“Father told me that the duke is here,” Joyce spoke with a trembling voice.
“He is,” Phyllis replied coolly, with a single determined nod. “Everything is settled.”
“Phyllis, I—” Her sister started towards her, but Phyllis backed away as if she feared getting scorched.
Phyllis wanted to tell her that this was all her fault, that all she needed to do was listen and remain patient for a little while longer, and everything would have been all right. Their plan would have worked perfectly. Father would have allowed Joyce to marry first, and then Phyllis wouldn’t be in this predicament, being forced to marry.
But there was no point in saying any of this out loud, when Joyce knew it well. Phyllis could see it in her blood-shut eyes, in the way they struggled to keep back the tears. But Phyllis could not forgive her. She still held too much anger, too much disappointment to be able to think rationally. Things were already bad enough. She didn’t want to make them irreparably worse by telling her sister everything that lay in her heart and be torn away from her affection for the rest of their lives. Her thoughts were filled with anguish and venom, and she dared not allow them leave the confines of her mind.
“No, Joyce,” Phyllis interrupted her, lifting her hand at Joyce. “Please… I need to be alone right now.”
Phyllis turned around and closed the door behind her. Her heart was beating wildly. An onslaught of tears threatened to destroy her, but she managed to breathe calmly and banish them from her eyes. There was no point in crying. She needed to be brave and bear the brunt of everything fate had planned out for her.
* * *
“It is done.” Alexander announced to his mother the moment he returned from his visit to the St. Clair household, finding his mother in the drawing room, focused avidly on her embroidery, a pastime she had only picked up recently.
His mother lifted her gaze from the hoop she was holding, her delicate fingers holding the needle in the air above it. She was not particularly good at it, but he knew that it was done more out of sheer necessity to focus her mind on something, rather than on creating a masterpiece of needlework.
“You proposed to Miss Phyllis St. Clair?” she wondered, not allowing her voice to express how she truly felt about this news, but he could venture a pretty accurate guess.
“Yes, just now,” he nodded, walking over to the armchair, and taking a seat opposite her.
“And… she accepted?” she asked again, hopeful that she would receive a negative response.
“Mhm,” he nodded once more.
She placed the hoop down into her lap, as well as her hands. He could see all the love in her eyes, and he couldn’t help but remember his father, what he had done to their family. The intricate web of his memory started to unfold once again, as a subtle melancholy fell over him, like a thin veil.
Recollections of his father, a figure of authority and concealment, surfaced. The memory of his upbringing, the warmth of a loving family he and his brother grew up in, played like a haunting melody in the recesses of his thoughts as he remembered the cloak of secrecy that veiled their financial troubles. His father had always been a good man, a kind man, a man to look up to. Alexander did not believe that a better man ever existed in the world or would ever exist. Then, something happened, something that shattered this illusion of an idyllic upbringing.
The death of his father left the remaining members of their family in shock. Not only that, but the subsequent revelations of their family’s true financial state brought even more grief and heartache. Namely, it seemed that their father had been keeping it all a secret from them. Only after his death did everyone learn the hard, bitter truth.
That was exactly the moment when Alexander realized yet another truth, the truth about love. While love had the power to bring people together, to nurture, to care, it had another side, which was completely opposite, for it was also a force that concealed and tore people apart. That was when a vow took root in his heart, a silent pact to shield himself from the vulnerabilities that love carried.
“If that is what you have decided,” she finally said, her voice tugging him back from the deepest corners of his mind.
“Yes, it is a done deal,” he affirmed, grateful that she did not try to talk him out of it. She merely came to terms with things as they were, just like he did. That was easier said than done, though.
She sighed as if the weight of the very world was upon her dainty shoulders. “How will you be happy without love, my son?”
He hesitated to reply with the truth. For what had love brought her? Misery at the end of her days? The revelation that her husband had been lying to her about their financial state their entire lives? The knowledge that those we trusted the most had the power to betray us in the worst manner possible?
Still, he couldn’t say any of those things to her. She didn’t deserve to hear any of it, not from him. So, he inhaled deeply.
“There are other things that can bring about happiness, Mother,” he clarified, for a moment trying to come up with a single one.
“Love is at the very root of happiness,” she urged in a way that only a mother ever could. For that, he both loved and respected her, although he disagreed with her.
“Trust is at the very root of happiness,” he gave her his own opinion on the matter. “For without trust, there is no real love.”
She didn’t say anything to that. They were both painfully aware of the fragility of trust, neither of them willing to delve into the past and dig up old wounds. But still, the pain lingered on. It stood as a stark reminder that the mistakes of the past were not to be repeated, no matter what the price might be.
He got up, walked over to her, and kissed her hand reverently. “All I want to do is make sure that our family is taken care of, Mother.”
She caressed his cheek with the same hand that he had bestowed a kiss upon, her eyes wide like a doe’s. He had almost forgotten how beautiful his mother was, how fragile, and how fortunate he was to still have her in his life.
“But who will take care of you, my son?” she wondered, in a question that was to be left without an answer, a question that only a mother could feel the true depth of.
