Chapter Twenty-Seven – His Father’s Son
Once more, the next morning brought a harsh truth after a night of blissful peace.
Upon waking, Beth knew even before she opened her eyes that she was alone. Again, not only the bed was empty, but also the room as.
Again, he had left.
However, this time Beth knew more about his motivations, his insecurities, his fears than she had the day after her wedding, and although his retreat pained her, her heart was strong enough not to give up hope for she knew that the reason he had left was not that he did not care for her.
If anything, the previous weeks had proved that there was a bond between them, a bond that pulled them closer with every day that passed.
Sliding out of bed, Beth took a deep breath, determined not to allow him to escape.
Dressed in a simple, yet flattering gown that accentuated her pale blue eyes, Beth made her way downstairs. Peeking into the breakfast parlour, she found it to be empty, the food still sitting untouched in bowls and on platters.
Frowning, Beth continued down the hall, and as was tradition, burst into her husband’s study without bothering to knock.
As expected, his head jerked up, his eyes finding hers in an instant. Then he swallowed, his muscles tense.
A hopefully reassuring smile on her face, Beth slowly closed the door, wondering how to begin. What could she say in order to loosen the tension that rested in his shoulders? By now, she was certain that something frightened him, even terrified him, and yet, she could only guess at what it could be. Maybe she simply ought to ask. Was not that what her mother had always advised her to do?
“I hope you slept well,” her husband said, his eyes returning to the papers on his desk. “I apologise, but I’m rather busy at the moment, so if you could…”
“Leave?” Beth asked, her eyebrows rising in question as she stepped up to his desk.
He drew in a deep breath as he fidgeted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. “If you don’t mind,” he said, a hint of relief coming to his frame.
“Actually, I do mind,” Beth said openly, smiling at him when his head swivelled back up, staring at her yet again. “I’ve come to speak with you.”
Setting down the papers he had been holding, Tristan slowly rose to his feet, a look of resignation in his eyes. “What do you wish to speak about?”
Beth opened her mouth, but then hesitated as she glanced down and noticed the slight tremble in her hands.
“Are you cold?” her husband asked, stepping around his desk, concern in his eyes as he looked at her.
His reaction brought a smile to Beth’s face, and she shook her head. “No, I’m simply…”
“Yes?”
Holding his gaze, Beth drew in a deep breath. “I’m simply afraid.”
“Afraid?” Taken aback, his eyes narrowed, the concern resting in them deepening. “What of? Has something happened? Are you all right?” Then his shoulders tensed once more, and he swallowed. “Did I hurt you?”
Understanding his meaning, Beth still nodded her head yes. He needed to know how deeply his actions pained her.
In answer, his eyes widened and he fumbled for words, shame colouring his cheeks.
“You left me alone,” Beth said before he could draw the wrong conclusion.
As expected, his head snapped up, and he stared at her, confused. “I left?”
“Listen,” Beth began, taking a step toward him, “I can see that you regret what happened last night. I knew it the moment I woke up alone.” Understanding slowly came to his face. “However, I do not understand why. Is what your uncle says truly that important to you?”
His jaw clenched.
“I know he is your family,” Beth continued, knowing that she could not back down now, “the only family you’ve ever had, and that it is difficult for you to find that he disapproves of your choices. However, I do not understand why he would object in such a harsh manner. He was the one who advised you to send me to Hampton Hall, wasn’t he?”
Reluctantly, he nodded.
“Why?”
Her husband remained quiet, uncomfortably shifting from one foot to the other.
“Why does he not want us to live together as husband and wife?” Beth asked, trying to understand what Mr. Turner would gain from separating them. “I could have understood his objections before the wedding, but now that we are married, why would he…?” She trailed off, unable to make sense of her uncle-in-law’s unreasonable reaction.
Finally, Tristan drew in a deep breath, his eyes softening as he watched her. “It’s complicated. I do not believe I can explain it in any way for you to truly understand.”
Beth’s eyes narrowed. “It’s only complicated because you make it so,” she retorted, annoyed with all the lies and secrecies that had taken up root in her life ever since she had learnt of her mother’s betrayal. “Tell me about your father.”
All colour draining from her husband’s face, he stared at her. “What do you know?” he demanded, the muscles in his jaw tense to the point of breaking.
Beth drew in a deep breath. Finally, they were getting closer! “I’ve heard rumours,” she answered him honestly, “about his anger, which got out of control when he drank.” He swallowed, slightly swaying on his feet as he continued to stare at her. “People whisper that you might be following in his footsteps.”
Blinking, Tristan rubbed his hands over his face before his eyes once more sought hers. “No one has ever told me that to my face. People only talk behind my back,” he added in disgust.
