“Ruth is the one who insisted on keeping the child. She could have given him to someone else to raise and gone on with her life as before. All the choices that led to her current predicament were made by her—including the choice to lie with a man outside of marriage in the first place.”
Phoebe’s eyes widened. “Then the blame is all hers, and none of yours?”
“The risk of an affair is always greater for the woman. She understood that.”
Could this really be the Edward she had known for so many years? Where was the highly moral, considerate man who had always shown such indelible respect for women? Had he changed somehow without her notice, or had this always been mortared in among the layers of his character?
“I genuinely loved her,” he went on, “and in fact I still do. If it makes you feel any better, I’m deeply ashamed of my feelings for her, and of whatever coarseness in my nature led to a relationship with her. I’m suffering as much as anyone.”
“Love is not born of coarseness,” Phoebe said quietly. “The ability to love is the noblest quality a man can possess. You should honor it, Edward. Marry her and be happy with her and your son. The only thing to be ashamed of is the belief that she’s not good enough for you. I hope you’ll overcome it.”
He seemed painfully bewildered as well as angry. “One cannot overcome facts, Phoebe! She is common. She would lower me. That opinion would be shared by everyone in our world. Everyone who matters would censure me. There would be so many places we wouldn’t be welcomed, and blue-blooded children who wouldn’t be allowed to associate with mine. Surely you understand that.” His voice turned vehement. “God knows Henry did.”
Now it was Phoebe’s turn to fall silent. “He knew about Ruth? And her baby?”
“Yes, I told him. He forgave me before I could even ask. He knew it was the way of the world, that honorable men sometimes yield to temptation. He understood it had no bearing on my character, and he still thought it best for you and I to marry.
“And what was to become of Ruth and her child? What were his thoughts about that?”
“He knew I would do what I could for them.” Edward returned to the place beside her, reaching out to cover her hands with his. “I know my own heart, Phoebe, and I know I’m a good man. I would be a faithful husband to you. I would be kind to your boys. You’ve never heard me raise my voice in anger, have you? You’ve never seen me inebriated or violent. We would have a clean, sweet, good life together. The kind of life we deserve. I love so many things about you, Phoebe. Your grace and beauty. Your devotion to Henry. It agonized him that he wouldn’t be able to take care of you, but I swore to him I would never let harm come to you. I told him he would never have to worry about his children, either: I would raise them as if they were mine.”
Phoebe tugged her hands away, her skin crawling at his touch. “I can’t help but find it ironic that you’re so willing to be a father to my sons, but not your own.”
“Henry wanted us to be together.”
“Edward, even before I knew about Ruth Parris and the loan money, I had already decided—”
“You must overlook her,” he interrupted desperately, “just as I will overlook any indiscretions on your part. It can all be forgotten. I’ll perform any penance you ask, but we will put this behind us. I’ll have the boy sent abroad and raised there. We’ll never see him. He’ll be better off that way, and so will we.”
“No, Edward. No one would be better off. You’re not thinking clearly.”
“Neither are you,” he retorted.
Perhaps he was right: thoughts were colliding in her head. She didn’t know whether to believe him about Henry. She had known Henry so well, his sweetness and forbearing, his concern for others. But he had also been a man of his class, raised to respect the boundaries between high and low, with a full understanding of the consequences should the order of things be disrupted. Had Henry really given his blessing to a future union between his cousin and wife, in full knowledge of poor Ruth Parris and her chance-born child?
Then, almost magically, the turmoil and distress subsided, and everything became clear.
She had loved and respected her husband and had always heeded his opinions. But from now on, she would trust her own sense of right and wrong. The sin was not love, but the lack of it. The thing to fear was not scandal, but the betrayal of one’s own morality.
“You are I are not going to marry, Edward,” she said, actually feeling a bit sorry for him, when he was so obviously making ruinous choices for himself. “There will be much for us discuss in the coming days, including a tangle of legal matters. I want you to resign the executorship of the will, and step aside as trustee of the estate—and I beg you not to make the process difficult. For now, I would like you to leave.”
He seemed aghast. “You’re being irrational. You’re going against what Henry wanted. I will take no action until you’ve calmed down.”
“I’m perfectly calm. Do as you see fit. I’m going to seek the counsel of solicitors.” She softened as she saw how distraught he was. “I’ll always be fond of you, Edward. Nothing will erase all the kindness you’ve shown me in the past. I would never vindictive, but I want any legal association between us terminated.”
“I can’t lose you,” he said desperately. “My God, what is happening? Why can’t you see reason?” He stared at her as if she were a stranger. “Were you intimate with Ravenel? Did he seduce you? Force you?”
Phoebe let out a short sigh of exasperation and left the settee, striding rapidly to the threshold. “Please leave, Edward.”
“Something has happened to you. You’re not yourself.”
“Do you think so?” she asked. “Then you’ve never known me at all. I am wholly myself—and I will never marry a man who would want me to be any less than I am.”
Chapter 32