Author’s Note: It’s always interesting when both the main characters should be resting. They never want to do it, and there’s always too much going on around them.

“I think,” Robbie said, still huddled over the bowl, “assuming this is the work of that man is… premature.”

Violet put her hand on his back, wishing he was not in so much pain. She did not care for seeing him this way, and she had to think that she was part to blame. She had drawn him here, hadn’t she? She’d got him to come with her letter, one that had said too much. Of course he’d come to her instead of forcing her to go to his home. He was a good man, a gentleman, and he’d been willing to listen to her even though he knew he was not married. He’d come to see her, to hear her side, and she valued that. Still, if not for her, he would still be safe in his father’s home. He would not be here to be attacked, not by Winston or anyone else who might have done this.

“Who else would it be?”

“It is possible that my father did not leave. Or that someone thought I had his money and tried to take it.”

“Or they might have done it because he hasn’t married you.”

Violet sighed. She had not thought of that, but it was another reason for her to hate the part she had played in him being injured. “Oh, Robbie, I am so—”

“This might have nothing to do with you. We don’t know why I was attacked. It could even have been about the war.”

“I doubt that,” her mother said. She rose, walking over to the door. “Thank you for coming, Doctor. We’ve done what we can for him, but neither me nor my sister is a nurse.”

“You should be in bed, Mrs. Winston.”

Violet grimaced. “I am not the one you need worry about. He could have more than a concussion, and if that’s true—”

“Come now,” her mother said, taking her arm. “Let’s get you out of the way so that the doctor can examine Mr. Winston. You just sit over here for now, and we’ll get you in bed in a few minutes.”

She groaned, sitting back on the chair. She would rather be with Robbie, but she was not a doctor. He needed treatment. They also needed the police. She wondered if they had been searching the park for the man who had hurt Robbie and that was what delayed them. They should have been here by now.

“Mrs. Carpenter?”

“Officer. Thank goodness you’ve come. Mr. Winston found his way here after he was attacked, and I think he was quite fortunate to make it this far.”

“I don’t think whoever it was that hit me expected me to wake so soon, nor did I. I think the worst of it has passed. I already vomited.”

“You’re going to need to do more than that to recover, Winston.”

He grimaced. “I suppose now I have to rest in bed.”

Violet laughed. “At least I won’t be alone with those orders. If it were not completely inappropriate, they could put us in a ward together—or just a room—and let us spend our confinement together. I’d be more willing to stay in bed if I knew you were safe.”

He reached up to push the doctor’s hand away. “I doubt that I would be attacked again the minute that I tried to leave. Not that I would object to having company while I am recovering. I think that the worst part of it of being wounded were those long, horrible hours where I could only lie there, alone. I had nothing but my thoughts, and those thoughts were dark.”

“Then we should not leave you alone this time.”

Beatrice frowned. “Mr. Winston has much to discuss with the police. You can leave him to do that. He has plenty of company. You need to get back to bed.”

“Aunt Beatrice—”

“She is right. Both of you need your rest. Mr. Winston can tell the police what happened to him, and you will lie down again so that the baby does not come too soon. Remember, as much as a child is a blessing, this is a dangerous time for you. Things could—It is dangerous.”

Robbie turned to her, trying for a reassuring look. “I will be in a bed of my own soon, and I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you or the baby because of me. I’m sure that we… We will have a lot to discuss when this is over.”

They already had plenty to talk of, she could not help thinking, but she nodded. She would have to trust that he would tell her whatever the others were trying to keep from her. She would rather stay and watch over him herself, but she knew that was impossible. Not only was it inappropriate, her body and the baby objected to her behavior, and if she was not careful, she’d lose consciousness right here. She had little choice but to let herself be taken back to her room to rest.

“We will talk as soon as we can, Violet. I promise.”

She smiled at him. “I know. I look forward to it.”

Author’s Note: So I find myself posting two parts again today. That’s what happens when I’m a bit ahead and Wednesday rolls around with words I can use in a part that’s almost done or ready to go next. This one was half done when I saw the words, and I thought, “well, I was going to post the flashback, but maybe I’ll skip it and just go right to this scene.”

