Peter to inherit it all.” She tapped her fingers together. “Then why marry me knowing my child would be your heir. You would take it all from Peter a second time.”
He started to answer, but she cut him off, “You said that Peter was terrified of your dying and leaving him the estates. He does not want it. That is the irony of the situation, is it not? He might be the true heir, but you are the one with the desire and will to manage it, to take a marquess’s position in society.”
“It is merely that he was not trained to it.”
“You sound as if you try to convince yourself. Peter is a dear man, but he has no more desire for all this than a dog might wish to ride a horse – forgive me I do not mean to compare your brother to dog.”
Tristan did not say anything. He walked behind his desk and sat, his hands flat on the surface in front of him.
Marguerite flattened her own hands on her lap. “You married me so that Peter would be spared the inheritance. I still do not understand why you should be so against having your own child if your brother does not want the title. I do not see how that helps anything.”
Tristan looked away from her. He stared at the bookshelves. Did he count the titles? He certainly seemed distracted as he spoke. “It serves my own sense of justice. In your meetings with my mother surely you have heard her discuss her lineage, her vaulted bloodlines. Do you think I would give her the satisfaction of having what she wants when she has betrayed all? If Peter had wanted it, wanted his children to have it, I would have put that aside. He is without fault in this, but he does not want it and I will not let her win under those circumstances.”
Marguerite felt completely empty. She had no emotion left. She had started the morning full of joy and anticipation. Tristan’s first words had filled her with horror, then anger, and then pain. Now, knowing the truth there was simply nothing left – nothing except understanding. She could see how they had come to this.
It did not make it easier to bear.
“You married me for revenge. That was what it was about.” She curled her hands into fists. “You must have loved her very much that she could hurt you so deep.”
“She was my mother.” He let the statement hang.
“And yet you have no forgiveness.”
“I might be able to forgive her for what she did to me, but never for what she did to my father. If you could have seen his love, and trust, for her shining in his face that last night perhaps you would understand.”
“You must have been devastated that I was not pregnant.” Marguerite closed her eyes so that she did not need to look at him. “You had no bastard brat to proudly parade before her.”
She could hear him stir in his chair. He shifted as if her words discomforted him. Why should he care, she was but a pawn. She had wanted independence and ended up a playing piece on someone else’s board.
“It was not like that.” His boots clicked on the floor, he stood and she could hear him begin to pace again. “It is true that I was not displeased with the thought of punishing my mother and giving my brother what he truly wanted, but –“
“But, what about what I wanted? What I needed?” Her voice filled with emotion she did not know she felt. “What about me?”
“I thought I was doing the correct thing for you. You needed comfort and support.
“Comfort, when did you offer me comfort?”
“I offered you my name, my position – surely that counts as comfort.”
Marguerite laughed. She clasped her hands over mouth trying to stem the tide that threatened to bubble over. He thought he had offered comfort. He had offered her many things, security, desire – oh yes, desire, independence, perhaps even friendship – but, comfort? No, she could not remember comfort. The giggles grew to hysteria. Again she remembered that first night sitting here, begging him for the funds to leave, to find her own place in the world. How different it would all have been if he had listened.
She had laughed then too, unable to hold back the overflow of emotion. He had sat there, offering the answers to all her needs, but had he