C harles stopped short as he entered the library of the family's London town home, which they had been in residence for nearly two days without event but he was already going mad. He hated Town, always had, but even more so since his return from war. It was too loud, too close, too filled with dank and stench to be a place of peace. No, he much preferred Broadcroft, he'd always thought. But at the sight of his wife, curled into the window seat with a book in her lap, Charles began to wonder if he could not stand to stay in town if she wished to. What a fool he was, one moment desperate for her, the next disgusted by some imagined love affair.

"I should not be surprised to find you here," he said as a greeting, and Sarah looked up with worry in her eyes, the same worry that had hovered there the day he'd found her in the study at Broadcroft.

"I can go," she offered, quickly snapping close her book and jumping to her feet, making Charles feel like a beast.

"You scurry from me as if I am a monster," he said sourly, and he knew he sounded like a disgruntled child.

"You speak to me as if I am the last thing you want," she shot back, fire sparking in her eyes, making Charles curious. He took a few steps towards her, as if she were a skittish animal that might bolt.

"You do not seek me out, Sarah," he reminded her harshly, again taking another step towards her. Her little hands had balled into fists at her sides and she lifted her chin to defy him, and he wanted to devour her for it.

"And what have I to seek? Your derision? You hatred of me? Your open dislike?" she continued, anger making her cheeks flush.

"And how am I to overcome these things you mention, when you have so little trust in me? So little honesty?" he asked, his hands clasped behind his back, as he took two more steps and realized how truthful his words were, how deeply her unfaithfulness hurt him.

"I did not want to lie to you," Sarah suddenly lost that anger which had been holding her up and suddenly looked very repentant, "But I had nowhere else to go..."

"You should've trusted me, you should've come forward the moment I arrived," he reminded her, still in a critical tone, he was not prepared to forgive her yet. For this proof of deception led to the idea that others might yet exist.

"I -I -" she was turning whiter, a tiny twinge of guilt did hit his gut then, for he loved her and nothing she could ever do would change that, it was only this resentment he could not seem to shake.

"I thought you would be Richard," she finally whispered out, her lips were nearly white now, but her words hit him with confusion.

"Richard is dead," Charles cut out harshly, "Is he who you've pined for instead?"

"I did not know," she whispered, and she broke eye contact with him now, wrapping her arms around herself as if to fend him off. Why he was on the attack, Charles still did not know himself, but he could not be reined in until he knew her heart.

"How's that?"

"I did not know Richard was dead," she repeated in a quiet voice, still looking at the floor. With another step he stood toe to toe with her, but still she wouldn't meet his eye.

"If it had been Richard, you would've come forward?" he asked, still lashing her with his tone, "Am I to deduce from that just how disappointed you were in our marriage?"

"It is not what you think," she defended herself, and when she finally raised her eyes to his, tears were clinging to her eyelashes, "You and I have always been... friends," she said, never looking away from him.

"Richard was your childhood friend as well," he pointed out, for a moment it felt as if even his dead brother was competition for his wife's affection and loyalty.

"It was not the same, you must remember that," she said tearfully, "Richard cared as little for me as I did for him, demanding that he honor an old contract in order to save myself..."

"Demand?" Charles questioned, though the derision had left his voice. She seemed truly upset, and the more he could get her to confess, the more clearer he could see things.

"Yes," she said emphatically, "I had planned to throw myself on the mercy of a childhood agreement, but then you were the one who came through the door," here she paused and looked directly at him, "I couldn't do that to you."

"Couldn't ask me for help? Couldn't trust my honor?" he asked, his voice vulnerable and his questions true.

"I couldn't trap you, I couldn't make you marry me," she said firmly, more tears coming now, "What would it matter to marry a man who I care nothing for his opinion or his affection and not to receive it? It was better than marrying a monster of a guardian," she was weeping now, but Charles did not reach out to her, did not touch her at all.

"But Richard is not the one who came home that day... it was you instead. You who I have always cared for, who I would never have taken advantage of, I swear it! This is why I did not tell you," she sobbed, her hands waving at the space between them, "Because now I am your burden, and I must live the rest of our lives knowing that. Don't you see, Charles? Please grant me an annulment."

He was relieved, such a deep relief spread through him, and he knew in his gut that she was not lying. She had never been the things he'd accused her of, she was instead even more sacrificing than he'd realized before. For she thought him a man made miserable by marriage, and was therefore a woman heartbroken for it. He'd been a terrible fool, he could see that now as his wife stood before him, begging to be released from his disdain rather than to find another's love.

"I cannot, Sarah," he said in a hoarse whisper, he reached out to touch the tears on her face, but she flinched away from him. "Sarah," he said her name a little desperately, and she stared at him, teary-eyed, "You are not a burden, please let us begin again," he all but begged. She eyed him critically for a moment.

"Do you hate me?" she asked sniffling and hiccupping, "For lying to you and trapping you?"

"No, Love," he answered, trying to make her believe him now after all of the cruel things he'd said, she was still watching him, "I could never hate you," Charles reached for her again and she did not pull away. Sarah fit against him as if made to be there, and he held onto her tightly, as if she would leave him otherwise.

"I am sorry," Charles repeated before pressing his lips to the crown of his head. But she didn't reply.