“Nothing good ever comes from lying,” Beth said as she took a step closer, gently running a hand down his arm. “Is that what you’re afraid of?” Again, he tensed. “That you’ll become like your father? Is that the reason why you try to push me away?”
For a moment, Tristan closed his eyes, and Beth realised that he had never in his life spoken about his deepest fears with anyone. All those years spent locked in his own mind, tormented by the daunting danger of madness. “It’s inevitable,” he finally said, exhaustion in his eyes as he looked at her. “People are right. I am becoming like him.”
“Why do you believe so? Because you occasionally indulge in spirits?”
Again, he swallowed, and she could see that he wanted nothing more but to hide that side of himself. And still, he remained where he was, his eyes not veering from hers. “I don’t know what to do,” he finally said, his mouth opening and closing as though he could not put into words what lived in his heart. “I feel as though my life is slowly tearing me apart, a little bit every day. There are so many similarities between him and me. He was my father, and yet, I never knew him. But when I drink, sometimes it’s as though he’s there with me. He’s the only one who could have understood that sense of detachedness, of being lost in your own self.” Shaking his head, he closed his eyes. “Every now and then, I lose time. I come to and I don’t know what happened. I don’t remember what I did. I know that especially under these circumstances indulging in spirits is ill-advised, but I cannot stop myself for it is the only means of escape that I have.”
He turned to her then, and Beth knew from the look in his eyes that what he was about to say next was important, that it lay at the root of his fears. “I often wonder if my father ever was a decent man. Was he truly at fault for what he did? Or was it the madness that lived in his blood just like it lives in mine that drove him to…,” he drew in a deep breath, “to kill his own wife as well as himself?”
At his revelation, Beth gasped in shock.
***
With wide eyes, she stared at him, her mouth slightly open as the truth about his past sank in.
Tristan swallowed. This was it. This was the moment when she would realise that he was not the man she wanted for a husband. This was the moment when suspicion and fear would come to her eyes. This was the moment when she would turn away and see to protecting herself…from him.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, and her eyes softened as she stepped forward and gently put a hand to his cheek, her thumb brushing over his skin. “I am so sorry.” As her arms slid up, she pulled him into an embrace, holding him tight, whispering words of comfort into his ear.
As though paralysed, Tristan allowed her to hold him as he stared over her shoulder at the closed door, thunderstruck at her compassion, at her lack of fear. Could it be that she had not understood him? Understood what his revelation meant for her? That she was in danger? “Are you not afraid?” he mumbled into her hair, savouring the warmth of her body before she would realise that whatever bond existed between them could not last.
“Afraid?” she asked, stepping back, her eyes finding his. “Why would I be afraid? You’re not your father.”
“I may not be him,” Tristan forced out, “but I am his son. I am like him. The madness lives in my blood.”
For a moment, her eyes narrowed as she searched his face. “Do you truly believe that?”
“How could I not? Everything that’s happened in the past few years indicates that at some point, I will share his fate.”
“And you’re afraid you will hurt me?” she asked, her eyes travelling over his face as her mind worked.
He nodded.
“Why were you not afraid before?”
He frowned. “When?”
“When we met at the ball,” his wife said, her hands still resting on his chest, their touch grounding him to the here and now. “The way you acted suggested that you were looking for a wife, a wife you could love.” A soft smile came to her lips. “Wasn’t that why you were so angry with me? For ruining your chance of ever marrying for love?”
Again, he nodded, and then understanding dawned. “Not until now did I realise the danger I would put my wife in simply by marrying her.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I should have never proposed. I should have never…” He sighed. “After all the pain and darkness of my past, the thought of finding love has always kept me sane…at least as sane as possible. I suppose I never truly believed I’d find it, and so I allowed myself to live in a dream.” The wistful smile that had come to his face as he spoke vanished, and his features hardened. “Only it is a dream no longer, and I cannot put you in danger. I cannot be selfish.”
“Selfish?” she asked, her eyes glowing as she smiled at him. “Does that mean you no longer regret marrying me?”
“Of course, I do. I should never have−” Then he broke off as he finally realised what she was asking, and to his great shame, his own heart ached with sudden joy at the thought of having his dream realised after all.
Her hands slid upward, and she pulled herself closer to him, her lips coming dangerously close to his own.
At her closeness, Tristan felt his resolve waver as it had the night before. How could he be so happy, and yet, so tormented at the same time? She truly was the one, the only one who had ever been able to make him forget the burden he carried.
“I believe I’m falling in love with you, Tristan,” she whispered before her lips claimed his. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she deepened the kiss, and Tristan’s doubts melted away.
If only for a moment.
