Page 61 of The Sea Siren of Broadwater Bottom
He realized that he had gone tense and was gripping Elissa’s hands in a way that was probably uncomfortable. He forced himself to relax. It appeared he wasn’t as inscrutable as he thought. He needed to be much more careful, to make sure he wasn’t giving away even the most subtle sign of these base feelings.
Elissa continued, “Isabella told me that you were the only one willing to read her early stories, of which I am given to understand there weremany. She said that without your help and encouragement, she would never have been able to become the writer she is today.”
“That was nothing—”
“Caro believes you strong-armed Lord Graverley into asking her to dance at her debut ball to guarantee her success.” Edward attempted to maintain a tactful silence. She nudged him with her knee. “You did, didn’t you?”
Well, of course he did. “She’s my little sister. It was the least I could do.”
“I’m curious—why did you not do the same for Anne?”
“Whereas Caro longed to be the toast of London, Anne would’ve been petrified to have so many eyes on her. I would’ve asked Graverley had it been something she wanted.”
Elissa shook her head and made a wistful sound. “So thoughtful. But my favorite was the story Harrington told me, about the one and only time you were paddled at Eton.”
Edward groaned. “Oh.That.”
“Yes.That. Would you prefer to tell it?” His only response was to narrow his eyes at her, so she continued, “I’m given to understand that Harrington was on the brink of being sent down whensomeoneleft an anonymous poem entitled ‘The Love Song of Jonathan Davies’ upon the headmaster’s podium. Harrington thinks it was someone named Percival Thistlethwaite who ratted him out.”
“He’s probably right.” Edward shook his head. “That little weasel.”
“Headmaster Davies summoned the entire school to upper chamber, where he levied his accusation against Harrington and told him to go and start packing his trunk. But before he could move, you stepped forward and declared that Harrington must be innocent, becauseyouwere the author of the poem.”
Edward scowled across the lawn. After a moment, Elissa continued, “I am given to understand that an argument ensued in which Headmaster Davies tried to prove that you could not possibly have penned such a work.” She made her voice deep. “‘You wrote this, Fauconbridge? About my quest forgratification? Amongst Farmer Anderson’s drove of goats? Misspelling the wordlascivious?’”
Edward’s stern expression cracked. Her imitation of Harrington’s imitation of Headmaster Davies was remarkably good.
Elissa chuckled. “That was my favorite part. Harrington described the pained look that came into your eyes when you were forced to own to his misspellings, but you didn’t so much as flinch. You just said, ‘So it would seem.’”
“That part was worse than the paddling. In truth, everyone knew I hadn’t written it. But still, it rankled.”
“Of course it did. But you did it anyway. Not only did you take a paddling for your brother, you gave up your spotless record of having never misbehaved in order to save him.” She stroked her thumb across his knuckles. “Do you have any idea how much that meant to Harrington?”
“He has this ridiculous idea that Father is ashamed of him.” Edward shook his head. “He couldn’t be more wrong. Harrington is inherently loveable.”
“He’s not the only one.” She scooted over to sit beside him, looping her arms around his chest. “I’d like you to consider, Edward, that your siblings, at least, don’t have the same high expectations for you that you have for yourself. That they love you for the many acts of kindness you’ve shown them over the years, and that they don’t care in the slightest that you didn’t win theFirstClassical Medal.”
Edward shook his head. “They were disappointed that I didn’t get first place. I know they were.”
“Have you considered that the reason they were disappointed is that they knew how badly you wanted it? That their true desire was to see the brother they love achieve his dream?”
Edward frowned. “I—I don’t think so.”
“Ed-ward.” She poked him in the side. “Are you truly trying to convince me that Harrington thinks it an embarrassment that his brother was only recognized as the second-best classical scholar in all of Cambridge?”
Edward paused. He’d participated in enough disputations to know a losing argument when he saw one, and the notion that Harrington gave a fig about academic accolades was hopelessly indefensible.
And truth be told, he was having difficulty forming arguments for his other siblings as well. It was impossible to argue that Anne and Lucy, two of the kindest people on the face of this earth, despised him for his failure. If Caro prized academic achievements, she probably wouldn’t have married Thetford, and the only time Edward could recall horrifying her was when she’d caught him leaving the house in a five-year-old jacket (she had only calmed down when he explained he was on his way to inspect the pigs.) Freddie seemed to be following more in Harrington’s footsteps than Edward’s, regarding school as a place to make friends and pull pranks. And as for Izzie…
If Izzie wasn’t reading a Gothic novel or writing a Gothic novel, she was daydreaming about one. Izzie was scarcely aware of the world around her. He would be surprised if her thoughts had strayed to his academic achievements, or the lack thereof, in years.
He sighed. Elissamighthave a point.
“That may be true of my siblings. But my parents have expectations for me. They’ve made that very clear.”
“I find it interesting that you dismiss Harrington’s concerns that your father is ashamed of him, even though he has misbehaved to the point that the earl has threatened to cut him off. Please do not mistake me—I think your brother is wonderful. But there seems to be no mistake he could make that would render him unlovable in your eyes, yet you censure yourself over the tiniest imperfection.”
She didn’t understand. She didn’t understand at all. “Harrington is different.Completelydifferent. Harrington is the one—”
