Page 80 of Dalliances & Devotion (The Truitts 2)

“No. I mean, I never asked, but he told me time and time again that he didn’t believe in it. He made a bunch of excellent points. And he has personal reasons. He’s upset because his father abandoned his mother and believes now his duty in this life is to work towards equality to make up for it, or something.” Amalia’s ears scalded, worse than the pain in her arms. Because out loud, to her parents, that all sounded like a bunch of excuses. “Oh god.”

“What?” Her mother’s rasp of distress was so loud, Isis squawked and found a higher perch.

“It’s me, isn’t it?” And now came the tears. “If I was really enough, he’d find a way around that, wouldn’t he? Or he’d suggest an alternative. Because if he loved me like I love him, he’d offer something, some sort of sign of devotion. He’d find a way to make us a family, not just some private dalliance.”

Her mother shook her head, her bright cornflower eyes stricken. “I can’t answer that. That’s between the two of you.” She wagged her finger so hard it was a wonder the large amethyst didn’t fly from its casings and hit someone in the face. “I will say, though I can’t advise you, unless the two of you can discuss this and be honest about what you want and what your limits are, you will only repeat the same hurt over and over.”

“Though—” Her father’s voice took on a dangerous edge. “Listen to me closely, Amalia. You’ve spent way too much time trying to mold yourself into someone else’s vision. You deserve better than that.” He glared. “If he refuses to compromise, or try to see your perspective, he’s worthless. Completely and utterly beneath you—” The slam of a door down the hall startled her. She gasped as familiar footsteps clapped towards the stairs. “How long was he in here?”

Her parents both glanced at

each other, their eyes wide in surprise and horror.

No.

He couldn’t have heard her father, could he? Or at least if he did, he’d stop, let her explain.

With what little strength she could muster, she lifted herself up, for once without thoughts about her hair or garments. Amalia hobbled to the door and down the hall, calling his name. He had to stop, had to listen, had to talk. If they could talk to each other and not past each other, they’d make everything all right.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Blood pounded in David’s ears as he raced down the hall towards the grand staircase. He had to get out. Had to leave. Had to crawl into a hole somewhere and sleep and maybe, just maybe his heart wouldn’t break into a million pieces that could never be put together again.

Though the cracks were coming. His chest ached as if it would explode any moment. Someone was calling his name, but he paid them no heed as he took the wide stairs two at a time into the vast foyer.

“Where are you going so fast?” Will, with Thad next to him, trotted in from the parlor.

“What’s wrong?” Thad asked. The taller man paled. “Is my sister well?”

“Oh, she’s recovered.” Bitterness spewed from his throat as he made his way to the door, not waiting for the well-dressed butler to assist him. “Well enough that she and your parents are discussing how worthless and unsuitable I am. A penniless peddler is fine to use in the field, but in your home?”

“What?” Thad followed him outside, Will on his heels. “What do you mean? I can’t imagine Amalia or my parents saying anything like that. My family doesn’t care about where you’re from or how much money you have. Not all of us were born rich, you know?”

“Well, I think your sister forgot that, or was never told.” He clenched and unclenched his hands. How could he have been so foolish, to let himself be blinded by her...her...her charm? Again.

David slammed a fist against his thigh, though the pain of the hit did nothing to stop the pressure behind his eyes. “She hasn’t changed. She’s the same person who was willing to sneak off with me, but marry Ethan. Fine to use as a workhorse or as a—” He bit his tongue, unable to even describe what Amalia used him and his heart as.

He whirled around to face them, forcing his back and posture straight even as everything inside him crumbled.

“Don’t you not believe in marriage? Don’t you rail about that every two seconds? To anyone who will listen?” Thad asked.

“He never said that to me.” Will frowned.

“He’s smart enough not to spew his nonsense around someone whose rights are limited in that respect. But for someone who understands the power of words...” Thad continued on but his words jumbled as David’s mind spun and churned, bringing him back to Grodno and his family who resented him. And his father.

Who didn’t want him either. Just like Amalia.

Why did he do this to himself? Why did he think it could be different?

“Why did I ever believe her apology, believe that she somehow thought better of me? Or more that we had the same view of the world?” His throat burned. “It’s fine. I know where I’m no longer wanted. I did my job and did it well and I can leave you all to live your happy lives, without me.”

The drumming returned to his ears. He turned on his heels with as much dignity as he could muster, especially given his jacketless, baggage-less state, and marched towards the road. He’d walk to the train station if he had to. And get some good boots in Philadelphia. And figure out a way to forget these people—well, one particular person—once and for all.

* * *

Tears streamed down Amalia’s cheeks as she near threw herself down the staircase and towards the open front door. Why wouldn’t her legs work right? Hair flopped in her face as she stubbed her bare toe for the fourth time. Her shoulder throbbed but she couldn’t, wouldn’t stop, because she had to catch him, had to explain, louder and better.

“I have to get to him. I have to make him understand.” She repeated the words over and over until two small arms stopped her and eased her to the floor in the center of the foyer. Meg pulled her close to her body.

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