“Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us.” Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
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Chapter Eleven
“Your sister seems very pleased,” murmured Simon to Imogen.
They had left the settee to allow Elena’s mother and sister time with the newly christened twins. Little Elin was not forgotten. She was currently being smothered in affection by Bess.
Simon had collected Imogen’s teacup for her and they had moved to the side of the drawing room, away from potential eavesdroppers. He could see small tremors running down her arms as she held the teacup, the tremors rattling the china quietly.
Simon could not fathom the respect he had for Imogen. Not only did he fancy her, he respected her beyond anything. Even when she was exhausted, like she clearly was, she was not about to give up. His arms were empty and strong. If she fainted, he would catch her.
But he did truly fancy her. The longer he looked at her, the longer he was in her presence, the more he liked her. She was beautiful and lovely and elegant and delicate. She was everything a sane man would want in a wife.
Imogen looked over to her sister who was still happily playing the pianoforte. She smiled wistfully and nodded. “Indeed, she is, Colonel,” she replied.
Simon glanced over at Joaquín. He had caught the King looking over at Alexandra in that moment. He looked utterly cheerful himself. Joaquín and Alexandra seemed to look at one another every thirty seconds or so.
“As does the King,” he continued.
“Many young men will be heartbroken now,” Imogen said, looking up at Simon.
“Why?” he asked.
Imogen blushed. Simon thought her embarrassment was endearing. “Is it not obvious, Colonel? Allie has many admirers.”
It was obvious as to what Imogen was hinting at. Her pretty sister being unavailable would disappoint many potential suitors. “And what of you?” he asked before even thinking. He immediately chastised himself. It had been years since he had so candidly spoken with a woman. It had been years since he had been interested in a woman. Well, he supposed that was a lie. He was a man, after all, but a terribly disfigured one. It had been years since he had had the courage to speak to a woman that he fancied.
“What about me?” asked Imogen.
Simon panicked, saying the first thing that popped into his mind. “Is it not your turn to select an admirer?”
He internally groaned. That was the last thing that he wanted to say. He did not want to encourage admirers. Had the difficulty of conversing with women quadrupled since he had last tried it? Once upon a time he had but to merely smile at a woman and she would go weak at the knees. That was how it had been with Helen.
“Oh, Colonel,” mumbled Imogen bashfully, “my pool of admirers is considerably smaller than Allie’s. Gentlemen in our acquaintance desire a wealthy, healthy bride, Colonel. I may be the former, but I am certainly not the latter.”
Simon frowned. Sometimes … a lot of the time, he found the ton so insufferable, so pathetically preoccupied with securing the perfect specimen that they threw away diamonds in the rough. Imogen was certainly a diamond in the rough. In the short time that he had known her, she had gone from being practically bed ridden, to being able to stand all day.
He decided to change the subject. “The children are very sweet,” he commented, nodding towards the twins, and to Elin.
Seeing the children, experiencing their infancy, made him feel quite guilty. Simon had reassured himself time and again that he was doing everything for Harry, that he had everything he could possibly want.
At times, on dark days, he often thought that what he was doing for Harry was adequate enough. The boy was not his responsibility, not really, so paying for his care was more than generous.
But he quickly shook off those thoughts. Those thoughts were brought on by his resentment of Helen and his own self-loathing. The poor child was innocent and Simon was glad to care for him.
But when seeing how this family interacted, how close they were and how far they went for their children, Simon felt as though he should have Harry with him. He had given the boy his name so Harry was effectively his son.
But what did he know about raising a child?
Simon heard Imogen delicately placing her teacup down on the neighbouring buffet just as she asked, “Do you have a child, Colonel?”
Simon’s eyes immediately widened. Had she been reading his mind? Was he that transparent? “I beg your pardon?”
Imogen’s cheeks reddened. “I am sorry to be nosy, but I could not help but wonder.”
But wonder so accurately? Nobody knew about Harry. Nobody knew about Helen. He had made sure of this. How had Imogen guessed one of his deepest secrets so quickly?
Simon furrowed his eyebrows as he frowned, the right brow pulling on his scar tightly. It did not pain him, it was merely slightly uncomfortable now. “Why would you wonder at that?” he huffed.
Imogen was not an imbecile. She looked up at him bravely, looking him right in the eye. She was a tiny, little thing, but her clear, hazel eyes showed true intelligence and … tenacity.
“Because I believe you lied to me when you spoke of why I did not drop Aurelia during the christening. Only someone with a child to care for could say such things,” she said firmly.
Simon recalled the moment exactly. He had thought he had covered his slip of the tongue well but clearly Imogen had caught him in a moment of weakness. Any attempt to persuade her otherwise would just be a blatant lie.
“Confide in me, Colonel,” Imogen said softly. “It seems to me as though you have not confided in anyone in a long time.”
