Part 8
“You thought it quickly.”
“Yes.”
“Have you wondered before?”
“No.”
She folded the vest again.
Nathan sat on one of the unopened boxes. “Have I given you reason to think I would protect my father over you?”
“Yes.”
The answer hurt, but he had asked for it.
“When?”
“Every time I questioned an estate decision and you told me Richard had reasons. Every time your mother described something cruel he did as practical and you stayed silent. When I said the marriage settlement should separate my business assets from the estate and you acted insulted.”
“I apologized for that.”
“You apologized for the argument. You did not understand why I was afraid.”
“You weren’t aware of the theft then.”
“No. But I knew your family treats money as proof of character when it has money and as nobody else’s concern when it doesn’t.”
Nathan leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“I loved my father.”
“I know.”
“He could be generous.”
“I know.”
“He paid for an employee’s daughter to attend university.”
“He also took millions from my mother.”
“Yes.”
The word felt like swallowing glass.
Celia sat in the nursing chair near the window.
“I did not know how to hold both things for you,” she said.
“You decided I couldn’t.”
“I decided I did not trust what you would do.”
“That is worse.”
“I know.”
They sat with it.
A radiator clicked. Rainwater moved through the gutter outside in a steady rush.
After a while, Nathan said, “Were you truly going to settle privately?”
“I considered repaying the trust from my own assets and taking a secured interest in the estate.”
“So my family would owe you instead.”
“Yes.”
“And after we married?”
“Yes.”
“What would happen if we divorced?”
“I hadn’t reached that point.”
He looked at her.
Celia gave a tired, humorless smile. “That is the first honest answer I have had all evening, apparently.”
“Would you have told me before the wedding?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
“Before or after I signed the marriage settlement?”
“Before.”
“You hesitated.”
“Because I cannot prove what I would have done in a future that no longer exists.”
Nathan rubbed his hands together. His cufflinks were still in place, small silver squares his father had given him when he turned twenty-one.
He removed them.
Celia watched him set them on the box beside him.
“What happens now?” she asked.
“I call an independent firm in the morning.”
“For the estate?”
“For everyone.”
“There cannot be one solicitor for everyone.”
“I know.”
“You say that now.”
He looked up.
She was not mocking him. She was exhausted.
“I will find separate representation for the estate,” he said. “You keep yours. Mother gets her own. Sophie too, if she needs it. Edmund gives a statement.”
“And the engagement?”
Nathan stared at the half-painted wall.
“I don’t know.”
Celia nodded.
The nod was small, but it altered the room.
He stood. “You should sleep.”
“I don’t think I can.”
“Dr. Shah said stress—”
“Please don’t turn my body into the one problem you know how to manage.”
Nathan stopped.
Celia looked at the white vest in her lap.
“I am sorry,” she said. “That was unfair.”
“No. It wasn’t.”
He went to the door.
“Nathan.”
He turned.
“I did not meet Edmund because of the baby. I have never been unfaithful to you.”
“I believe you.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
She searched his face.
“Then say it without sounding as though belief is a favor.”
Nathan tried again.
“I believe you.”
This time she nodded.
He slept in the library and woke at six with a crease across his cheek from the leather sofa.
The house was quiet except for the cleaners in the corridor. Someone had covered the remains of dinner with cloths. The candles had burned down into irregular stumps.
Nathan stood at his place and looked toward Edmund’s empty chair.
Poppy came in wearing striped pajamas and carrying a stuffed rabbit by one ear.
She stopped when she saw him.
“Are you still cross?”
“No.”
“You look cross.”
“I didn’t sleep.”
“That makes Mummy cross.”
She climbed into Celia’s chair. Her feet did not reach the floor.
Nathan sat beside her.
“Did you go outside alone yesterday?”
Poppy stroked the rabbit’s worn ear. “Mrs. Kemp was there.”
“Did she know where you were?”
“She could see the hedge.”
“That isn’t the same as seeing you.”
Poppy looked mildly offended. “I was finding Bernard.”
She lifted the rabbit.
“You must tell an adult before you go around the greenhouse.”
“I told Bernard.”
“He does not count.”
“He is older than me.”
Nathan pressed his lips together.
Poppy watched him. “Aunt Celia said sorry.”
“I know.”
“Was the key naughty?”
“No.”
“Was the man?”
Nathan glanced toward the far end of the table.
“He did something wrong a long time ago.”
“Did Aunt Celia?”
“She lied about what you saw.”
“Because she was frightened.”
“Yes.”
Poppy considered this with the seriousness she usually reserved for whether peas touching mashed potatoes made the peas dirty.
“Grown-ups say lying is wrong,” she said.
“They do.”
“But they do it when they’re frightened.”
“Sometimes.”
“That seems unfair.”
“It is.”
She slid from the chair. “Can I have breakfast?”
“In the kitchen.”
“We never eat in the kitchen.”
“Today we do.”
The cook gave Poppy toast and Nathan coffee strong enough to make his hands feel steadier. Sophie arrived ten minutes later, still in yesterday’s makeup, and watched her daughter eat.
“I’m taking her home,” she said.
“That is probably sensible.”
“To London.”
Nathan looked up. “For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sophie.”
“Do not ask me to decide whether I trust any of you before breakfast.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were about to.”
Poppy bit into her toast and spoke around it. “Mummy has her cross voice again.”
Sophie closed her eyes. “Toast first. Commentary later.”
Nathan poured his sister coffee.
She accepted it.
“Is Celia all right?” Sophie asked.
“I think so.”
May you like
“You think?”
“She is sleeping.”
