“’Tis every man’s wish to have a son of his own,” she said. “A joy you will never know.”
He shook his head lightly. “This liberty we sacrifice for has value for all and is worth our efforts whether our name continues or not.” He trailed his vision down her face and neck and arm before reaching to take her hands in his. He stepped closer. “Mankind needs this freedom. We must live truth. Fearlessly. Since we are all brothers and sisters in Christ, should we not go on in so great a cause?”
Her heart turned to liquid, spilling out the heated blood in her chest and flooding her limbs. She stared up at him, wonder cascading down her spine. This was not freedom for the colonists alone. Freedom was for mankind. The veracity pricked her spirit, and for the first time, the roots of truth took hold in her mind. But a thought from her center cut its way through the sprouting vines, and the words slipped from her tongue before she could stop them. “But if you are killed…and if I am taken…”
“That is a thought on which I refuse to dwell.” His jaw squared and his soft timbre coated her fears like a cloak in winter. “But I am willing to take the risk. Are you?”
In that moment, the valor she gleaned from his rich eyes, the strength that warmed her hands and up into her soul was enough to make her courageous in the face of anything. She gripped her fingers around his. “I am.”
The twitch of a smile started at the corners of his mouth. “You are a true colonial then, no matter how your proper English betrays you.”
The breath of a laugh eased from her nose as she finished her short journey to the
bedchamber. “That and much else betrays the truth of me, I fear.” Her words dropped in a heap at her feet and she all but tripped over them. Would he gather her meaning? She plucked a candle from the table near the door and entered the room, her pulse trying to find its calm.
“There is something I’ve wanted to ask you.” William rounded the bed, leaning his shoulder against the tall poster on the side opposite. “How is it, if you were so poor as you claim, that you speak with the tongue of the wealthy?”
Her cheeks grew hot, but she acted untouched. “I was unaware there is a difference.”
“Aye, there is indeed.” He pushed away and started to unbutton his waistcoat. He eyed her with a sideways glance. His jaw worked as if he chewed on the words he wished to say, then with a large sigh expelled them. “There are many differences between the rich and poor, but those of us in lower ranks will never know all the particulars. For that I am grateful.”
Anna sunk back at the anger that snarled between his words.
He sat on the bed and began to remove his boots. “There is still much of you I do not know.” He stopped and turned to look over his shoulder, mouth firm, then turned away again to finish with his boots. No anger, only resignation in his tone. “’Tis hard to increase in trust when so much is still left unspoken.”
The statement pricked like a stray needle. Aye, there was much she kept within, and with his renewed sentiments of disdain for the status of life she’d left, was not her silence well placed?
Sighing, Anna sat on the front of the bed and looked down, turning the ring against her finger. The barb of his words left a small pulsing wound. How could he say such things when she had not prodded him for the truths he guarded?
Let it be, Anna. ’Twas true that she had shared little. They were married, were they not? Should she not engender at least a spoonful of courage and share with him one small part of her?
Then, without bidding, the words tumbled from her lips. “I had a twin brother.”
~~~
A twin?
William’s brow tightened as he watched Anna, her mouth pinching and her throat bobbing as she struggled with emotion, though no tears glimmered in her eyes.
He gnawed on the inside of his cheek, flogging himself for the veiled reprimand he’d spoken. ’Tis hard to increase in trust when so much is still left unspoken? Selfish coward. His conscience began a deep and thorough castigation. Did he really expect his wife to expose all of herself, when he could never do the same?
“My brother was very kind to me.” She continued despite the cloak of hurt that draped her gentle voice. “I could not have endured so much hardship, if not for him.”
She continued to stare down, twisting her ring against her finger. “Mother was a saint—our very angel on earth—offering us a haven from our father who never cared to disguise his disdain for us.” Her voice went deep and her expression dropped. “When we were ten years old, Mother became desperately ill and slowly, over the course of two years, slipped away from us.”
With a choppy sigh, she pressed her hands to her knees and looked forward toward the fireplace. “She always wished for me to marry for love. Something she herself had not done. She made me promise that I would put all else aside and when the time came, give my heart to one that was worthy.” At this she stopped and looked again at her hands. “But after her death, my father’s disdain developed into cruelty and on my sixteenth birthday he announced he had chosen a husband for me. An older man who wished a companion but didn’t want the burden of siring a child.”
Oh, dear Lord. What father would do that to his child? William clamped his jaw, refusing to take his eyes from her. The soft muscles of her face tightened and her dainty fingers knitted tighter in her lap. He yearned to reach out. Would she want to be touched?
Releasing a long quiet breath, Anna craned her neck toward his side of the bed, a tight smile pulling at her lips. “All my life my brother was there for me—making me laugh, holding me when I cried—’twas almost as if he knew me better than I knew myself.” At this, a bitter laugh escaped her throat. “When he learned what father planned to do, he flew into a rage and promised me I would never be made to endure such a vacant life. That very night he stole me away and we rode toward London, believing that in the vast city we could remain hidden and begin our lives anew…”
Her voice trailed away, as if the memory carried her with it. The color drained from her cheeks and she turned away again to stare at the far corner of the room, the past holding her captive. William could stand it no longer. Standing, he rounded the bed and rested beside her. He cupped her knee and she flicked toward him as if he had pulled her from the edge of a cliff.
“You escaped him?” he gently prodded.
She blinked and shook her head, speaking forward. “Nay. We had not gone ten miles when our father’s men apprehended us and forced us home. I was married three days later and lived as Edwin Rone’s wife for ten years until he died, leaving me his vast estate and all the misery that accompanied it.”
She slammed her eyes shut and covered her face with her hand.