Mark remembered this part all too well. He opened his mouth to defend himself, then shut it. This was about Ellen, about her grief and loneliness and despair. About her desire for comfort and support that had failed to come when and how she needed it.
“And instead of a letter, what do I get? Six words. Six little words, burned into my brain for eternity.” Ellen shook her head. “You know, I didn’t hate you before that. I was confused and heartbroken by you leaving, yes, but I didn’t hate you.”
Mark closed his eyes under the assault. What could he say? She was right.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Ellen mimicked. “That’s what you wrote to the mother of your child. Your dead child. Who you never even met.”
“I see,” Mark said unsteadily, removing his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I…I understand why you hate me so.”
Ellen buried her face in both her hands. “I don’t hate you. Not when you are so supportive of my work and you gave me the locket and the frame.” She parted her fingers. “Why did you have to be so horrible then, and why are you so wonderful now?”
Mark wanted to fall at her feet and beg for forgiveness. He wanted to protest and explain his side of the story. He wanted so many things. He took a shaky breath. “I don’t know what to say. I can apologize for what I did—indeed, I do apologize—but it doesn’t erase the damage I did. I can promise to be better, to never leave you like that again, but you don’t want promises, only action. I can give you time to think things through if you want, or I can stick by you like a barnacle. Just say the word.”
Ellen dropped her hands, letting her elbows rest on her knees and her forearms fall. Her lips twitched. “I threw the vase.”
“Good.”
“I think I might’ve screamed. I was so angry. It frightened my mother, who couldn’t get more than a whisper out of me for months. It shattered on the corner of the mantle. Left a chip in the wood, too.”
Mark imagined it, her hair in disarray, her entire body vibrating with fury, shattered porcelain and scattered roses at her feet. “Good.” He sighed, looking at the woman he loved, the woman he’d broken. “What do you want to do?”
He meant about their relationship, about how to move forward or backward, but Ellen stood and said, “I want to take a bath, eat supper in my room, and if I’m feeling up to it, I’ll still go to the opera. I haven’t seen Luke in ages and it would be nice.”
Mark nodded silently. “Whatever you wish.” He watched as she left his study, wishing yet again he could go back and do it all over again.
Chapter Thirteen
Ellen enjoyed the opera on occasion, though she hadn’t gone in years. Her parents had tempted her from time to time, but she was either exhausted from a good day at work or morose from a bad one that she’d often gone to bed instead. The opera started late and ended past midnight more often than not, and she couldn’t keep those hours while still working at the dispensary.
The carriage ride over to the opera house had been silent. She'd opened her mouth once to assure Mark everything would still be well, she wasn’t that upset, then closed her mouth. Because the truth was hehaddone poorly. Shewasthat upset. And heshouldbe apologetic. Mark, in contrast, sat calmly nearby—not too close, not too far, and stared a hole in the headrest opposite him. If she didn’t know him so well, she wouldn’t have noticed the tension in his legs.
Ellen distracted herself by thinking of her list of duties tomorrow. Earlier that day Amelia had clutched the doorframe and leaned toward Ellen. “Ellen,” she began in an exaggerated, wheedling tone.
Ellen turned to face her friend. “Oh dear,” she deadpanned. “Yes?”
“I received a note from Mrs. Chisom. She said she is willing to donate a cheque to us, and we’re supposed to meet her in three days.”
Ellen raised her eyebrows. “‘We?’”
“At the Church of St. Barnabas in Pimlico,” Amelia continued.
Ellen wrinkled her nose. “I dealt with her last time.”
Amelia beamed. “And you did so brilliantly you convinced her to give us pounds sterling!Pleasecome with me? You’re better at this than I am.”
Ellen sighed, shoulders drooping in defeat. “Oh, very well.”
Now, at the opera, Mark had placed a hand above her lower back, not touching her, enough that she felt the air pressure change, and escorted her inside and through the crowded foyer. A smartly-dressed usher looked at the note in Mark’s hand and pointed the way up to the box entrances.
Mark opened the door to box 12, and Ellen stepped in to find a slightly younger, more handsome version of Mark. Luke was two years younger with twinkling brown eyes and sensuous, pouting lips. He was very pretty, and Ellen idly wondered how many hearts he’d broken.
“You came!” Luke stood from his seat and embraced Ellen. “It’s been far too long. Come, how is my favorite sister-in-law?”
Ellen laughed despite herself. “I’m your only sister-in-law.” Luke was the charmer in the family. She’d forgotten. Compared to his younger brother, Mark was serious and earnest. She returned the embrace, then looked at the five chairs facing the stage. “Are we your only guests?”
“Yes, where’s Baker?” Mark spoke up beside her, leaning forward to shake his brother’s hand.
“Baker?” Ellen inquired.