As Thorne spoke with Mr. Wilson, he glanced often at Norwood. Even from the orchard, Norwood could see that his posture had relaxed, lending him a less dutiful look.
Dr. Robinson arrived at last, shaking his head over Jacob, but opining that perhaps he would pull through. Ben had not re-injured the leg, but he had several burns that would torment him in the days ahead.
When Thorne moved on to talk to the other men, Mr. Wilson headed hesitantly for the orchard.
“My condolences, sir, on the loss of your home,” offered Norwood.
The farmer shrugged. “How can I ever repay you for saving my son, your grace?” he asked, tears evident in his eyes.
“It was nothing,” said Norwood.
“It’s a saint, you are,” declared Wilson fervently. “Why would a duke risk his life for the child of a tenant?”
Norwood was feeling very uncomfortable under such obvious emotion, but a glance at Amanda stayed any argument. “A title is an empty thing unless one cares about the world,” he said slowly. “And that includes caring about one’s fellow man. Besides,” he added, trying for lighter tone, “I met the scamp several days ago. The world would be a poorer place without him in it.”
Mr. Wilson seemed surprised, but he did not ask questions. After a few more words, he collected Ben so he could return him to the rest of his family.
Amanda was packing her bag into the gig when the marquess returned.
“May I escort you home?” Thorne asked Amanda.
She raised her brows in surprise, but nodded.
The marquess glanced at Norwood. “My carriage will return you to the Court, then collect me in town.”
Norwood nodded, speculation lighting his eyes.
* * * *
Thorne remained silent for the first mile. “How did you come to be there?” he asked at last.
“I saw the smoke and knew they would need help..” She kept her eyes on the road and her concentration on controlling her horse.
“Your mother would have done the same,” he observed softly, no censure evident in his voice.
“Another reason you have always disliked her.”
“So I have always believed,” he replied slowly. “And yet, I can no longer do so. It was a terrible shock to see you that day in the library, Amanda. You look exactly like her. She was always the most beautiful woman in the world.”
“What fustian is this, Father?” she scoffed. “My looks are passable, but no one in his right mind would call me beautiful.”
“Then I belong in Bedlam. There is more to beauty than looks, Amanda. Your mother’s spirit shone with a radiance that I cannot describe. You are the same. If only I had been more understanding, perhaps we could have been happier, but I was not. It never occurred to me that what I admired most about her arose from those very traits that I had been taught were inconsistent with my position.”
Amanda felt tears sting the backs of her eyes and fought them down. “You loved her..” It was not a question.
“Yes, though I did not realize it myself and would never have admitted it if I had. She was the joy of my life, yet I made her life a living hell and ultimately killed her..” His voice broke.
She glanced surreptitiously at his face, shocked to discover that he, too, was on the verge of tears.
“You cannot blame yourself for that, surely,” she protested. “Women die in childbirth every day.”
“But if she had been happier, she might have lived. If I had been there, she might have lived.”
“Tell me about it,” she urged him softly. If there was any truth in his self-accusation, she had to know. But more importantly, if he was deluding himself, she must remove his guilt. She sensed that they were on the verge of a new relationship. It gave her hope, at the same time filling her with terror. She had resigned herself to lifelong antagonism. There was no guarantee that she was capable of changing.
In the dark of the gently rocking gig, Thorne found it easier to talk than if they were facing each other in a brightly lit drawing room. “My upbringing was very strict,” he began softly. “You may remember my father. From the day I was born, he drilled me on the behavior expected of one who would become the Marquess of Thorne. His word was law. Even my mother could not bend his will. One of his strictures was that displaying emotion was indicative of low breeding.”
Amanda nodded silently. She had often been on the receiving end of that edict.
He continued, almost to himself. “I did not meet your mother until after the betrothal was arranged. The future of my father’s line was far too important to trust to Fate, so he researched her breeding and upbringing until he was satisfied that she would make an impeccable marchioness. He was as appalled as I to discover too late that she harbored traits that ran counter to all of his dictates. I had been too well taught to question his fury at being thus deceived.”
