Mrs. Lancaster nodded. She had seen time and time again what Catherine was like as Theodore grew up. She had offered him a refuge, a place to go in the kitchens when he wished to escape Catherine. Now, was no different.
“I shall have the fire set in your room at once. Hot drinks will be brought, brandy, too. Are you both hungry?”
“Yes, please bring soup or stew. Something Maggie will find easier to keep down. She has been through a shock.” Theodore led her into the house, aware that Margaret was looking up at him. She said nothing but found his hand and squeezed tight.
Is that a thank you?
He held onto tightly back.
He led her to his room. A few minutes later, tea had been brought and a fire had been made up. As they waited for the stew to come, Theodore knelt before Maggie, with a box open at his feet. He took cotton wool and turpentine from the box, to clean the wounds on Maggie’s wrists.
“You’re very gentle,” Maggie observed as the door closed behind Mrs. Lancaster and they were left alone.
Theodore hesitated, just for a second, before he continued on with his cleaning.
“I do not think anyone has ever described me as such before,” he whispered.
“What she did…” Margaret closed her eyes, hissing a little at the pain in her right wrist. He soon dropped the cotton wool and bound her wound in linen. “I’m so sorry for you.”
“Don’t be,” he pleaded, his voice very serious. “It was not your doing.”
“I can be sorry for it all the same. What you went through… was it… persistent? Your whole childhood?”
“Are you sure you want to know?” he asked, not quite looking her in the eye as he turned his attention to her other wrist.
This is the moment, isn’t it? This is the moment to be courageous and tell her things that I thought I’d never tell anyone.
“I do.” Margaret laid a hand over his. She stilled his movements, urging him to look up and into her eyes again. “Please, Theo. Tell me.”
He sat back on his haunches, though he didn’t release her.
“I can remember trying to earn my mother’s good opinion when I was very little. I also remember getting wooden horses thrown at my head, books, too, anything really.” He spoke slowly, nervous about how much to tell her. “It quickly became apparent that she didn’t love me. Not in the slightest. She couldn’t even tolerate me.”
Maggie stared back at him. There was no judgement in her gaze, only patience as she waited for him to go on.
“I spent more and more time in the kitchens with Mrs. Lancaster and the staff. They were kind.” Theodore felt his spine stiffen, remembering what came next. “When my father discovered I cared more for the staff, he was outraged. He said a duke’s sonshould not be below stairs. That’s when he started to hit me. He said it would drum some sense into me.”
Maggie raised her other hand and covered her mouth in horror. She didn’t ask him to stop though.
“My father was not a good man, Maggie. I’ve never pretended he was. After his death, I discovered the dodgy dealings he was involved with. To hold onto his money and wealth, he became a criminal. A fraudster.” He shook his head, still remembering how just at the age of fifteen, he had pored over his father’s account books and realized the truth. “I have tried to distance myself from his memory ever since.
“As my father hit me, cheated on my mother, treated her with disdain and cruelty, her own brutal nature became worse.” He looked down at the way he and Maggie were holding hands. He couldn’t remember anyone clutching onto his palm so much before.
She’s not running away from me. She’s staying… right here.
“That’s when she started calling me a demon, the spawn of my devil father. If she wasn’t hurting me in this house, then she was taking me to the cellar in the Dowager House. I learned at the age of nine how to stay silent. How she wouldn’t smile victoriously if I didn’t show her she hurt me.”
“Theo…” Maggie’s voice broke. “You should never have had to learn such a lesson.”
“Yet, it happened.” He nodded slowly. “I learned to deal with it. I threw myself into my books, escaped to the garden whenever I could, just to escape her.”
Maggie nodded. He half wondered if she now understood why he had a greater love for this garden than he did the house.
“After the fire, I became duke. I was still young. It would take me another couple of years to figure out what my father was. In that time, Catherine still had control of the house. She had control… of me.” The words were hard to say aloud.
Theodore needed a break. He stood, loosening his grasp of Margaret’s hand and moving toward the tea tray. He poured out two cups then returned to Maggie, passing one to her. Their fingers brushed together.
“You were just a boy,” Maggie said softly. “It’s not about control. She was your mother. She should have taken care of you.”
