Aphrodite Pelham had followed him to the grave with her so-called “accidental” dose of laudanum. The house had been returned toa fragile semblance of order, yet within it the air still felt raw. Hermione had watched her sister-in-law drift through those days like a ghost—gracious, polite, but so coldly distant from her husband that even Hermione’s own heart ached on his behalf.
She knew Phinneas was suffering for it. She had seen it in the way he lingered too long at windows, in the shortness of his temper with the servants, and in the haunted stillness when Felicity’s gaze passed through him as though he were nothing but mist. He might not admit it, but he missed her. Missed what they had shared in those blissful weeks before everything had gone wrong.
It was that thought that carried Hermione down the hall and straight into his study, without bothering to knock. She had tolerated the heavy silence long enough.
“Well, you’ve certainly made a muddle of everything,” she pronounced, not giving him so much as a chance to look startled.
“I’m aware of that, Hermione. Thank you so much for pointing it out,” he returned, dry as kindling. “If that is all, you are certainly free to go.”
She did not leave. Instead she crossed the room, closing the door firmly behind her. She loved him too much to let him wallow, and Felicity too much to watch her retreat any further. “I love you, Phinneas. You are a wonderful brother. But, at present, you are an absolute failure as a husband.”
He raised his brows, exasperated as only he could be. “Is this supposed to be helpful?”
She gave him a sad little smile. “Yes. Because the first thing you have to do is admit that you are making a mess of it all and apologize.”
He scoffed, of course. He always did when he felt cornered. “And an apology will suddenly inspire my wife to simply sweep it all under the rug and act as though it never happened? I hardly think so, Hermione.”
Hermione walked closer and perched herself on the edge of his desk, just as she had when she was small and demanded his attention with all the stubbornness of childhood. “You really have no idea what this is about, do you?”
“No, I really do not,” he admitted, the words sharper for the bitterness in them.
“Tell her that you love her,” Hermione said, each word deliberate. “Tell. Her. Now. Before you lose her forever.”
“I cannot,” he muttered, and she heard the ragged edges beneath his calm. “Those words are meaningless. It’s a man’s actions that matter.”
“The actions are meaningless without the words, Phinneas, and the words are meaningless without the actions,” Hermione countered softly. “A woman needs both. Your wife needs to know that she is more to you than a duty and an obligation.”
He shook his head, misery plain in the small gestures he thought no one noticed. “I’ve never said those words to anyone in my life other than you and mother. Father said them to her constantly. He told her time and again. And then he would break her heart a dozen times over. What if I am like him? What if I fail at marriage as spectacularly as he did? Isn’t it better to never utter them at all than to say them now and prove them a lie later? It’s the lies which wound the deepest, after all.”
Her throat tightened, but she didn’t let him look away. “Oh, you poor foolish man. You’re breaking her heart already. With your distance. With your relegation of her to something you must do, someone you must take care of…rather than someone you treasure. Someone you need. If you love her, tell her. And let her love you in return.”
