Chapter 9

Nine

“ I t looks like there's going to be thunderstorms tonight, Your Grace,” Thomas’s valet said as he removed Thomas’s cravat. The wind had just let out a frightful howl, and rain had begun to lash against the window of Thomas’s bedroom.

“Yes, I believe you’re right,” Thomas said, glancing out the window where thick rain was illuminated by one of the oil streetlamps that had recently been installed in Mayfair. “Will you see if Cook has any wax from the leftover candles that she could make into earplugs?”

“Of course, Your Grace,” his valet replied, then hesitated. “Does the noise disturb you when you sleep?”

“It’s not for me,” Thomas said, grimacing. “It’s for the duchess. Her Grace dislikes thunder.”

The valet finished undressing Thomas, then bowed and left, promising to speak to Cook at once.

Thomas, meanwhile, went to the window, where he waited less than a minute before seeing the telltale bolt of lightning illuminate the sky.

“Thunder is next,” he murmured to himself, and seconds later, the boom of the thunder seemed to rip open the sky.

At once, he heard the sound of something falling over in the room next to him, and he would have been willing to bet that it was Cherie knocking over something in her fear. He crossed to the door that separated their chambers and pressed an ear against it. He couldn’t hear much, except for the sound of footsteps going back and forth.

She’s pacing.

Behind him, lightning flashed in the window again, and, once more, the boom of thunder shook the house. It seemed to be getting closer and louder, and indeed, the rhythm of his wife’s footsteps increased at the same time.

There was a knock on the door, and his valet came in holding a small box.

“The wax you asked for, Your Grace,” he said, handing the box to Thomas before bowing and leaving the room.

Thomas turned to the door that separated his room from Cherie’s and hesitated.

She is still mad at you . But he couldn’t stand it anymore. Her anger, his own foolishness, how much of a mess he’d made of his marriage. They’d only been married a fortnight, and already, everything was a disaster.

Another clap of thunder sounded from outside, and Thomas didn’t even think; he raised his hand and knocked on his wife’s bedchamber door.

It seemed that she wasn’t thinking much either, because the door flew open at once, and Thomas looked down to see the fear-stricken face of his wife staring up at him.

“What is it?” she whispered, her face as white as a sheet.

Thomas held out the box. “I have something for you.”

She gave him a curious, wary look, then took the box from him. Tentatively, she opened the lid, and then looked up at him. “Candle wax?” she asked.

“It’s for your ears,” he said. “I used to do this in India during the Holi festival, when the streets were so loud that I couldn’t sleep at night. The wax will fit right into your ears and blot out all the sound. Then you’ll be able to go to sleep and you won’t have to be afraid of the thunder.”

Cherie turned the wax over in her fingers, as if deciding what to make of it, and then looked back up at him.

“Do you want to come in?” she asked, gesturing to her room.

“Yes,” Thomas said, more quickly than was proper.

She raised an eyebrow. “For a nightcap, I meant.”

“I know,” he said hurriedly.

He followed her inside, and she poured them glasses of claret from a small decanter on her dressing table. There was another strike of lightning and clap of thunder as she was pouring the claret, and her hands shook so violently that she spilled some onto the serving tray.

“Here you go,” she said, handing him the glass. As he took it, his hands brushed hers, and he was shocked by how cold they were.

“How did you know I was frightened of thunderstorms?” she asked, as she sat down at her vanity and gave him a searching look.

“You don’t remember?” he asked, surprised.

She gave him an uncertain look. “Remember what?”

“The second summer I came home from Cambridge with Aidan,” he said. “We were at your family’s country estate, and there was that big summer storm. You were young, then. Only nine years old. So you were already in bed by the time the thunder started. But after a particularly loud burst of thunder, you came bursting into the parlor where the adults were drinking brandy and playing whist, shouting for your mother. You were still in your nightdress! And although you were frightened, you were still so brave, and after your mother had calmed you down, you stayed and wanted me to teach you how to play whist.”

He laughed at the memory of the smart, curious little girl who had sat on the chair next to him, her feet not even touching the floor, and tried to comprehend the rules as he explained them to her.

“I remember that,” Cherie whispered. Her eyes were very wide, and there was a strange look on her face that he couldn’t read. “I didn’t realize that was you.”

“That was me,” he said, shrugging and trying to sound casual. “Your mother allowed you to stay until the worst of the storm had passed, and by the time you went back to bed, you had mastered the basics of the game. We were all very impressed.”

Cherie smiled. “You know, to this day, whist is still my favorite card game.”

