Page 96 of A Match Made in London
The bitter taste of fury was making itself known, overriding the grief that had been his constant companion since Rosalind turned him away. “It is.”
“But that is not what happened at all,” she cried.
“Isn’t it?” He sat forward, fire burning in his gut, loosening his tongue after over two decades of keeping silent. “I may have been difficult when you first arrived, but can you blame me? I lost my mother, and my father was doing everything in his power to destroy her memory. And then he brought you.” His lip curled as she stared at him in wide-eyed shock. “And you never even tried. You gave up on me, like he did—”
His voice broke off, his throat closing. To his horror he felt the hot press of tears behind his eyes, something he had not felt since he was a boy. He turned, not wanting her to see how much it still hurt him.
There was silence for a time. From beyond the sitting room window the busy rattle of carriage wheels on the cobbles outside sounded, breaking the hush in the room. He fought to control his breathing, fighting down the sobs that lodged hard and painful in his chest. And then the rustle of fabric, the quiet patter of footsteps on the carpet. In the next moment the sofa dipped beside him, and a soft hand rubbed his back.
A sudden flash of memory hit him then, of a gentle hand on his back, rubbing away the hurt as he lay in his bed, exhausted after a bout of crying, sending him into the blessed peace of sleep.
He had thought it was a dream at the time, a memory of his mother. His immature imaginings had even chalked it up to her ghost, returning to comfort him in his darkest hours.
But now…
“I used to come to you at night.” Josephine’s voice was thick with tears as her hand continued its relaxing circle on his back. “I could hear you crying, though I know you tried to muffle it. I never told your father, of course. He would not have approved, would not have allowed me to comfort you. He was forever ordering me to leave you be, to keep my distance, that you had to be a man and deal with the way things were.”
She paused, sniffled. “I did not agree with him, but what could I do? A wife’s duty is to listen to her husband. As well, he was not an easy man to live with, forever losing his temper…” Her voice trailed off. She cleared her throat and continued. “And so I followed his orders, though it broke my heart to do so. I understood your hate for me, of course. I lost my own mother young and had to deal with my father’s new wife before I was ready to let go of my mother’s memory, what I deemed as her spot in our lives. And so I kept my distance, thinking you only needed time to come to terms with this new chapter in your life. I had hopes that eventually you would warm up to me.
“But when you cried as if your soul were being torn in two, I could not stay away. I knew, though, that you would push me away if you were aware of my presence. So I waited until your tears had nearly subsided, until I knew you were close to sleep. And I went to you, to give you what comfort I could. What little you would allow me to provide.”
He turned, stunned, and she gave him a watery smile. “I would have given so much more if I could have.”
She could be lying, of course. His memories of that time were so, so different.
But he had also been determined to protect his mother’s memory. Thinking back, he knew now he had done everything in his power to push her away.
Too, there was that wisp of memory when she had rubbed his back, the recollection of many nights when he had been near sleep, then encouraged over the edge into dreamless slumber by a soft, gentle hand.
But years of hurt were hard to put aside. “Why did you never say anything?”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why?” The word was sharp, harsh. She flinched. He expected her to scurry away, but she kept her seat.
“I told you your father had a temper. You knew yourself how heavy-handed he could be. Do you think I did not escape him?”
That took him aback. He had been the victim of his father’s fist more than once. But he had never even considered that the beautiful, poised woman his father married might also be the recipient of such cruelty.
And then a thought, horrifying to contemplate. “And…Arthur?”
A look of incredible pain flashed in her eyes. In the space of an instant she appeared a decade older. “It took everything in me to protect him. Your father was determined to make sure Arthur succeeded at everything he did. He wanted a perfect son, and if Arthur did something less than perfect he used force to ‘fix’ the problem.”
Tristan felt sick. He knew of his father’s use of punishment. But in the few times a year he returned home from school as a child, he had been faced with what appeared to be the ideal family. Arthur had been lauded as a genius boy, excelling at everything he put his hand to.
He had never thought for a moment of the price his half-brother had paid for such praise.
“I was glad you were in school and that your mother’s cousin could take you in for much of the rest of the year. I could not protect you both, try as I might.”
“Why didn’t you leave him?” The question flew out of his mouth, truly an accusation. “Damn it, Josephine, why didn’t you take us and leave? I would have been more than happy to go had you done so.”
Agony such as he had never seen contorted her face. “Do you think I did not want to? I would have given my soul to be able to do such a thing. I even attempted it once, while you were away at school. He struck Arthur so hard he lost consciousness. A four-year-old child, can you imagine? And so I packed my boy up, and left in the dead of night, vowing to get you when I could. I went to my father’s house.”
She stopped on a gasp, gathered herself before continuing in a low, pained voice. “A woman is her husband’s property when she weds him. You know that, I’m sure. And by law he may do as he wishes with her. Even beat her. So my father told me. Your father told me as well when he was summoned to fetch me and our child.”
He could only stare in horror at her. “I didn’t know,” he whispered.
She gave him a small, sad smile. “I did not want you to know. You had enough heartache. You did not need mine and your brother’s added on.”