They drove in silence for several minutes, Amanda’s heart breaking for her father. In a way, he had been worse served by his father than she had been. She now saw that much of his mother’s compassion was present in her son, but it had been completely suppressed in the course of his childhood.
“She lived for fifteen months after our marriage,” Thorne continued, his voice harshening in self-reproach. “Not a day went by that I didn’t castigate her for something, and I know that my father did likewise. She grew to fear my presence. My God! How much pain did I cause her? I think it was the fear that finally convinced me that I hated her, and so I redoubled my efforts to mold her into the proper lady I thought I wanted. But like you, she refused to break. Her intransigence led to almost daily battles – between us, between her and my father, between me and my father. In retrospect, I should have insisted on living elsewhere, on allowing her to be the mistress of her own home instead of a resident in my father’s. Perhaps her influence would have softened me and things might have been different.”
“It is too late to change the past, Father,” Amanda murmured soothingly. “Whatever decisions were made are beyond rectifying..” It was difficult to picture her larger-than-life father under the thumb of another man, but the memories of her grandfather – who had died when she was ten – fit his narrative.
He ignored her remark. “The last battle was a shouting match that must have been overheard by nearly every servant in the house..” He sighed. “I don’t even remember what it was about. Something trivial, I’ve no doubt. I stormed away in the blackest temper I ever remember, and rode the moor for hours cursing fate, cursing her, cursing God, and whoever else came to mind. I nearly foundered my horse, finally stopping to allow him to rest when I stumbled across an abandoned hut about fifteen miles from here. But the exertions of the day left me so exhausted that once my temper cooled, I fell asleep.”
Amanda shivered, knowing what was to come.
“I did not return home until nearly noon the next day,” he said, voice again cracking. “The butler informed me that my wife had been brought to bed of a daughter and had died an hour earlier. Her last words were a plea to see me.”
She ignored his stifled sob, unable to speak without revealing that her own face was covered with tears. The silence stretched until they were nearly at Middleford. “How does that make you responsible?” she asked at last.
“I wondered if her death was my punishment for mistreating her so badly,” he said. “The thought even crossed my mind that she was taken to rescue her from further pain.”
“I doubt it.”
“Whatever the reason, I learned nothing from the experience,” he stated coldly. “In the weeks that followed, I honed her faults until I rejoiced at being delivered from so unsuitable a wife.”
“It is a common way of dealing with grief, unfortunately,” said Amanda. “One transforms the pain into something easier to bear.”
“You make me sound human,” he said ironically.
“We are all human.”
“The process intensified once I married again. This time, I attended the London Season so that there would be no more unpleasant surprises, deliberately choosing a woman who met all my father’s ideals for a marchioness. There was no reason to expect that anything would mar the future. But thoughts of Amanda kept returning, often wistfully. I repeated the litany of her faults with more diligence, furious that my wayward mind could compare the perfect wife unfavorably with the imperfect one. It took several years before I banished her from my life. By then, it was obvious that you had inherited most of her character. And so I began the process again, trying to force you into the pattern that I believed to be essential to a highborn lady.”
She arrived home, pulling the gig up before her stable so the boy could unharness the horse. They spoke no more until they were ensconced in her sitting room with a tea tray and some sandwiches.
“It is too late to change the past, Father,” she reminded him again, “though I thank you for sharing it with me. It explains much.”
“Some of the mistakes of the past can be rectified, Amanda,” he countered. “I was wrong in many of my judgments of you, and I was wrong in expelling you from the family. There is shame in admitting that all the world recognizes your excellence and condemns me for cruel stubbornness. There is even more shame that it took two dukes singing your praises before I would come to my senses, but I believe I have now done so. If you choose it, I would welcome your return.”
Amanda smiled, tears again stinging her eyes. “I would like to know you better,” she said softly. “But I cannot allow you to assume all the blame for this rift. My own behavior was far worse than was necessary. I often flouted your edicts, not because I preferred another course but merely to aggravate you.”
