Blessed Offense (Sixteen Seasons) Read Online Free

unkind is leading me to believe you did not care for me at all, that, in fact, you very nearly despised me, when you did nothing of the sort.”
    “I’m quite sure, I never—”
    “Yes, you did. And you know it. You drove me away, Caro. Why did you do it?”
    “I suppose you will say it is my fault you offered to my sister.”
    “And if I do say so?”
    “I would say you were extremely unjust. And disloyal.”
    “I have been that.”
    I did not expect this confession.
    “I said I’d come to ask your forgiveness, and so I have. But my guilt has nothing to do with pushing you into the pond—which I am sorry I did. Or with killing that wretched Juniper—which I have always regretted. Or with tearing your dress—which, had it been any other gentleman, I would have torn him to shreds. Or with any other transgression you might wish to remind me of. I’m sure there are others . . .” He paused then. “Have there been others?”
    “Perhaps.”
    “Such as?”
    “I doubt very much you regret them.”
    “Tell me.”
    “No. Speak your mind first.”
    He looks at me askance. “Very well. I’ve been disloyal, as I said. You explained to me the difference between pride and vanity. Which sin I have committed I’ll leave it to you to say, but after all the trouble I had taken, all the time spent, you would not have me. I could not go away empty handed.”
    “That is a monstrous confession, Mr. Townsend.”
    “It is. I know it. I own it. But in my defence, it was the only way to I knew to keep you near me.”
    “Which is precisely why—” But I found I could not say it.
    “Yes. Just so. You maintained those grudges as a safety. You lying, deceitful . . .”
    I am nearly brought to tears by his cruel accusations, true as they might very well be. “You have said that already.”
    But he does not stop. “...wise, clever, beautiful...”
    And the tears come in earnest, but they are not so bitter now.
    “Will you forgive me?”
    It seems I am not quite as humbled by the exchange as one would wish. “I don’t know,” I answer him as I dry my eyes.
    “You don’t know?”
    “I suppose it depends.
    “Depends? On what, may I ask?” He appears to be irritated with my prevaricating.
    “On what you mean to do now.”
    “I mean to marry you, you ninny.”
    My heart leaps. “How do you know I’ll have you?”
    “Well, I don’t. You’ve refused me before.”
    “So I have.”
    “Can I ask why?”
    “Because I am not, if you haven’t noticed, table salt.”
    “What?”
    “You asked me as if it were granted that I would accept you, as if after nearly drowning me in the pond, and killing my favourite pet, and....tearing my gown, I could have no thought in the world but to marry you.”
    “Didn’t you?”
    “Perhaps not until then.”
    He is silent a moment. And then: “What were the other offenses? Tell me.”
    “No.”
    “Why not?”
    “I no longer wish to discuss it.”
    “Do you fear I’ll repeat them?”
    “No. I’m afraid....”
    “Go on.”
    “I fear you won’t, if you want to know.”
    He approached me then. Perhaps there are advantages to having loved someone so long as I had loved him, and he me I think. There were things I never had to say. He just knew.
    “You aren’t still angry about the present I gave you on your nineteenth birthday.”
    “I may be,” I say more coyly than I thought I had the courage to do.
    He repeats the offense and repeats it well. Slow and lingering, gentle and earnest. I find I’m a little breathless when he at last releases me, pushing me far enough away from him to look me squarely in the face.
    “I am a stupid, inconsiderate, disloyal and thoroughly unworthy lout. But I might be everything that is good and honourable and right. If you’ll have me. Say you will.”
    “Is that the best you can do?”
    “What more can I say?”
    “You’ve never once told me you love me. Not ever.”
    With his hands framing my face, he presses his mouth to my ear.