Page 54 of The Trouble with Tweed

“Very well. I shall try to catch him alone.”

The thought of requesting a private audience with her brother and then revealing the unfairness of her private thoughts was awful. Michael was correct, however. It was the right thing to do.

“Don’t let it go on too long or you’ll lose your courage. Either that or you’ll tell yourself that the conversation doesn’t matter. And it does.”

She nodded. “How did you get to be so wise?”

“Trial and error, mostly,” he teased. “You mentioned you’d speak to your brother. What about your sisters?”

“I don’t know.” Claire shook her head and resumed her pacing. It was a short trek, as it wasn’t a large room. “Speaking to William will be difficult enough, but I have no real charge against him. I can simply explain. Knowing who he is, he’ll forgive me readily, even if he teases me a little for it first. But Beatrice…I get the impression that she’s mad at me, though I don’t know why. And I’m angry at her as well. So where does that leave us, if neither will apologize?”

“Perhaps you both should apologize.” He tossed the duck in the air and caught it.

“Perhaps. But that might be a tall order.”

“Relationships are difficult. There are so many little nuances, so many areas of hurt that the other person isn’t even aware of.”

Claire wondered if he was hinting at the unspoken hurt between the two of them. But if her conversation with William was going to be difficult, her conversation with Michael—should they ever have it—promised far more embarrassment on both sides.

“Do you think things can ever just heal on their own?” She winced, hearing the foolishness of her question even as she spoke it.

“Not if it’s any matter of great import. For little slights, everyday things, like annoyance that’s brought on by a lack of tea, then perhaps. However, if there’s any real injury, then a conversation is the first step out of it.”

Claire grimaced. “I rather wish it was as the old adage says, that time heals all wounds.”

He chuckled. “If time were enough to heal old wounds, then everyone over the age of sixty would be blissfully happy. There would not be a single bitter old person walking around.”

“I suppose you’re right.” She wrinkled her nose at the admission.

He laughed. “Speaking of bitter people, I think I might have a line on a Tweed that fits all your parameters.”

The following morning, Claire sat herself at her delicate writing desk and gathered her courage. As she expected her brother to be the more reasonable of her recipients, she wrote him first.

Dear William,

Forgive me for writing a letter. Admittedly, it might be better for us to discuss this in person, but as you are often out of the house, I haven’t been able to find the time. Or perhaps I’m writing because I am a coward, as this is a difficult topic for me to broach.

The truth is, I’ve been angry with you ever since you returned, though I’ve only just become aware of the true reason. (And it has nothing to do with what transpired between you and Miss Warrington all those years ago—a subject of which we never need speak again.)

While you were away, I worked very hard to keep our family afloat. With Richard dissolute and absent and then gone, the care of our seven sisters was left to me. I did my best, though my efforts were often far from adequate. When you returned, you relieved me of that burden and set things to rights in a way I could only have dreamed of doing.

But I confess I resented you for it even as I realized the right—and duty—of you doing so. Plainly put, I was jealous of your ability to fix things when I couldn’t. I begrudged you our sisters’ gratitude because I was never as deserving of it, no matter how hard I tried.

I’m sorry that it took me so long to realize the source of my ire. I hope you will forgive my petty grudge against you. I now realize that you were undeserving of my anger.

Sincerely,

Claire

That afternoon, she received a reply.

Claire,

Strange, to receive a letter addressed from one’s own house. It rather reminded me of passing notes back at Eton.

Thank you for your letter. I understand why you felt as you did. In case I didn’t appropriately say as much during the maelstrom of those first months— Thank you, Claire. For protecting our sisters. For keeping them safe and fed and sheltered—from both the elements and the judgement of society.

You are just as much to thank for the opportunity you and your sisters now have as I am. For if their reputations had been tarnished during that time, even a fortune as vast as mine could not have helped them.