“I’m not surprised. You nearly beat your brother. He was in a foul mood all the next day because, of course, we teased him mercilessly about it.”

“I remember that!” Cherie laughed out loud. “I can’t believe I had forgotten that was you. You always had my back, didn’t you?”

Thomas tried not to let this comment hurt him more than was necessary. “I always tried.” He looked at her, and he thought that perhaps she knew what he was trying to say: I was also trying to have your back when I said we were engaged.

“You wrote to me,” she said suddenly. “From India. After the first time we met, and you promised to play with me, but then your father called you away to India. You kept your word to me, even though I was only a girl of eight. You actually wrote me letters.”

“I did,” Thomas said, his throat tightening as emotion overwhelmed him. She remembers that!

She opened her mouth as if to say something, but just at that moment there was another crash of thunder—this one the loudest of them all.

Cherie let out a scream and then clapped her hand over her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” she said, through her fingers. “I know it’s foolish to be afraid of thunder, but it makes me feel like the walls and ceiling are going to collapse around me.”

“You don’t need to be ashamed of fearing thunder,” Thomas said. “The ancient Greeks feared it so much they made it the purview of the most fearsome and powerful of all their gods!”

This tidbit was lost on Cherie, however, as another crash of thunder shook the room, and she clapped her hands over her ears and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, her eyes were streaming with tears.

“It’s okay, Cherie,” he murmured, and instinctively, he reached out and took her hands from her ears and held them tightly in his own. From the look on her face, he knew they were both aware that he had used her name, without a title, for the first time since she’d asked him not to. But she didn’t correct him, and instead, she squeezed his hand.

“That summer when you first visited,” she said after a moment, “I was very disappointed when you had to leave suddenly. You were the first adult who ever took me seriously. None had ever written me a letter before.”

“I was disappointed, too,” he said, smiling sadly at the memory of the crushing sadness that had filled him when he’d realized he had to leave.

“Did you like me then?” she asked, and it took him a second to realize she didn’t mean romantically, but merely as a person.

“I liked you a lot,” he said. “If I’m honest, I was more excited to play with you than hunt with Aidan.”

Cherie laughed. “I promise never to tell him that. But why? Why would you prefer to play with a little girl than hunt with your friend?”

Thomas considered this. “Remember how you said I must have been a lonely child? Well, no one had ever noticed that about me before. It made me feel an instant and deep connection with you. And I think I felt that playing with you would help heal my own sadness at not having anyone to play with as a child. At having a father who had left me so alone.”

“Your father doesn’t sound very nice,” Cherie said, echoing what she’d said that distant afternoon so eerily that Thomas felt his heart hitch.

“No, he wasn’t.”

“I hope at least you were able to make amends with him, before the end?”

“No, I wasn’t.” The words felt heavy in his mouth, the bitterness acidic on his tongue.

“Really?” she murmured. “Was his death so swift that you weren’t able to say what you needed to say?”

“Well, yes, that was one of the reasons,” Thomas said, his throat very dry. “But the main reason was that he didn’t give me the opportunity. Cherie… I had a very difficult relationship with my father.” He had to stop for a moment, as the words had shocked him by how much they’d made him choke up, but after a moment, he was able to continue.

“He contracted some virulent tropical fever,” he began. “That’s what he died of. It’s a swift illness, and there is no cure. He had contracted it by the time I arrived in England for the first time this Season, and that is why he called me back. He had unfinished business with me, you see. But he hid the real reason from me, saying instead that it was a business emergency. When I arrived back in India, he was already at death’s door.”

“That must have been dreadful,” Cherie whispered. “I can only imagine how distraught you must have been.”

“It was confusing,” he said, frowning as memories of those days swept over him. “I was sad, of course. He was my father, and despite the difficulty of our relationship, I know I still harbored love for him. But I was also angry. Angry that I didn’t have time to say all the things that I wanted to say, and that when I did try, he wouldn’t listen to me.”

“What did you want to say?” Cherie asked, leaning forward. Thunder clapped as she stared at him, but she was so wrapped up in his story that she barely seemed to notice.

Thomas felt a rush of hope. I’m distracting her! She’s so engrossed that she isn’t afraid anymore!

“I wanted to get him to apologize for how he’d treated me all my life. He was a cruel man, Cherie. I know that you had a kind, loving father who adored you, so I’m sure it’s hard to imagine, but all my life, I was sure my father hated me.”

“I’m sure he didn’t!” she gasped.

