fringe of black lashes, to which tiny beads of moisture clung. That look penetrated his defenses with the force and precision of a well-aimed rifle shot.
“How can I shrink from hearing of your experiences in the war when you had the courage to endure them?” she continued. “What distressed me more than learning what you suffered was the thought that I might have pushed you into taking up a commission. Admit it—you would never have gone to war if I had accepted your marriage proposal.”
Brandon was not without his own pride, which now urged him to deny the charge. Confessing to it would only betray the depth of his heartbreak. But how could he claim otherwise? Truth was a rigorous taskmaster, which demanded its due even when the tribute was not pleasant or convenient.
“That cannot come as any great surprise, surely?” He might not be able to refute her assertion outright, but he could try to make light of it. “What man with any sense would leave his bride to go off to war unless he was compelled to? If you had accepted my proposal, I would have been more agreeably employed beginning our married life together. But since I had no such ties to prevent me, I decided I should do my duty for King and Country.”
That explanation sounded impersonal and almost noble. Brandon knew his decision had been neither. “Besides, there are few situations better calculated to make a fellow forget his romantic troubles than facing enemy fire.”
His attempt at levity failed miserably.
Cassandra pressed his handkerchief to her lips. Though she managed to hold back a fresh effusion of weeping, her whole demeanor suggested misery too deep for tears.
“No wonder you hate me.” She spat out the words as if they were choking her. “I drove you away to war. You might have been wounded, even... k-killed and it would have been my fault.”
“I do not hate you!” The vehement denial burst out before Brandon could judge whether or not it was true. But once he’d spoken, he realized he meant it. There was a time when he’d tried to hate Cassandra Whitney, but he had not succeeded. “Furthermore, any harm that might have come to me in Spain would have been the doing of Napoleon’s army, not you.”
His reassurances did not persuade her. “I might as well have pushed you in front of their bullets... or bayonets. If I had only known...”
At that moment Brandon could not abide the word if. It taunted him with too many images of what might have been.
“What would you have done?” He rose from the floor and stalked off to peer out the kitchen window. He did not trust himself so near Cassandra now that he’d been reminded how it felt to hold her in his arms. “If I had threatened to go to war unless you accepted my proposal, would you have given in to such blackmail? Would you have agreed to wed me in spite of your feelings, or lack of them? You would not have done either of us a service if you had. A union on that basis would have been doomed to the worst kind of failure.”
Indeed it would. Yet, as he spoke with such conviction, Brandon wondered why he had never considered her refusal in that light until this moment. Though he had not been able to hate Cassandra, he had privately blamed her, just as she now blamed herself, for making him go to war.
That had been grossly unjust.
He alone was responsible for his actions, however reckless. He must do everything in his power to convince her of that. She might not have cared for him enough to risk marriage, particularly after watching her father make three wives miserable. Yet he now sensed that Cassandra had not been altogether indifferent to his fate either. She had worried about him and regretted any hardships he’d suffered. She did not deserve to carry the burden of his imprudent choices.
But before he had a chance to tell her any of that, she seized upon his final words. “What do you know about the worst kind of failure in a marriage? You told me this morning that
“How can I shrink from hearing of your experiences in the war when you had the courage to endure them?” she continued. “What distressed me more than learning what you suffered was the thought that I might have pushed you into taking up a commission. Admit it—you would never have gone to war if I had accepted your marriage proposal.”
Brandon was not without his own pride, which now urged him to deny the charge. Confessing to it would only betray the depth of his heartbreak. But how could he claim otherwise? Truth was a rigorous taskmaster, which demanded its due even when the tribute was not pleasant or convenient.
“That cannot come as any great surprise, surely?” He might not be able to refute her assertion outright, but he could try to make light of it. “What man with any sense would leave his bride to go off to war unless he was compelled to? If you had accepted my proposal, I would have been more agreeably employed beginning our married life together. But since I had no such ties to prevent me, I decided I should do my duty for King and Country.”
That explanation sounded impersonal and almost noble. Brandon knew his decision had been neither. “Besides, there are few situations better calculated to make a fellow forget his romantic troubles than facing enemy fire.”
His attempt at levity failed miserably.
Cassandra pressed his handkerchief to her lips. Though she managed to hold back a fresh effusion of weeping, her whole demeanor suggested misery too deep for tears.
“No wonder you hate me.” She spat out the words as if they were choking her. “I drove you away to war. You might have been wounded, even... k-killed and it would have been my fault.”
“I do not hate you!” The vehement denial burst out before Brandon could judge whether or not it was true. But once he’d spoken, he realized he meant it. There was a time when he’d tried to hate Cassandra Whitney, but he had not succeeded. “Furthermore, any harm that might have come to me in Spain would have been the doing of Napoleon’s army, not you.”
His reassurances did not persuade her. “I might as well have pushed you in front of their bullets... or bayonets. If I had only known...”
At that moment Brandon could not abide the word if. It taunted him with too many images of what might have been.
“What would you have done?” He rose from the floor and stalked off to peer out the kitchen window. He did not trust himself so near Cassandra now that he’d been reminded how it felt to hold her in his arms. “If I had threatened to go to war unless you accepted my proposal, would you have given in to such blackmail? Would you have agreed to wed me in spite of your feelings, or lack of them? You would not have done either of us a service if you had. A union on that basis would have been doomed to the worst kind of failure.”
Indeed it would. Yet, as he spoke with such conviction, Brandon wondered why he had never considered her refusal in that light until this moment. Though he had not been able to hate Cassandra, he had privately blamed her, just as she now blamed herself, for making him go to war.
That had been grossly unjust.
He alone was responsible for his actions, however reckless. He must do everything in his power to convince her of that. She might not have cared for him enough to risk marriage, particularly after watching her father make three wives miserable. Yet he now sensed that Cassandra had not been altogether indifferent to his fate either. She had worried about him and regretted any hardships he’d suffered. She did not deserve to carry the burden of his imprudent choices.
But before he had a chance to tell her any of that, she seized upon his final words. “What do you know about the worst kind of failure in a marriage? You told me this morning that
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