Page 64 of The Damsel
He returned to Cassandra, cradling the three frames in his arms. Her gaze grew curious as he took one in hand and extended it to her. The young face of Andrew stared up at them—so solemn for a boy so young.
“This was Andrew, and he was the first of my brothers to die.”
She started as if his words had shocked her, wide eyes moving from the miniature to him. “I had no idea you had a brother.”
“I had three,” he said, letting her take the portrait from him. “I was the youngest, with Andrew only a few years older. He was only a boy when he died … an illness that presented itself as a sneezing fit, of all things. I was in the room when he stopped breathing altogether, though my mother did not know I was there. Who could spare me a glance while Andrew lay there gasping and choking, his lips turning purple as he fought for air?”
Her horrified gaze lifted to land upon him, one hand coming up over her mouth. “Oh, Robert …”
“This was Jonas,” he said, offering her the second portrait. “He was the second eldest and Briarwell’s resident troublemaker.”
He couldn’t help a little smile at the thought of Jonas, despite the heavy weight of grief settling in his chest. The portrait she held did a poor job of depicting the wide, jubilant smile his brother had always worn. He didn’t think there was a painter alive who might have gotten right. The smile lived on only in the memories of those who had known him.
“What happened to him?” she asked, laying Andrew’s portrait in her lap to better study Jonas’.
“He joined the Royal Navy, and on his first voyage away from home his ship ran afoul of a storm. The vessel went down with all hands, and … they never recovered a single body.”
The corners of her lips turned down and she gave him a mournful look. “How horrible for you all … your poor mother.”
“This was William,” he said, his voice growing thick and hoarse as he prepared to tell her of the final death—the one that had broken him. “He was the firstborn, the heir. He had almost completed university when he died.”
Tears shined in Cassandra’s eyes when she looked up at him, but she shed none, remaining as strong as always. He felt as if he’d begin weeping any moment, his own eyes stinging and his vision going hazy.
“He gave his life to save someone else,” he choked out. “A woman who was being accosted by some blackguard after her jewels. He saved her, but he was killed. He … I know it is bad of me to play favorites, but … Williamwasmy favorite. He was everything I was not —strong, brave, sure about everything. He was everything I wanted to be, and after losing Andrew and Jonas he was all I had left.”
Cassandra cradled the three miniatures in her hands and stared down at them, the three boys who’d never grown to become men in truth. William had never gotten to tell the person he loved how he felt. Andrew had never even grown his first chin hair. Jonas had sought adventure on the same seas that had claimed him in a watery grave.
“I never understood why,” he sobbed, swiping at his leaking eyes with the back of his hand. “My parents struggled for years to conceive, and lost three babes before William. Why would God give them to us, only to take them away after all that?”
Cassandra shook her head, a lone tear finally escaping her eye. “I don’t know, Robert. I … I’m so sorry.”
He sniffed and reeled himself back in, determined not to fall apart —not now, when he needed to get through to her. “I know it isn’t the same as being raped and publicly ostracized. I cannot imagine what that that like. But, I do know pain. I know what it is to feel helpless and not understand why something has happened. I know what it is to hurt in a way that can’t be healed.”
She came to her feet, reverently placing the miniatures on the bed before turning to him. He had expected more resistance from her, more scorn. But, she shocked him by bringing both hands over his face and moving close until their bodies touched. The surface of his skin tingled at her nearness, the need to grab hold of her and never let go overwhelming him.
“It is no wonder you respond the way you do to the pain,” she whispered, stroking her thumb over his lips. “It is all you know. You were born from it, you lived through it. Pain reminds you that you’re alive, that your heart is still beating, that your skin can still register the sensation of a touch—no matter if it hurts or soothes.”
He nodded, lowering his head and letting her kiss his brow. The sweetness of it stole his breath away, and as much as he craved her dominance, he found himself wanting more of her tenderness, too. She allowed him so little of it, and now he needed it like a parched man wandering an endless desert in search of water.
“Youmake me feel alive,” he murmured. “I need you, I love you. Please … this thing with the Menace and Sir Downing … let it go, Cass. Let it go and come home with me. I couldn’t stand it if you were caught, or hurt, or …”
She released him, shaking her head as she backed away from him.
“I can’t.”
“You can,” he insisted, reaching out to grab her.
She backed away from his touch. “I can’t!”
He ran his fingers through his hair with an exasperated sigh. “Why not?”
“Sir Downing killed his wife because of me!”
Realization washed over him as he thought back to what Randall had told him. He’d claimed that there was bad blood between Cassandra and Sir Downing, but he hadn’t made the connection until now.
“You threatened him to stop beating her. You visited him as the Menace, but he did not heed your warning.”
Her chin trembled, but she raised it and snuffed out the grief that had shown in her eyes for a moment. “I went after him thinking to spare that poor woman anymore pain. He killed her in retaliation, I know he did.”
