his books and basked in my speeches. There’d been a kind of invisible cord running between us then, and I tried to think exactly when it’d been broken. The day he forbade me books? Thomas’ farewell party, when he hurled his vicious words? You shame yourself. You shame us all. Where did you get the notion that you could study the law?
“I remind you, Sarah, there is no divorce law in our state,” he was saying. “Once you are married, the contract is indissoluble. You are aware of this?”
“Yes, Father, I know.”
He nodded with what seemed like bleak acceptance.
That was where my mind alighted in those final moments before Thomas delivered his news, upon Father and my last encounter with him, upon his frailty.
“You’ve always been my favorite sister,” Thomas said. “You know that. In truth, you’ve been the favorite of all my siblings.”
He paused, stalling, gazing through the window across the piazza into the garden. I watched a drop of perspiration slide to his temple and cling in the net of wrinkles that was already forming. A strange resignation settled on me. Whatever it is, it has already happened.
“. . . Please, I’m not as fragile as you might think. Tell me plainly.”
“You’re right. I will simply say it. I’m afraid Burke Williams has misrepresented himself to you. It has come to my attention that he has other female acquaintances.”
Without considering the hidden entendre, I said, “Surely, that’s not a crime.”
“Sarah, these acquaintances—they’re also his fiancées.”
I knew suddenly what he said was true. So many things made sense now. The delay in naming a marriage date. The incessant trips he made to visit family or conduct business. The curious fact that someone so full of looks and charm had settled on me.
My eyes filled. Thomas dug for his handkerchief and waited while I dabbed them dry.
“How did you learn of this?” I asked, composed, no doubt protected by the recoil of shock.
“Sally’s cousin Franny in Beaufort wrote to say she’d attended a soirée there and seen Burke openly courting a young woman. She didn’t approach him, of course, but she did discreetly question the young woman, who told her Burke had recently proposed.”
I looked down at my lap, trying to absorb what he’d said. “But why? Why would he do this? I don’t understand.”
Thomas sat and took my hands. “He’s one of those men who prey on young ladies. We hear of this kind of thing now. There’s a fast-set of young men acquiring fiancées in order to—” He paused. “To lure women into sexual liaisons. They assure the women that given the promise of wedlock, such compromises are acceptable.” He could barely look at me. “I trust he didn’t take advantage—”
“No,” I said. “He did not.”
Thomas exhaled with relief that embarrassed me in its extravagance.
“. . . You said fiancées. Beside the acquaintance in Beaufort, there’s another?”
“Yes, I believe she lives in Savannah.”
“And how did you learn of this one? Not another cousin, I hope.”
He gave me a weak smile. “No, this one I heard of from Burke himself. I confronted him last evening. He admitted to both young ladies.”
“You confronted him? But why didn’t you let me—”
“I wanted to spare you the pain and disgrace. Both of our parents agreed you should be left out of it. There’s no reason for you to see him again. I’ve broken the engagement on your behalf.”
How could you? He’d usurped any chance I had for personal retribution. In that moment, I felt more enraged by Thomas’ babyish protection than by Burke’s cruelty. I sprang to my feet and stood with my back to him, almost gagging on mouthfuls of jumbled, scathing words.
“I know how you must feel,” he said behind me. “But it’s better this way.”
He knew nothing of how I felt. I wanted to shout at him for uttering so arrogant a claim, but when I whirled about, I saw his eyes were filled with tears and I forced myself to speak with civility. “. . . I would like to be alone. Please.”
He stood. “There’s one more thing. You’ll need to withdraw from public for a brief time. Mother believes three weeks will be sufficient for the talk to die down. Then you can return to society.”
He left me by the window, engulfed with anger and mortification, and with nowhere to hurl it except at myself. How could I have fallen prey to such a lascivious person? Was I so besotted, so needy, so blind that I imagined