The Heiress Effect (Brothers Sinister #2)(74)

“Oh, yes. In my future, a man will control all my possessions if I marry him, I shan’t be allowed to vote, and I won’t be given the opportunity to earn a living by any means except on my back—but by all means, the most dire threat I face is freckles. Maybe I should just spend all my time locked in a room. That way, I won’t freckle at all. It will be lovely for my health.”

Freddy’s lips tightened. “Tell your sister I take my exercise,” she snapped. “I do twenty circuits of my room every day. I’m fitter than she is.”

Free looked Freddy up and down. She probably hadn’t seen her since Christmas, and the changes were even more dramatic, Oliver supposed, spaced out over that many months. Free was no doubt cataloging the stoop in their aunt’s shoulders, the shallowness of her breath, the thin bones of her wrist.

Her eyes glistened, and she sniffed. “Tell my aunt that I’m so glad that she’s in such formidable health.” Free’s voice shook. “That I see that her choices are excellent.”

“Tell your sister that it’s none of her business if I die early.”

Free jumped to her feet. Her eyes glittered. “It’s none of my business if you die early? How hard is it for you to accept that we love you, that you’re killing yourself like this?”

Freddy folded her arms and looked away. “Remind your sister,” she repeated, “that I’m not speaking to her until she talks to me civilly. Until she apologizes for every harsh word she’s spoken.”

“What, like telling you that I hate seeing you like this? You want me to apologize for saying that you need to bestir yourself? You want me to apologize for caring about you? Never. I am never going to apologize. You are wrong, wrong, wrong, and I hate you for it!”

“Tell your sister,” Freddy said, even more cuttingly, “that if she cannot speak to me civilly—as I required when I opened the door—that she’s no longer welcome here.”

“Very well! Don’t stop me.” Free strode to the door. Her grand exit from the room was only partially foiled by the intricate locks—she fumbled with them—but she still slammed the door behind her once she’d worked them open.

Oliver stood.

“You’d better go after her,” Freddy said. Her eyes darted to the locks, now hanging uselessly. She didn’t say a word, but her breathing accelerated. “You don’t know—what’s out there.” She swallowed. “It’s dark. She really shouldn’t be alone.”

“She’ll be all right for a few moments.” Oliver went to the door and redid the locks. “She won’t go outside. She really does have more sense than that.”

All the ire went out of Freddy, but none of the unease. She slumped in a seat. That, in and of itself, tugged at Oliver. He sat down again, reached across the table, and took her hand. “Freddy,” he said, “if it’s making you so miserable, why do you keep fighting with her? I know she loves you. All you would have to say was that you miss her, that you love her, and you could end all of this.”

Freddy stared straight ahead. “I know,” she whispered.

“Why do you persist?”

“Because she’s right.”

Oliver jumped. In all his life, he’d never heard Freddy utter those words about anyone other than herself—or, on rare occasion, people who agreed with her.

“She’s right,” Freddy whispered. “She’s right. I’m trapped in here.” Her eyes glittered. “I’m too terrified to go out, and yet here I’m stuck. Without anyone at all, with nothing to do. I don’t even know who I am some days.”

“Oh, Freddy.”

“I opened the door yesterday,” Freddy said. “I put one toe out before I had such palpitations of the heart that I had to stop.”

Oliver put an arm around his aunt. “I’m so sorry. Why can’t you tell her that, though? She’d understand, if you’d just tell her that you’re trying.”

“What, and admit that she’s right?” Freddy snapped. “Not likely. I know exactly how I’m going to end this. One day, I’m going to open my door. I’m going to walk down the stairs, just like I’ve always been doing it. I’m going to open the front door…” Her voice paused; her hands were shaking. “And I’m going for a walk in the park.” She gave a nod. “And then I’m going to write to her and tell her that she’s wrong. That I can go outside, that I did, and that I’ll take no more of her impertinence.”

“Freddy.”

She sighed. “Very well. You tell her I’m trying,” Freddy said, and then before Oliver could promise that he would, a mulish look crossed her face. “No,” she said. “Don’t tell her. I want it to be a surprise. I want it all to be a surprise. I’ll show her. I’ll show her everything.”

He patted her hand. “I’m sure you will. Would it help if I came over to assist you?”

“You’re a sweet boy, Oliver. Don’t have much of your mother in you at all.”

Oliver stilled. “You think so?”

“Of course I think so,” Freddy replied. Her gaze abstracted. “Some people, when they’re hurt…they remember the challenge. They grab hold of the fire once, and when they’re burned, they make plans, trying to figure out how to hold live coals. That’s your mother. But some of us remember the pain.” She reached out and patted Oliver’s hand. “You’re like that. You remember the pain, and you flinch. When you were young, I thought you were like your mother—a regular coal-grabber. But no. Now I see more clearly.” She smiled sadly. “You’re like me.”