Simon chuckled quietly, not out of amusement, but out of sheer disbelief that she had seen through him so quickly. “How perceptive you are, Lady Imogen.” It was a compliment, a true compliment. His own brother had not realised Simon’s demons, though Simon did not give him much of an opportunity to know them.
“There is a child,” Imogen realised.
Simon nodded once. “Do you judge me for it?” he wondered. He wanted to see her reaction. At this moment in time she had to believe that Simon had gotten a young woman into trouble without marrying her. Any man who did such a thing was not a gentleman. When she knew the actual truth, he hoped that she would look upon him more favourably. He valued her opinion.
Imogen shook her head. “No, not after the way you spoke about caring for a child. I knew then that you loved it,” she said tenderly.
This young lady was a good person. She was mesmerising. “I do love him,” Simon replied quietly. He did love Harry. He had not seen the boy since he had entrusted him to the midwife, but he did love him.
Imogen smiled at him. Simon thought that she was taking this news startlingly well considering she thought that Harry was his illegitimate child. “Who is he? What is his name?” she asked.
“His name is Harry,” replied Simon, “and he is the son of my late wife and her lover.” Simon had never said those words out loud before. He had never vocalised the fact that his wife had betrayed him. It felt quite good to say it out loud, as if he was letting go of something that he had been clinging to for so long.
His confession had completely stunned Imogen.
“Close your mouth, Lady Imogen,” said Simon comically, “or you will catch a fly.”
Imogen’s mouth promptly closed. “Colonel … I … I do not know what to say,” Imogen stammered.
“You need not say anything, Lady Imogen,” replied Simon. “It was nice to say that out loud. It has haunted me for some time.”
“But Colonel, I assumed …” she trailed off.
“That Harry was mine?” he finished the sentence for her. Imogen bashfully nodded. “He is mine in name. I pay for his care. His mother died giving birth to him and it was her dying wish for her son to be given a name.”
Imogen chewed on her lip nervously as she pondered what to say next. He could tell that she felt awkward.
“Please do not say anything about Harry to your family,” he asked her quietly. “My brother does not know anything, nothing about Harry, or about my late wife.”
“But why?” Imogen asked immediately. She suddenly seemed to regret asking the question to brazenly.
Why? Because Simon wanted his older brother to be proud of him.
Simon did not want James to know that he had married Helen because he wanted someone to write to. Simon did not want James to know that he had been afraid, terrified, going into battle and so he had married Helen to talk to her. Simon did not want James to know that Helen had been disgusted with his appearance, her reaction becoming what he expected from anyone he encountered. He did not want James to know the true nature of his shooting, and he did not want him to know just how guilty he was. He did not want James to know that Helen had run off with a lover and had left him her son on her deathbed.
Simon was already burdensome enough. His flaws only increased. The least he could do to repay his brother was pretend that everything was alright.
“Why? My brother is happy. Why ruin his happiness with my ghosts?”
Imogen frowned sadly. “That is such a shame, Colonel.”
“Will you stay silent?” Simon pressed, wanting assurance that she would not repeat what he had said.
“Of course,” replied Imogen, nodding. “But if your brother is anything like mine,” she added soft, nodding towards David, “he would carry your burdens, he would do anything to help you.” Simon knew she meant that literally. David had been carrying her for years.
“You have done enough to help me,” said Simon. For now, he thought. “Now, allow me to help you.”
“What?” Imogen furrowed her eyebrows.
“Lady Imogen, you are trying not to shake,” Simon said almost accusingly. She did not need to be strong for him. She was tired. He offered her his arm and she begrudgingly, albeit gratefully, took it. He immediately felt her relax as he took her weight. She was ever so slight. “Thank you,” he added softly.
She looked up at him with those intelligent hazel eyes and frowned. “Why?”
He smiled down at her. “For allowing me to confide in you.”
It was a start, a good start to revealing himself. He was glad that somebody else knew about Harry.
But little did she know, Harry was not the only child in his care.
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Hope you liked it! I wrote this chapter while I was sitting in the waiting room while my car was being service. 3 hours. Nightmare. Then I got home and decided that I didn't like the chapter so I re-wrote it in Simon's POV :P
Probably won't be another chapter until Monday (maybe!). It's my mum's birthday tomorrow and I go back to uni on Monday, which is so annoying because it's Labour Day and everyone else gets a public holiday except for universities.
But I went to my uni's orientation week for first years this week to sign up for the student union again and my friend and I are just looking at all the cheerful first years smiling and exploring and we're like "Yeah, just wait until you set your alarm for 5:30 and you have 4 2500 word assignments due in one week that need perfect APA format and references and citations." That's when the wagging starts lol. I'm tired just thinking about uni lol.
Anyway, Lucy's buffing me wanting her dinner. Vote and comment!!