Since there needed to be some delay between the scene in the park and this new piece, I went ahead and left the flashback in where it is, though I might have to move it when I organize this into a book later.

Anyway, this is the one that has the Three Word Wednesday prompts in it, trample, vigilant, and helpless.

“I think you may want to reconsider your position on that young man’s honor.”

Violet lowered her book with a frown, blinking at her aunt’s words. She had not been able to pay much attention to the pages that she was turning, her mind occupied with thoughts of Robbie, of Winston, and the pain in her back from the child. “What?”

“He is not gone. I saw him in the marketplace today.”

Disliking her aunt’s rather triumphant tone, Violet sat up, knowing that her mother was frowning as well.

“You saw Mr. Winston in town? Today?”

“Yes. He lied to you about leaving.”

Violet almost laughed. Her aunt was so proud of her discovery, but Violet could not help the rather perverse satisfaction that came with knowing that she could ruin the older woman’s triumph with ease. “He did not actually say that he was going. He said that he would if it was necessary. He did say he was planning on leaving, but planning is not the same as doing, as you have often told me.”

Beatrice’s nose wrinkled with disgust. “It does you no good to hide behind those excuses, child.”

“It does you no good to seek out these things to spoil hope or disparage him, either, sister. I know you were once wounded in love, but not all men are so false, and not all of us women are the same. We are not so terribly naïve as to believe beyond all reason, but your heart has become so cold that you do not attribute a positive motive to anyone anymore.”

“That is not true, Rose.”

“You disagree with my assessment? I suppose you always have. You will not alter my opinion. You have ceased to see anything in the world of value or goodness. I have been a widow now for twenty years. No man has been able to tempt me away from that state, a thing that would suggest that should be quite miserable indeed. I am not. I have watched my daughter grow, something that is to my mind a privilege. I have seen her suffer, and I have almost lost her and my grandchild. Yet you do not see me turning away from life and becoming bitter. You did not see Violet do it, either, and she was betrayed in one of the worst ways possible and will have a child because of it.”

Beatrice sat down, leaning back in her chair. “We should all curse the day any man named Winston came into our lives.”

Violet placed her hand on her stomach, looking to her mother and then back at her aunt. “The man you knew, the one who jilted you… His name was Winston? You wouldn’t mean—”

“Mrs. Carpenter, Mrs. Carpenter! Someone attacked Mr. Winston. He just stumbled in here with blood on his head and asked for a towel and—”

“Robbie?”

“Calm yourself, Harriet. Violet, you stay. Beatrice and I will see what has happened.”

“Mother—”

“Don’t move.”

Violet waited for her mother and aunt to walk away before she made her move. They were both fools to think that she would stay still when she knew that Robbie was hurt. She was not that helpless, no matter what the doctor said. She was pregnant, not ill, and since all they could do for her was tell her to rest, she could rest later, after she knew that he would recover from whatever had happened.

She took the stairs with as much care as possible, making a slow descent until the end. Her current shape did not allow her to do much running, but she pushed herself on until she could get to the parlor, opening the door to see Robbie on the floor with her mother fussing over him.

“How did this happen?”

“I fear I was rather less than vigilant. I heard a voice call my name, but I did not see the speaker, and I thought… Well…”

“You thought you’d gone back to the war, did you?” Violet asked, easing herself down beside him despite the glares from the other two women. He blinked, and she grimaced as she saw the pain in his face. At least she did not see much blood. After Harriet said he’d had blood on him, Violet had feared something terrible.

His hand brushed hers. “Yes. It… I don’t know why. I guess it was—I didn’t stop to think of the possibility that the person was hiding or intended me harm. I didn’t realize they’d hit me the moment I was distracted. I feel like my head’s been trampled upon by whole armies, and I rather think I might deserve it for being so easily unbalanced.”

“Nonsense.”

He forced a smile that turned into a grimace. “I think I’d better have a bowl. I do believe it’s a concussion, and I’ll vomit in a minute.”

“You were doing rather well there.”

He closed his eyes. “I wish that would last. My head aches so… Sorry I got you out of bed. Was not going to hurt you again.”