“It felt that way,” he said heavily. “From a very early age, he treated me with contempt. He told me outright that I had to earn his love, and never once did he say I had earned it. You cannot… you cannot know how that affected me as a boy.” He forced himself to look at her, surprised to see tears in her eyes.

“The first person who ever made me feel loved, or who convinced me that my father might be wrong, was your brother. From the day we met, he treated me with such unconditional love and trust that I could hardly believe it. I was sure at any moment he would realize his mistake, but he never did. He treated me like a brother, and when I was with him, I felt strong, and outside of my father’s control, for the first time.”

He gave her a very serious look. “That’s one of the reasons why, when Lord Breckenridge saw us outside that inn, I had to pledge to marry you; I could not imagine losing the love of your brother by making him think I would compromise his sister.”

Cherie swallowed, and for the first time since that fateful night, there seemed to be understanding in her eyes.

“Did your father treat you any better after you returned to India from university?” she asked at last.

“A little,” he said. “I was a man, so I could stand up to him. And I think he was afraid that if he was too hard on me, I would walk away from the family business. So he gave me just enough approval to keep me coming back for more, but never enough to truly satisfy me. We had a twisted relationship. He was cruel, I stood up to him, he would back down and lure me back in with promises that he’d changed, and I would hope he had, only to be disappointed again and again.”

There was a short silence, during which Thomas found it hard to look at his wife. It was hard to admit how worthless his father had made him feel—to her, to the woman who made him feel that he might have some scrap of value to offer.

But to his surprise, Cherie reached out and took his hand. For several seconds, she held it in hers, and they both stared at where their fingers touched.

It was this that gave him the courage to keep going.

“When I returned to find him on his deathbed, these were the subjects I tried to discuss with him. I wanted to know why he had always treated me so cruelly. It didn’t make sense to me; what had I done as a child that could have turned him against me?”

“Did you ask him?” Cherie whispered. “Did you ask him why he treated you so horribly?”

“I did,” Thomas said. His throat was very dry, and he tried to swallow, but couldn’t.

“And did he tell you?” His wife’s eyes were wide. He stared into those beautiful green eyes—those eyes that had bewitched him from the moment he first saw her; those eyes that had haunted him in dreams on the opposite side of the world—and he considered telling her the truth.

But how could he, when it would fill those eyes with hate?

It cost him more than he had thought it would to lie to her. “No,” he said, looking down and shaking his head. He cleared his throat. “No, he never said. He maintained only that he was trying to bring me up to be tough, that boys shouldn’t be coddled by their fathers.”

“Oh…” The disappointment on Cherie’s face was evident. “It would have helped you so much to get a clear answer. But perhaps that was the truth: he was simply a cruel old man who took out his discontentment on his son.”

“Yes,” Thomas forced himself to say. Cherie’s hand gently squeezed his.

“I’m very sorry,” she murmured. “I never knew your childhood was so awful. My brother never said anything.”

“He didn’t know. I never told him. I was too ashamed.”

“But it wasn’t your fault! You had nothing to be ashamed about!”

“Yes, but when you’re a child, you don’t understand that,” he said, shaking his head. “You think there must be something you did to make your parent hate you.”

She bit her lip. “I suppose I understand that.”

“Actually…” Thomas hesitated, then plunged on. “You’re the first person I’ve ever told about this.”

“Really?” she looked taken aback, then moved, as she stared into his eyes. “Thomas, that’s… it means the world to me that you would trust me with this.”

He smiled crookedly. “I just wanted to distract you from the storm. And look… all that thunder, and you didn’t even notice!”

Cherie started and then laughed. “Oh, my goodness, you’re right! I was so engrossed in your story I completely forgot about the thunder.” She looked slightly guilty. “Not that I was enjoying hearing about how monstrously your father treated you…”

Thomas laughed. “I understand. I’m pleased that my story engrossed your attention, even if it’s a tragic tale rather than a rousing adventure.” I would give you a fairy tale if I could. He glanced out the window; rain was no longer pattering against the glass. “I should let you get some sleep. I think you’ll be all right now. The storm seems to have passed.”

“Yes, I should get to sleep.” Cherie released his hand and stood up. “Goodnight. Thank you for the wax. And for everything.”

“Goodnight.” Thomas stood as well, then went to the door. As he closed it behind him, he snuck one last glance back into his wife’s room. She was curled up in the bed now, the box of wax open on her nightstand, the wax gone. “Sleep well, ma cherie ” he whispered, and he was glad that she couldn’t hear him.