“The stubbornness you inherited from me, I fear..” He sighed.
“Very likely. But I would beg forgiveness for my behavior. You would not have recognized me in Spain, willingly adhering to the strictest regulations, even through discomfort and fear.”
Pain flashed across Thorne’s face.
“Not to worry, Father. I survived intact. And I will gladly rejoin the family. But you must not expect me to move permanently into your world. I am happy with the life I have chosen.”
“There are two things I would ask you to consider. This is unpardonably late, but I would like you to attend the ball tomorrow night where Emily’s betrothal will be announced.”
“I would be delighted,” she agreed.
“The other concerns your allowance. I would prefer to settle upon you the amount that I had set aside for your dowry. It would bring in more than the paltry sum I grudgingly allowed you that day and would free you of all of my strictures.”
“It is something we can discuss later,” said Amanda. “In fact, I would welcome your advice on several financial matters. Jack’s great-uncle died two years ago. The man’s solicitor called this morning. It seems George left his entire estate to Jack, so it is now mine. Some legal difficulties and challenges to the various wills were resolved recently, and the authorities finally discovered my direction.”
“How much is involved?” asked Thorne in surprise.
“Beau Cime and investments that return about five thousand a year.”
“Mr. Comfray was Morrison’s uncle?”
“Great-uncle. You knew him?”
“Not well. Our philosophies were too different, but he was related in some roundabout fashion to your grandmother – second cousin, or some such. Beau Cime is a beautiful property.”
“I know. We lived there for several months after our marriage. Uncle George is largely responsible for my education.”
Chagrin flickered on Thorne’s face at the reminder of his refusal to send her to school. “You will be living there, then?”
“I expect so, but nothing is yet decided. I will be meeting with the solicitor and the steward next week. It will be time enough to plan the future after I discover what the situation is.”
“Do you wish company?”
“Not this time, but there may be need later,” she admitted, surprised at how willingly she considered his offer. The revelations of the evening had changed her views so thoroughly that she could no longer see him as her enemy.
Talk moved into less personal channels, including a discussion of the fire and what needed to be done to help the Wilsons. In no time at all, Thorne’s carriage arrived, and he took his leave.
* * * *
Norwood was suffering another sleepless night. Every time he closed his eyes, flames danced around him, and his throat constricted. After two abortive attempts to rest ended in screaming nightmare, he gave up the effort and now paced his room.
The future loomed as a permanent hell of his own devising. He shuddered every time he thought of Emily. Despite Mrs. Morrison’s words, he did not believe she harbored any trace of compassion. What kind of miasma had he been suffering for the past ten years that he could have expected such a wife to meet even the least of his needs?
The brutal truth could not be ignored. He loved Amanda as he had never expected to love anyone. And yet he lived in a world where even a duke could not ignore convention with impunity. If he cried off his betrothal to Emily, she would be ruined. He could not cause an innocent to be ostracized from the only society she knew. Compounding the problem, both he and Amanda would likewise be ruined. For himself, it did not matter. After all, he had eschewed that very society for ten years. But he did not want to cause embarrassment to the one he loved, and he had no idea what stigma would attach to his children.
It was an impossible coil, and not one for which he could envision a solution. Even taking the dishonorable step of trying to talk Lady Emily into accepting the blame – which would damage them both, but not irreparably – would not work. He had been very open when he proposed, offering nothing but position and wealth. She had been satisfied by those terms. Nothing had changed.
So what was he to do? There was no use hoping that Emily would prove as weak as Annabelle. Even if she died, he would be prohibited by law from marrying Amanda. Nor did he know if Amanda returned his regard, though he suspected she did. Her eyes were too expressive. They had held not just affection, but agony. Only the fact that he was betrothed to her sister could account for such a strong emotion. And she had stopped him from putting their predicament into words, knowing exactly what he had been trying to say.