“I am not hurting. You are.”

“My father said terrible things about you, and I told him to leave and that I didn’t want his name or his money. I… I am penniless now. A penniless cripple. Cannot believe I did that. Should have… I don’t know. Shouldn’t have done it before my debts were paid. So sorry…”

“Oh, Robbie,” Violet said, wincing as her aunt carried over a bowl to set beside him. “It’s not your fault. I am sorry to have caused this rift between you and your father and—”

“Move, Violet,” her mother said as she pushed in to help Robbie reach the bowl when he vomited. “There, Mr. Winston. That might actually help. You just rest now. We’ve already called the doctor, and we’ll get you taken care of.”

“Can’t pay for the doctor. Please don’t ask him to come.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Beatrice said. “You need the doctor. Worry about the money when you are not trying to cover my sister and niece in vomit.”

“We need the police as well,” Violet said. “We need them to find the person who did this to Robbie. I… I can’t help fearing that it might have been Winston. That… That he has returned, and if he has… I don’t know what we will do.”

Author’s Note: So… I don’t know that it’s much of a twist, but it’s something, I suppose.

“How is she?” Robert knew he had no right to demand the answer from her doctor, but he could not help it. The moment that the other man had emerged from her room, he had descended upon the man, determined to have an answer. He had to know just how much damage his father had done.

The doctor stopped to adjust his vest. “I can only recommend that she remain in bed for the rest of her pregnancy. Her body cannot handle further strain.”

Robert frowned. That sounded as though she might die if she left the bed, and the man had to be exaggerating that. How would she stand it? She needed to be out in that garden of hers. She needed the flowers and her freedom. “She seemed to be coping rather well before today. Did my father’s behavior do that much harm?”

The doctor fixed his eyes upon him. His glare would have made Robert uncomfortable if he had not grown up with RJ Winston for a father. The doctor did not intimidate him. “It was against my advice that she saw you.”

He swallowed. He knew that he’d upset her a few times, and he’d hated it. Still, he hadn’t thought it was that bad. If he had done this, if his questions and presence had been so upsetting, so much of a strain—and he had seen some of the strain, he’d been leaving to spare her more—then he should never have come. He could only blame himself.

“Robbie?”

At the sound of her voice, he pushed past the doctor and into Violet’s room. He stopped in the doorway, aware of his improper actions. He should not be here, and yet, he could not make himself go. He stepped forward, somehow crossing all the way to the bed. “I am so sorry—I hope your aunt had my father thrown out—”

“Here,” she said, taking his hand and moving it to her stomach, almost forcing him to sit on her bed. “You can see for yourself that the child is still well. Agitated, yes, but alive.”

He smiled as he felt the baby moving under his hand. She was right. The child seemed rather well, though he would not blame it for being angry. “I am so—”

“Your father will say I am lying, but he… That is…” She took a deep breath, her eyes darting toward the door. She bit her lip, covering his hand with hers. “I do not want to say this because it is upsetting and almost impossible to believe, but I do not know if we will have another chance to talk if the doctor and my family—they will not want you to return or me to get out of bed.”

“You would not let them stop you from leaving your bed, even if you had to sneak out at night,” he said. He did not doubt that she would find a way should it be necessary. He hoped that it would not be. He did not want to see her hurt.

“Perhaps, but in case I am unable to see you again, I must tell you… Your father looks much like picture that Winston showed me of his father. I know it has been some time, but I swear they are the same man. Robbie, he not only stole your stories, he stole a photograph as well. That man… Winston must be insane and convinced that he is you.”

He closed his eyes. “That… I don’t understand. It is not that I do not believe you. I do. I just don’t understand why anyone would do that. Why me? I had… My life is not that good, and you could even say that it is rather terrible in some respects. The war, my arm…”

“I do not know why he would do something like that,” she said, and he opened his eyes again, guilty. He was still too concerned with his problems, not giving enough attention to hers, but he could hear the pain in her voice. “It makes so little sense.”

