So He Tries His Best To Swallow His Pride And Bring Her Joy Even If Its At His Expense. Idk Maybe Loved This Charecter Cause I Haave A - Tumblr Posts

He sets his spoon down and I hear the crinkle of the newspaper being folded. I glance at the clock then at him.

"A little early to be..." the words die on my lips.

He's looking at me. His soft blue eyes suddenly sharp. He never looks at me these days. Not really. I think he is afraid of what he might see. Or more of what he won't.

He clears his throat.

"I'll be away for business over the weekend. I'm leaving Friday morning."

"Oh." Is all I manage, staring back, fighting the butterflies that leap to life in my stomach.

He breaks eye contact and I tell myself it is because those few seconds were all he could bear and not because the joy I failed to keep from my eyes stung him. He rings the bell for the maid signalling he's done with breakfast and ready for his things, placing it gently back on the table before he speaks.

He swallows staring at the wood of the tabletop, "You may wish to invite company to-- pass the time. If you do I shall ask Charles to stay on call while I am gone. Should you need to take the carriage anywhere."

"Oh," I find myself repeating. "Oh, no. No, I couldn't. Truly. I'll be just fine on my own."

"You need not worry about appearances." He offers quietly. "I can handle any untoward rumours."

My husband has never been a loud man. But he is far from quiet either. Always firm and focused and articulate. His actions. His gaze. His words.

This person standing before me is foreign. Is blunted around the edges. If not defeated, losing a battle that seems to have been raging longer than I've known. One that has been wearing him down slowly but surely.

You need not worry about appearances.

And in only these words he is telling me he knows. He is telling me he will not interfere. He is giving me some warped form of permission.

I can handle any untoward rumours

And in only these words he is telling me he knows. That others do too. That we have been the subject of the kind of gossip that buries itself under skin and drives reputations to rot. He is saying he will save face for us both. That when the speculation comes for us, he will defend me. I try and tell myself that of course he would. For such talk would be the end of him too. But I know I am fooling myself. He could abandon me. Let the stories devour me until my gowns were ragged and I was destitute.

This has nothing to do with shielding his pride from being wounded by others finding out what his wife was, or did when his eyes were turned. No. If this had to do with pride, well I would have dealt with the fallout a long time ago. He does not have to do this and yet he is. For me. And I find myself wishing in this moment his intentions were more selfish so I did not have to feel so terrible.

I try to ignore the fact that the way he says these words implies he has handled worse. That the rumours might be easier to deal with than the betrayal. The heartbreak.

I try to ignore the fact that he might be heartbroken. That I may have broken his heart.

"I-- I think I would rather be without the staff over the weekend. Have some time to myself." Without prying eyes. He may be able to handle rumours but I don't know if she can. I choose my words carefully. "And I do not believe I'll be needing to leave. I think I'll spend the time resting." In bed. With company. With her.  I choose my words carefully but it does not matter. He knows. Of course, he knows.

He nods just as Lucy enters the room. I take the coat from her. "I've got it, thank you. You are dismissed."

She bows her head politely and retreats into the hallway. He tucks the last of the papers into his briefcase and snaps the closures shut.

"Here," I say as he turns, "let me."

He isn't looking at me again. He's looking at the jacket in my hands. The hollows under his eyes seem darker than they did even a week ago. I realize I don't know if he's been sleeping. I haven't asked. And he's hasn't said anything. We haven't shared a bed in months. When was the last time we spoke? Really spoke? Had a conversation that wasn't idle chatter to pass mealtime?

He nods allowing me to help him into the sleeves but steps away as soon as I'm done, managing the buttons himself.

"Whatever will I do with myself while you're away?" I tease, but it comes out dry. A futile attempt to lighten his solemn mood.

I'm sure you'll find something to keep yourself entertained, Emma. I expect him to respond back, much too seriously, just as he used to. As he used to when we smiled together. When we made conversation. When he looked at me and was not afraid.

But instead, he pauses with his back turned to me hands clutching his briefcase on the table.

"Be happy, Emmaline." He says softly but clearly. "While I am away, be happy."

My heart shudders as I exhale his name. But he is already striding out of the dining room down the hall. The front door opens and shuts within a moment, but the echoes linger long after, haunting the halls and hollow rooms of this house.