smiled. “Perhaps. But to deny that it is complicated is foolish, too. The world of the upper ten thousand is limited enough for names to be very important. For that reason alone, I am quite the controversy . . . a puzzle at the very least.”
She nodded.
“And then . . .” he began carefully, “there is the matter of the situations one ensnares oneself in voluntarily to get away from complicated things such as family . . .”
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Me. I am not a simple human being. And to protect myself I create diversions, not only for the people around me but I am most proficient at bamboozling myself as well.”
He realised he had never said those words before. He had the thought often enough lately, but he had never told another human being the exact words. He looked sheepishly at her hand still covered by hers.
“At Clyne—then as now—there is no one to deceive.”
He felt her stiffen slightly, and knew without looking that the creases in her brow were just a little bit deeper than they had previously been.
“Deceive?” she questioned, “Are you saying that you have deliberately chosen to live, in other places, a life of deceit? Of falsehood?”
Something in her tone made him feel defensive and he drew back as well.
“Come now,” he snapped. “You made no secret of your opinion of me when we first met. You told me often enough what you once thought of me: that I trifled and charmed and flirted my way through life. Are you saying you haven’t seen through that façade? Are you saying you still think I am that man?”
“Well . . . no. But I didn’t think it was an act you put on deliberately. I thought you were just being thoughtless and stupid.”
“Hmm.”
But she could sense he was offended.
“I can understand why you would feel . . . ashamed of your father. But to choose to be deceitful? And to yourself as well? It does not do anyone any good to live a lie.”
He pulled loose and got up. It was a desperate gesture because he could not tell her how her words struck him in a most uncomfortable place. He walked over to the table and fingered her working effects—papers, quills, inkhorns and cards.
“Of course you cannot understand. I don’t expect you to. I hardly understand myself.” He sighed. “And that is just it, Holly. I hardly understand myself . How can I understand how long I ignored you and the feelings I so wholeheartedly and selfishly express now? How can I understand why I needed a private refuge in my life of privilege and comfort? How can I understand how desperately I fought to be untouchable? But to revert to your first question, I know Clyne saved me and that I needed it. I know this is my home.”
He still would not meet her eyes but he knew she was listening to him as he forced the last words out.
“That is why it is complicated.”
Her voice behind him was quiet but her question was piercing.
“Are you saying . . . that I do not actually know you? The real you?”
He still looked down at the perfectly mended quill, waiting for the work it was designed for.
“Now how can I answer that, Holly, after only a few days of marriage?”
She stood and crossed the floor to face him.
“I should hope you could answer it as easily as I do!” She peered into his face and made him meet her eyes, “The person standing before you is the person I am. But now I begin to wonder exactly who is standing before me.”
“So you think I should be like you. Open, unafraid, uncomplicated, trusting, and secure? I’m not saying that I am not the man you see before you. I am saying I am more than that. If you are as fond of the truth as you say, you should admit that goes for you, too. And if the different parts of me are not easily reconcilable, I will not have you fault me for it and accuse me of dishonesty and deceit!”
“I accused you of nothing, sir! The word ‘deceit’ came from your own mouth. I am simply wondering what I have gotten myself
She nodded.
“And then . . .” he began carefully, “there is the matter of the situations one ensnares oneself in voluntarily to get away from complicated things such as family . . .”
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Me. I am not a simple human being. And to protect myself I create diversions, not only for the people around me but I am most proficient at bamboozling myself as well.”
He realised he had never said those words before. He had the thought often enough lately, but he had never told another human being the exact words. He looked sheepishly at her hand still covered by hers.
“At Clyne—then as now—there is no one to deceive.”
He felt her stiffen slightly, and knew without looking that the creases in her brow were just a little bit deeper than they had previously been.
“Deceive?” she questioned, “Are you saying that you have deliberately chosen to live, in other places, a life of deceit? Of falsehood?”
Something in her tone made him feel defensive and he drew back as well.
“Come now,” he snapped. “You made no secret of your opinion of me when we first met. You told me often enough what you once thought of me: that I trifled and charmed and flirted my way through life. Are you saying you haven’t seen through that façade? Are you saying you still think I am that man?”
“Well . . . no. But I didn’t think it was an act you put on deliberately. I thought you were just being thoughtless and stupid.”
“Hmm.”
But she could sense he was offended.
“I can understand why you would feel . . . ashamed of your father. But to choose to be deceitful? And to yourself as well? It does not do anyone any good to live a lie.”
He pulled loose and got up. It was a desperate gesture because he could not tell her how her words struck him in a most uncomfortable place. He walked over to the table and fingered her working effects—papers, quills, inkhorns and cards.
“Of course you cannot understand. I don’t expect you to. I hardly understand myself.” He sighed. “And that is just it, Holly. I hardly understand myself . How can I understand how long I ignored you and the feelings I so wholeheartedly and selfishly express now? How can I understand why I needed a private refuge in my life of privilege and comfort? How can I understand how desperately I fought to be untouchable? But to revert to your first question, I know Clyne saved me and that I needed it. I know this is my home.”
He still would not meet her eyes but he knew she was listening to him as he forced the last words out.
“That is why it is complicated.”
Her voice behind him was quiet but her question was piercing.
“Are you saying . . . that I do not actually know you? The real you?”
He still looked down at the perfectly mended quill, waiting for the work it was designed for.
“Now how can I answer that, Holly, after only a few days of marriage?”
She stood and crossed the floor to face him.
“I should hope you could answer it as easily as I do!” She peered into his face and made him meet her eyes, “The person standing before you is the person I am. But now I begin to wonder exactly who is standing before me.”
“So you think I should be like you. Open, unafraid, uncomplicated, trusting, and secure? I’m not saying that I am not the man you see before you. I am saying I am more than that. If you are as fond of the truth as you say, you should admit that goes for you, too. And if the different parts of me are not easily reconcilable, I will not have you fault me for it and accuse me of dishonesty and deceit!”
“I accused you of nothing, sir! The word ‘deceit’ came from your own mouth. I am simply wondering what I have gotten myself
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