“My father was wrong. I cannot apologize enough for his behavior. He had no right to say anything to you, but what he did say—you are not a liar and—even if you were desperate, do not dignify his behavior by accepting his offer. Not that I thought you would, but he… I am so ashamed of him, of the way he treated you, and I am sorry that we caused you so much distress.”

She shook her head. “The moment I have a twinge, everyone shuffles me off to bed again. They can’t do anything for me except tell me to rest, and unfortunately, they are rather insistent upon it.”

“I should let you rest, then. That, and I should see to my father. I have to make him leave.”

She frowned. “Are you going with him?”

“If it proves necessary, yes. I rather think it would be better if you did not have to suffer either of our company while you recover.”

“Will… Will you at least write, then, and tell me what you learned, if anything? I do not want anything else from you or your family, but if you find Winston—”

“I assure you, I will tell you. I will not hold back any information from you. That is a promise.”

“Thank you, Robbie. I am… very grateful to you for all you have done.”

“It is nothing.”

“No, it is not. Trust me, it is not.”

Author’s Note: Sometimes, when a person is convinced that they’re right, they won’t listen to anyone else. Robert’s father is definitely one of those people.

So I have now officially separated this story out, given it its own category and renamed it. It has its own listing on the Kabobbles Serials page, plus a page with the summary and temporary cover art here. I am very proud of the cover art for both this and A Perfect Sunset, as they turned out quite beautiful.

Admittedly, part of the reason I incorporated the Three Word Wednesday words into this section was to show off the new organization and the covers. I had to share the covers.

The words today: lanky, destruction, and ultimatum.

Violet put her hands on her stomach, closing her eyes as she did. She did not know what she would do now. She had cried herself out in her mother’s room last night, and her mother had tried to help her. She was not going to say that she had not been helped, but she woke with no more answers than she’d had before. A part of her was relieved that Robbie had not come this morning, and yet at the same time, she found herself out of sorts because he had not. Would he never return, then? He had already suggested that he should leave, several times, in fact, and after that disastrous dinner, she had almost been certain that he would.

Why should he? What possible good had their talks done? She had not told him anything that could help him find the man who had taken his name, and she knew he felt that all he did when he spoke to her was hurt her.

True, it was painful to hear that he had been the one in all those stories that had amused her so much, the ones that made her think of Winston as a playful child, not as practiced or charming as he’d been when she met him. Sometimes when a person was too charming, they seemed as though they tried too much to conceal what they were not proud of, and while neither Winston nor Robbie had been too proud of the childhood mischief, she had been satisfied by believing that was what had led to him being so charming.

She had, of course, been quite wrong, but that was only clear now that he was gone and Robbie was here. Winston had seemed sincere before, and the charm was perhaps the most worrisome thing she’d noticed. Then again, she was a fool.

“I demand that you drop this ridiculous claim of yours,” a man said, bursting into the room, and Violet jerked as she sat up, frowning.

Robbie lagged behind the other man, his movements less forceful, more stumbling. She almost thought he would fall as he tried to catch the other man. Beside him, Robbie seemed lanky, though he had never been tall, lacking in all polish and bearing, with the older man standing rigid and disapproving, glaring at her from the other side of the room. Violet had to wonder if Harriet had been hurt when that man plowed his way into the house, because she doubted he’d been willing to wait, and Robbie looked rather guilty, so she thought she’d find that the maid was at least shaken if not injured.

Violet considered rising, but she did not want to do that, not when it could mean that she, too, might be pushed aside, something far more dangerous given her current condition.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I am sorry, Violet. I tried to persuade him not to do this, but Father has—”

“I am here to tell you that you will get nothing from my son or from me. This farce has gone on long enough already, and you will cease to make any further claims that impugn the honor of this family. Your lies will cease immediately.”

She swallowed, shaking her head. How dare he? What gave that man the right to come into her home and demand anything of her? “Sir, I have not and will not ask you for anything. I have made no claims. I have not lied. My story is not a trick or a game or anything close to such things. I assure you that I would no more joke about my condition or situation than I would knowingly ingest poison. This is not only undeniable, it is rather… irreversible.”

