‘Feelings, then,’ Will said ruefully. ‘Who was the ridiculous man who broke your heart? Not the pretty cleric I just met, surely?’
‘No, certainly not.’ Why had she lied so instantly, so vehemently? Why couldn’t she have admitted it? All she needed to say was that she had been disillusioned when she had discovered that he was using her to gain her father’s patronage. There was no need to tell Will that they had been lovers.
‘He really did not matter,’ she went on, even though she suspected that she was over-explaining. ‘I was very young—but love hurts, doesn’t it? Even when it is only foolish first love.’
‘I do not know,’ Will admitted. ‘I have never been in love, do not look for it in marriage.’
‘Never? Not even some foolish calf-love?’ He shook his head. ‘And it is very sad that you do not hope to love your bride. Surely that would be preferable to some sensible, chilly, suitable arrangement?’
‘Is that one reason why you would not marry me? Because you want declarations of love?’ The familiar wry twist of his lips was back.
‘Of course not. I mean...’ Verity searched for the right words. ‘Yes, I would not marry without love, but, no, I would hate it if you had made some pretence of love just to get me to agree.’
‘I can understand that, but surely affection would develop with time in a marriage where everything else is right—liking, suitability, mutual respect. Desire...? But love... Love seems to me to be as dangerous to happiness as dislike.’ The warmth that had come into his voice when he spoke of affection seemed to evaporate, leaving her chilled.
‘The example of your father and stepmother was not a happy one?’ Verity suggested. That must be the marriage Will would have been closest to. He was very young when his own mother died, perhaps too young to be aware of the relationship between his parents. ‘I thought theirs was a match based on an instant, great love.’
‘Instant, yes. One reads about a coup de foudre in novels, but I had never believed in such a thing until I looked back on that marriage. It was all consuming, obsessive perhaps. It certainly excluded everything and everybody.’
‘It must have been very difficult for you,’ she said. ‘How old were you?’
Will shrugged. ‘Nine. I suppose I was like any other child in a household such as ours—I saw more of my nanny and tutors than my parents and I had been an only child. But when my father remarried he and my stepmother spent all their time together and it was strange to see how absorbed they were. I think I might have been jealous.’ He said it almost as a question, as though he either did not believe he might legitimately feel like that or as though he did not understand why he might be so. Verity was not certain which was worse, but she stayed quiet, let him talk.
‘But then my half-brothers and -sisters began to be born, the first four, and that was...good.’
‘Your father and stepmother were closer to them than your parents had been with you? That must have been your stepmother’s influence, I suppose. She must love her children.’
‘Love? I do not know,’ Will said. ‘Is that how parents love their children? They were the outward symbol of the marriage, they were the means by which she could express her educational theories, they were a focus for her intense emotions. Is that love?’
‘I do not know. I have never seen her with them. They appear to love her and, surely, every family is different.’ She recalled the stilted confidence he had made to her in the centre of the maze and ventured, ‘The death of your half-sister must have been very difficult for all of them.’
Will closed his eyes, leaned back on the bench, but his fingers remained loosely around her wrist as though keeping contact with her heartbeat. ‘Yes, it was devastating. I blamed them for it; Claudia, my stepmother, most of all. She believes that willpower, fresh air and exercise will overcome most bodily ills. One of her most
strongly held theories is that it takes strength of will to succeed with all things and that if you try hard enough you will find that strength. She did not recognise how ill Bella was and Bella wanted to be brave, to be strong, to please her. She collapsed, but by then it was too late.’
‘Oh, the poor child. And you loved her. You must have been heartbroken.’
And his stepmother must have been devastated, would have blamed herself. How utterly ghastly.
‘She was my sister, I was her older brother, it was my duty to protect her. I was angry,’ Will said. His voice was quite steady, his gaze apparently fixed on the phaeton. ‘I had not been able to do anything, they wouldn’t listen, said I was exaggerating. They both seemed blind. But I was thirteen and I should have known enough, have had enough strength to make my father send for the doctor at least. Or I should have taken a horse and gone myself. But I did not. I failed her.
‘The night she died I wrote to my grandfather. He and my father had been on very distant terms since the marriage. I said that my stepmother was an unfit mother. I accused her of responsibility for Arabella’s death, I stated that my father was too weak to see beyond his feelings for his wife.’
He stopped abruptly, as though recollecting who he was, where he was.
‘Go on,’ Verity murmured. ‘What happened then?’
When Will spoke again it was as though he had replaced the mask of the Duke and pushed away the natural emotions of sadness and anger and frustration. ‘Naturally I should have expressed myself more moderately. I should have taken into account my stepmother’s good intentions and I should have had the determination to have protected my sister. I saw that later. As it was, my grandfather removed me from my father’s control as a direct result and it made the breach impossible to heal, which was entirely my fault. My behaviour was inappropriate and my other brothers and sisters lost their elder brother and what support I could have been to them then.’
It seemed to Verity that by writing he had acted swiftly and decisively to protect his younger half-siblings and that it had been a brave thing for a thirteen-year-old boy to do. He had been hardly more than a child himself; how could he have stood up to an infatuated man who believed his wife could do no wrong? But Will clearly blamed himself for the total estrangement between the old Duke and his heir as well as failing to secure help for Arabella in time.
She could point out that the children seemed bursting with good health and spirits now, so perhaps their upbringing had not been so very bad, that perhaps their parents had learned from that tragic loss, but somehow she did not think that Will was looking for reassurances. His instinct to protect, his sense of responsibility, were both very strong and he thought he had failed. To heal he had to forgive himself and Verity had no idea how to help him do that.
If I could teach him to love, then perhaps he could judge himself less harshly. But I do not love him, so how can I hope to do that? Can it really be possible to be his friend?
She made some inarticulate sound of frustration and he looked down at her. ‘Verity?’
‘Imagine if the same thing happened now, but it was Basil in your shoes and Alicia died.’