“Do you think they can heal?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t. I realised that I’ve done a disservice to my sister by keeping her so sheltered instead of teaching her basic things about… men and women, I thought Mother would do that,” he said helplessly.
“Not everyone is the same, Nicholas. Your mother could have been teaching her something that made sense to her. Not everyone views these things the same,” she said, and reallydidn’t want to say anything more on the topic of bedsport to her brother.
“Not to mention that I shouldn’t have meddled in who Sinclair was going to marry. The road to hell is truly paved with good intentions. I wanted both my sisters to end up with good men and have good lives, and I’ve ruined it for both of you. I am so sorry,” he concluded, sadness and self-loathing warring in his voice.
“I wouldn’t say you ruined it. I have a pretty good life,” Elizabeth said with a small smile. “With a pretty good man,” she added more shyly.
“Truly?” He asked, stopping so he could look at her face.
Elizabeth nodded, and he exhaled in relief.
“Who would have thought?” Hawkins said.
“He’s not perfect, of course, but he has been working very hard toshow mehow much he regrets hurting me.”
“He’s changed a lot, for the better,” Nicholas said. “Just don’t tell him I said that,” he added a moment later.
“Oh, absolutely not,” his sister said with a laugh. “I have been thinking about a name,” Lizzie said tentatively a few moments later.
“Oh?” Nicholas smiled excitedly.
“Maybe don’t smile yet,” she warned. “What do you think of naming him Charles?”
Nicholas’s eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline. “Charles? Like our awful father?”
“Just think about it. I think it would be a new beginning, a way to reshape the way we think of the past.”
“And we’d start by giving his name a new meaning,” Nicholas said pensively.
“Exactly. A Charles who would be raised right, who we would love and who would love us.”
Nicholas hummed. They walked back to the house in silence.
“I will talk to Sophie, and I will let you know.”
*
A week later, when Colin knocked to escort her to dinner, she could immediately sense there was something wrong with him.
“What is it?” She asked, sick with worry.
“I’ve had a letter. From my mother.”
“What does she want?”
“I have no idea,” he admitted. “I haven’t opened it yet.”
“Do you want to?”
“Not really.”
“Mary and I sometimes do this. I can read the letter if you wish, only to ascertain that there is no emergency that would require your response.”
“And you won’t tell me what it says?”
“Not unless you want me to.”