His eyes went to her stomach, and she let out a breath, hoping to forestall the next lecture that was coming. Robbie crossed to her side. “Please, don’t trouble yourself. Father is not in a mood where he will listen to anyone, and I won’t have him upsetting you after all that I have done. It was my intention to leave, but he would not be stopped. He doesn’t care what kind of destruction he brings with him, just that he gets his way.”

She nodded, her hand on her back. “I understand, and I do not—Oh. That… The child has become quite agitated. Will you please—”

“I see your pretense has fooled my son, but then he was always the gullible sort. Very well. I will settle upon you one thousand dollars. That is all you will ever get. You will stop your claims and retire in silence with that bastard child of yours.”

Violet stared, trying to summon a response to that horrible ultimatum, not sure if the tears stinging her eyes were motivated by his words or by the increasing amount of pain she felt.

“If anyone here is a bastard, it is you, Father. You should be ashamed of yourself,” Robbie told him. He knelt next to her, biting his lip. “I doubt I can carry you up to your room, but I am concerned—Harriet, go and get the doctor. I think Mrs. Winston has need of him again.”

Author’s Note: I think Violet’s scene can follow this and end this arc, but we’ll see about that tomorrow. 🙂

Robert should not have stayed. He had taken only a few bites of his meal before he understood the mistake he’d made. He had not thought it should be so difficult a thing, surviving a meal, since they were all civil people and knew how to be polite. They had all spent hours in each other’s company without incident. That precedent should have been a simple one to continue, but when her aunt’s disapproval combined with yet another stolen story, the evening was effectively ruined.

It might have been different if the story had not been one of Robert’s less savory moments, one of his later follies involving another girl he’d tricked—this time it was fooling the winner of the local baking contest into making him several pies—but nevertheless, all Beatrice did was frown as the others laughed, and when Violet looked at him and realized that the story her mother was repeating belonged to him as well, she had fallen silent.

No, that was not quite true. She managed not to sob with much of any sound, but her sadness spoke with every glint of the tears on her face or slight flinch of her body.

“Violet?”

“I am sorry, Mother. The story was amusing when we first heard it, and even though it was Winston’s, it did not bother me to hear again, but it is not… The story is Robbie’s, not his, and that is yet another one of them that… that was a lie.”

Robert grimaced. “Not exactly. It did happen, and I did get very sick off the pie, so the story is real. It’s just not his.”

“And how is it that he knows all of your stories?”

“If I knew that, I think I would know who he is. I don’t. I should, but I don’t.”

The spinster set down her napkin and shook her head. “I find that rather hard to believe. This whole farce has gone on quite long enough. If you were as honorable as you pretend to be, you would already have married her. Instead, you let her modern sensibilities cover over your inadequacies. Now you say that you are the one who has all these stories that he told Violet? I say that you must have been in collusion with him all along.”

“I beg your pardon, ma’am, but that is far from what has happened here. I admit that it seems implausible that I would not know a man who has done all this to me, but I swear that I do not. He took my name and my childhood, and it would seem that he hates me. I do not know why, but I will learn that when I find him. As for marrying Violet… That is something that is not for you or anyone else to decide—only the two of us have the right to determine that, and we have made the best decision that we can at present. It is not just about sensibilities. It is about much more than that. If there were some good reason why this man had done what he did, if his intentions were at all honorable, would you not want to see that he did what was right? How is that possible if I have already done it? And even though I think that prospect unlikely, it does occur to me that if he hates me so much, my involvement with your niece would make him angry and unreasonable. He could hurt her or the child or both, and I do not want that to happen. It is imperative that we find him and learn the reasons for his actions before we go any further in ours.”

Violet put a hand on her stomach. “I do not feel well.”

“I am sorry. I did not mean to distress you. It… I wish I had lied about all the stories being mine. That would, I think, hurt you less than I already have.”

She brushed at her eye, trying to compose herself. “It is not like you lying would make things better. You are not… You have the right to acknowledge those stories because they are yours. You need not attempt to protect me—I am afraid there is little that could do such a thing at this point. I have already endured most of the worst of it—I do fear when the birth comes as any mother might, but even that is not pain that you could spare me. Nor, in fact, do I expect you to spare me any of it. I am not your responsibility, Robbie, and I never have been.”

