Page 70 of Unforeseen Affairs
“I never expected a knighthood, you know. Nor ever wanted one,” he finally said. His voice was thin, and sounded far away.
Carefully, she reached for his hat where it sat upon her valise, and dusted it off.
“I only meant to do my duty. I never expected to become so well-known. To be so… celebrated.”
She offered him the hat. He stared at it for a moment before accepting it.
“My brother was the one meant for glory, to become an admiral and sail under his own flag. Bernard was better thanme in every way. But, strangely, I did not mind. He was a good brother.”
He thumbed the brim of his hat slowly.
“I might have been happy to remain a lieutenant, as long as I could continue sailing. As long as I was agoodlieutenant.” His face darkened, and his hands stilled. “Funny that, for now I surely will be, forever.”
“What do you mean?” Charlotte murmured.
She’d never seen him this way—so grim, so low. It was as if a veil had been drawn back to expose the raw wounds he hid from the world underneath a cheerful façade. While in hiding, those wounds had festered until they’d become something larger than they ought.
Something so painful he could not give voice to it, even now. Rather than explain himself, he stared at the ground, a sneer touching his lips.
“Well?” she tried again, sounding more eager than she meant to.
He shook his head sadly.
Charlotte stood up. “Can you walk?” she asked.
Sir Colin flushed, bringing much-needed color into his face.
“I… yes.”
“I’ll help you,” she asserted.
The flush deepened.
“Miss Sedley, I cannot ask—”
“We will walk. There must be an inn—or some sort of lodging—not far from the station.”
Still he did not look at her. Eventually, though, he shut his eyes and swallowed.
“Very well,” he rasped.
Colin did not hear the conversation between Miss Sedley and the proprietor of the inn. He hung back, leaning against the half-timbered wall like a drunkard. He did not even know where they were. All he knew was that it would be days before his head felt normal again.
The train had left them; they would not arrive in Manchester this afternoon. They would not attend Thaddeus Taggart Bass’s evening performance. He would not watch Miss Sedley’s keen eyes as they saw through the flimflam, would not hear her low, steady voice as she explained just how the medium managed to confound his audience. They would not concoct their plan to expose him on the stage.
Instead, Colin would remain abed in this town, in this inn, while the dizziness receded and a thick, foggy pressure took its place inside his head.
He hated himself. He loathed what he’d become.
He’d once been a man, able-bodied and dependable. And now he couldn’t even take a train to attend a stupid magic show.
He was startled by a gentle hand upon his arm, and his head reeled once again.
“Oh—did I upset you?”
Miss Sedley withdrew her touch. It felt hateful, for her to pull away like that. But he did not reach for her.
“No,” he said thickly.
