Wil let out a long, slow breath. “You’re clever.”
“But am I clever and right, or clever and wrong?”
Wil looked as if he were glad for the mask that hid his expression. “El a,” he said. “Two years older than I. And Cecily, three years younger. My sisters.”
“And El a . . .”
Wil looked away, but not before she saw the pain in his eyes. So El a was dead.
“What was she like?” Tessa asked, remembering how grateful she had been when Jem had asked that of her, about Nate. “El a? And Cecily, what kind of girl is she?”
“El a was protective,” said Wil . “Like a mother. She would have done anything for me. And Cecily was a little mad creature. She was only nine when I left. I can’t say if she’s stil the same, but she was—like Cathy in Wuthering Heights. She was afraid of nothing and demanded everything.
She could fight like a devil and swear like a Bil ingsgate fishwife.” There was amusement in his voice, and admiration, and . . . love. She had never heard him talk about anyone that way, except perhaps Jem.
“If I might ask—,” she began.
Wil sighed. “You know you’l ask whether I say it’s al right or not.”
“You have a younger sister of your own,” she said. “So what exactly did you do to Gabriel’s sister to make him hate you so?”
He straightened. “Are you serious?”
“Yes,” she said. “I am forced to spend a great deal of time with the Lightwoods, and Gabriel clearly despises you. And you did break his arm. It would ease my mind if I knew why.”
Shaking his head, Wil raked his fingers through his hair. “Dear God,” he said. “Their sister—her name is Tatiana, by the way; she was named after her mother’s dear friend, who was Russian—was twelve years old, I think.”
“Twelve?” Tessa was horrified.
Wil exhaled. “I see you have already decided for yourself what happened,” he said. “Would it ease your mind further to know that I myself was twelve? Tatiana, she . . . fancied herself in love with me. In that way that little girls do. She would fol ow me around and giggle and duck behind pil ars to stare at me.”
“One does sil y things when one is twelve.”
“It was the first Christmas party at the Institute that I attended,” he said. “The Lightwoods were there in al their finery. Tatiana in silver hair ribbons.
She had a little book she carried around with her everywhere. She must have dropped it that night. I found it shoved down the back of one of the chaise longues. It was her diary. Fil ed with poems about me—the color of my eyes, the wedding we would have. She had written ‘Tatiana Herondale’ al over it.”
“That sounds rather adorable.”
“I had been in the drawing room, but I came back into the bal room with the diary. Elise Penhal ow had just finished playing the spinet. I got up beside her and commenced reading from Tatiana’s diary.”
“Oh, Wil —you didn’t!”
“I did,” he said. “She had rhymed ‘Wil iam’ with ‘mil ion,’ as in ‘You wil never know, sweet Wil iam How many are the mil ion ways in which I love you.’ It had to be stopped.”
“What happened?”
“Oh, Tatiana ran out of the room in tears, and Gabriel leaped onto the stage and attempted to strangle me. Gideon simply stood there with his arms crossed. You’l notice that’s al he ever does.”
“I suppose Gabriel didn’t succeed,” said Tessa. “In strangling you, I mean.”
“Not before I broke his arm,” said Wil with relish. “So there you are. That’s why he hates me. I humiliated his sister in public, and what he won’t mention is that I humiliated him, too. He thought he could best me easily. I’d had little formal training, and I’d heard him cal me ‘very nearly a mundane’ behind my back. Instead I beat him hol ow—snapped his arm, in fact. It was certainly a more pleasant sound than Elise banging away on the spinet.”
Tessa rubbed her gloved hands together to warm them, and sighed. She wasn’t sure what to think. It was hardly the story of seduction and betrayal she had expected, but neither did it show Wil in an admirable light.
“Sophie says she’s married now,” she said. “Tatiana. She’s just getting back from traveling the Continent with her new husband.”
“I am sure she is as dul and stupid now as she was then.” Wil sounded as if he might fal asleep. He thumbed the curtain closed, and they were in darkness. Tessa could hear his breath, feel the warmth of him sitting across from her. She could see why a proper young lady would never ride in a carriage with a gentleman not related to her. There was something oddly intimate about it. Of course, she had broken the rules for proper young ladies what felt like long ago, now.
“Wil ,” she said again.
“The lady has another question. I can hear it in her tone. Wil you never have done asking questions, Tess?”