Breaking the kiss, he gently removed her arms from around his neck as the look in her eyes slowly broke his heart. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, stepping back. “I cannot allow you to risk your life. This is not safe for you.” He swallowed. “My uncle knows that. I believe he’s feared my whole life that I would turn out like my father and that he insisted that I send you away out of concern.”
His wife frowned. “Then why did he not explain himself?”
“I believe he did so out of concern for me,” Tristan explained. “As I said before, people rarely say these things to my face. Of course, I’m aware of the rumours going around. However, it is something different altogether when someone you care about tells you to your face that they are afraid of what you might do. I’m grateful that he has never done so.”
Her eyes remained narrowed, a hint of disbelief on her face as she thought about his words.
“Believe me,” Tristan continued, feeling oddly relieved at being able to speak about his burden despite the hopelessness of their situation. “I wish with all my heart that it were different, but my life is set on the same path as my father’s.”
“How do you know?”
“He, too, indulged in spirits−though to a greater extent than myself−but I suppose that does not matter. He spent nights away from home in taverns and…places of ill-repute. Just like myself, he ended up in countless fights and brawls because he had no regard or respect for anyone but himself.” Stepping back, Tristan shook his head. “I know from my sister that he used to attack our mother almost daily, that no matter what she did or said, his anger would turn on her and could not be tempered by compassion because he had none.” Meeting her eyes, he looked at her imploringly. “I don’t ever want to hurt you,” he said, shaking his head vehemently. “I’d rather we live in separate places than wake up one morning and realise that I’ve done to you what my father did to my mother.”
Her eyes had remained serious as he spoke, and for a moment, Tristan thought she might finally understand the gravity of the situation. However, in the next instant, her feet carried her toward him, closing the distance he had put between them in only a few steps. “I understand what you’re saying,” she admitted, her hands once more settling on his chest, “and I understand that you’re afraid. I would be, too.” Her hands reached for his. “But I need you to know that the image you have of yourself is distorted. It is not the truth.”
Battling down the hope that her words brought forth, Tristan shook his head. “I understand you want to believe so, but−”
“Listen to me,” she implored, her hands closing more tightly around his. “I will not leave,” she stated, the tone in her voice swaying between a promise and a threat, “and don’t you dare think about leaving yourself. I swear I shall seek you out.”
A smile came to his lips at her vehement declaration. If only there were hope.
“It is obvious,” she continued, “that your life has been far from easy and that the past haunts you. Believe me, I understand your desire to know your father, to comprehend what brought on his fate, how he came to be the man he was. Every child seeks to understand their parents especially with a past such as yours. It is only natural that you wish to feel closer to your father, and, therefore, seek out methods to bring that about.”
Tristan nodded, surprised how liberating it felt to have someone understand.
“However, I do know,” she said, conviction in her voice as her eyes held his captive, “that you’re a good man. You’re not like your father. You may have done things which he has done as well, but that does not mean you are like him. Your father made his choices. Wrong choices that led to a tragedy. Do not paint him in a better light by calling it madness. He did what he did because he chose to, because he did not have the strength to stop himself. Every day, all of us are faced with decisions, and it is the choices we make that determine who we are.”
Staring at his wife, Tristan inhaled deeply. “I’ve made countless mistakes.”
“As have I,” she whispered, nodding her head. “As have our parents. As will our children. Yes, some more than others. Yes, some may be irredeemable, but not yours. What do you regret? What do you wish you could do differently?”
“I wouldn’t know where to begin,” Tristan admitted, and yet, her words banished the hopelessness from his heart. Could she be right? Was it possible that he was not slowly going mad? But that he had done this to himself merely by believing the whispers around him? Or was he a fool for believing that there might be a chance for them?
“I’m glad you told me,” his wife whispered, pure joy on her face as she looked at him. “And I’m not afraid. I may not yet know much about your past or the events that shaped you, but I’m hoping that I will one day, that you will share this with me as you have today.”
Tristan nodded. “I have a lot to think about.” He squeezed her hands. “Thank you. I never thought I could ever feel like this.”
“How?”
“Hopeful,” he whispered, noting the sound of awe in his voice as he spoke. “What my father did to my mother was kept a secret, and still, people whisper. After all, it was only one night, the end of a life filled with disregard and recklessness.”
“Maybe you should speak to your sister.”
Tristan tensed, reluctantly meeting her eyes. “Quite possibly she suffered the most from the mistakes I’ve made.”
“Still, you will never find peace unless you speak to her the way you just spoke to me,” his wife insisted. “And she will believe you.”
“How do you know?”
His wife sighed, a faraway look on her face. “She’s your sister. That bond is instant and unbreakable.”