He reached over and took her hand. “I am not going to call you an obligation—not now and not ever—but you have suffered because of a man who seems to be looking to hurt me, and that means that I should do something about what you have been through, something to make it right.”

“I trust that you will when you find him,” she told him, withdrawing her hand. “Now I think it is best if you—”

“I think I should go. This is my fault, after all, and I should have declined your generous invitation since I knew it would upset Violet if I stayed. It has. I apologize, and I will not trouble you further tonight—or any night, for that matter. Please excuse me.”

She blinked, but he had already risen and started for the door. He did not dare look back. He knew what he’d told her earlier, but he did believe it was time for him to pack up and return home, even if it delayed the answers that might come in the mail. Surely that was worth sparing her this pain.

Author’s Note: I am starting to think that I can’t draw this out too much longer. It might be time for a twist or something, and yet… I have an end in mind, so we’ll just have to see if I can make the two things work. I will wrap up part of this idea soon, and then I can add in a new thought or two and make it more exciting, I think.

“What could you have done before the war that was so terrible? Did you seduce someone and leave her pregnant and alone?” Violet asked, folding her hands in her lap. She did not see how Robbie could think his stories so terrible. “Did you kill anyone? Did you steal someone’s name and lie to everyone?”

He grimaced. “That is hardly a fair comparison. I don’t know that I was—I didn’t act with malicious intent, didn’t do things to hurt others, but that is not necessarily an excuse. I didn’t go ruining everyone I saw—though I did steal a kiss—I tricked a girl into letting me close enough for one, and then I did refuse to marry her after that. I didn’t like the way she kissed.”

Violet laughed, but then she had to grimace. “Was her name Alice?”

Robbie nodded. “Yes, it was. How did you know?”

“Another one of his stories. I asked him how he knew that he loved me, that he wanted to marry me, and he said because he’d tried this before, that he’d kissed Alice Andrews, and she didn’t mean a thing to him—that he didn’t like the way she tasted. He said I tasted better, that I was something more like… like the garden and freshness and flowers, and I remember telling him that flowers do not taste good—”

“Oh, Violet, did you go eating them when you were younger?” Robbie teased, a grin on his face as he leaned toward her.

She flushed, feeling very foolish. “They looked so pretty and smelled so nice I thought they’d taste wonderful as well. I found that I was wrong. They did not taste good at all. It was a rather humiliating experience, though Mother laughed for days and said she’d picked the right name for me.”

“I do think she did.”

“You are not going to call me a sprite now, are you?”

“No, of course not. I just think that a fine name shared with a lovely flower suits you. You are in some ways as delicate and beautiful as a flower, but then you are stronger than any plant could hope to be, even those that withstand the winter frosts. I would not say that it is right to think of you only as your namesake, but I do think it agrees with you in many ways.”

She lowered her head, flushing for a different reason. “I would think it best if you do not flatter me, Mr. Winston. This is… Our situation remains quite awkward, and I do not wish to confuse things.”

He shook his head. “Forgive me. It was not my intention to be confusing, nor insincere. I hope I did not offend you or make you uncomfortable. I do not want to cause you any more distress than I have already. It seems every time we discuss a part of my past, I learn it has been usurped, and you learn that another story he told you is a lie.”

Violet put her hands together. That was part of what concerned her—indeed, she did not think she would avoid a second sleepless night over the matter. All of Winston’s stories were Robbie’s, and what she’d loved about him was not true, not even the slightest bit. She felt sick again. She did not want to give in to that feeling, that despair. She needed to act with the strength that he kept saying that she had.

“I think that I should go.”

“Oh, and just when I’d come in to ask you if you’d like to stay to dinner,” her mother said, drawing both their eyes to the doorway where she stood, a slight grimace on her face. “Are you sure you won’t? Cook has prepared Violet’s current favorite, and while I know we did have it the last time you dined with us, you did seem to like it.”

“So I did,” he said with a smile. “I would not mind staying—if Violet does not object to that.”

She should—or part of her thought that she should—but she also didn’t. She would like him to stay. She didn’t know what was best. She knew her mother wanted him here. She had already said so. Aunt Beatrice would not be as welcoming—she had not been pleased with Robbie since he refused to marry Violet when her aunt more or less decreed it.

“No,” she said, thinking that she would likely regret this. “I do not object.”

Author’s Note: This story was a lot easier to incorporate the words from Three Word Wednesday into, since all it took was Violet’s question to lead into them all. In fact, one of them kept coming up without any effort on my part.

The words for this week were: believe, penitent, and tribute.

“Do you believe he feels any kind of remorse?”

Robert shook his head. He had to think that if the man who’d stolen his name had any kind of repentance in him. If he had, he’d have come back and done right by Violet a long time ago. He’d have confessed, on his knees, to everything he’d done, to the lies and the theft, and after he’d finished, he’d take her by the hand and beg her to forgive him, to let him make it up to her for the rest of his life. He’d do anything to be able to marry her legally and be the father to her child that he should be.

Since he had not even bothered to write her since he left, Robert had to assume that he didn’t care at all what happened to her or the child. He didn’t have any remorse in him, and he would not be penitent, not now, not ever. He’d never come back and ask to be forgiven. He’d left, and he had no heart in him, not if he could abandon Violet like that.

“No.”

Violet nodded, turning away from the window, rubbing her back as she did. “I don’t think I can disagree with you. That is the hardest part in all this. I doubt that if he came back I would know what to do with him. Shouldn’t I hate him for the rest of my life? And yet… propriety would say that I should want him here, that I should be glad to have him if he’d only have me, that if he gave me a legal marriage and a name for my child that I shouldn’t care. I should just be grateful.”

Robert shook his head. “I don’t think so. How can you be grateful to have a man who abandoned you come back into your life like that? So what if he gives you a name and a marriage? Marriage to him would be a mistake you should not make a second time.”

She sighed. He grimaced. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. He crossed over to her side, taking her hand and trying to guide her back to her chair. She should be sitting, even if she didn’t think so.

“I just think it’s dangerous to let yourself be open to him hurting you all over again. Even if he begged for forgiveness, how would you know if he was sincere or not?”

“I don’t know. I don’t have any way of knowing. Everything I thought I knew about him was a lie, wasn’t it?”

“Not necessarily. Those stories were mine, not his, but maybe others weren’t. Maybe the real him showed through at times, and you loved that, too, didn’t you?”

She twisted her lip, biting it. “I don’t… What if that was the part of him that I found the most infuriating was the part that was the most real? What if the only part of him that was honest was the part I hated?”

Robert almost laughed. “I’m sorry, but I can’t see that you’d like only the parts that he stole from me. You are too smart for that.”

She gave him a look. “I was a fool, and we all know I was.”

He wanted her to stop saying that. He did not like it when she talked about herself that way. “You had no reason to think that he was lying. You didn’t know that his stories were stolen. You were perhaps a bit naïve, but who would think that he would deceive you like that? Even now we don’t know why he did that. His reasons for marrying you don’t make much sense.”

“Thank you.”

Robert winced. “I am sorry. That’s not what I meant. I can see why you were someone he was interested in, why he’d want to marry you, why he loved you, but what I don’t understand is why he thought he had to lie to get you.”

She let out a breath, brushing back some loose hair. “Perhaps it is what you said. He thought I was… That I was not willing to marry any man with less than your social status.”

“That makes him a fool. I don’t think that is what matters to you at all.”

She smiled. “Not so much. I did not plan on marrying before I met him, and then he… I found his stories charming and really wanted to believe that I was in love. Now… Well, now I don’t know that I was. If all I liked was his stories…”

“Perhaps he should have been a writer. He could have audiences love him like… uh… Dickens did.”

She laughed. “You’re not much of a reader, are you?”

“No.”

“He stole your stories, too, and just because he could tell them in a way that I enjoyed hearing does not mean that he could write them. I doubt he would want to write them down, though. All that book would be—”

“A tribute to boyhood mischief?”

“Well… yes, though I think there was more to his stories besides your childhood.”

“There was?”

“Does that scare you?”

“Considering some of the things I did before I went to war, yes, it does.”