Dear God, how was she supposed to respond to that? She couldn’t deny it, but neither could she agree. Serena opened her mouth, but found nothing to say that would make this moment any better. ‘I’m sorry, Edward.’
Before he could respond, she made a hasty retreat, not pausing until she was locked in her room to be alone with her troubled thoughts.
26
Although Serena paced back and forth in her room enough to wear a rut into the rug, no amount of reasoning could help straighten her mind. What she needed was to talk the matter over with someone, but with whom? Who in this house would be most likely to give her honest answers?
Serena blew out a deep breath and leaned against the wardrobe. Perhaps the blame was not so misplaced after all. Since she’d come to Aleron, Edward’s equilibrium had been unbalanced. When she’d arrived he’d been in a sour mood, then slipped into a mania of euphoria and excitement, and now the depths of despair. He called it a curse, but the family claimed he was ‘brain sick’. The question was, had Edward been relatively stable before she came? Not if Mrs Jones was to be believed. But Mr Simon held an opposing opinion. Who was right?
Before Serena had fully formed the idea, she’d flung open the door and headed for the gardens, ignoring the chilly wind that howled through the countryside. She needed to speak candidly with Mr Simon and understand the truth of his revulsion once and for all. Serena found him in a corner of the garden, on hands and knees, weeding one of the flower beds.
Still churning with unresolved emotion, Serena placed her hands on her hips, her skirts whipping around her legs. ‘What is it precisely you hold against me, Mr Simon?’
He hadn’t even sensed her approach judging by the way he started, colour rushing to his neck. He stammered, as he rocked back onto his haunches and straightened, dirt smeared on clothes and hands. Even his face was smudged with black soil.
‘You know exactly what the problem is, Miss Bellingham. I’ve not tried to hide my thoughts on the matter.’ Mr Simon gritted his teeth, even as he wiped black muck from his hands onto a rag from his trouser pocket.
‘Except that your accusations are completely unfounded.’ Serena swung her arms out, impatient for truth.
‘I doubt it.’ He folded his arms, resolute.
‘How do you suppose I came to be here, Mr Simon?’
A mirthless laugh escaped his lips. ‘You somehow wormed into Edward’s affections and manipulated him into an invitation here on the pretence of work.’
Serena pressed her lips together so tight they must have gone white, but it was preferable to screaming at the belligerent man. ‘How wrong you are.’ She bit out the words.
‘You deny that Uncle Eddie is beguiled?’ Mr Simon’s mouth twisted with cynical amusement.
‘How Mr King feels now is irrelevant. I—’
‘Ha! You admit it then?’
‘Admit what?
‘That he is enamoured of you?’
‘I am not admitting anything. He forced me to come here!’ Serena finished the sentence he’d cut off earlier.
A blank stare replaced the bitter expression he wore seconds earlier. ‘Forced?’
She hissed a frustrated sigh. ‘My father presumed to help himself to shelter and food from the dining table one day when the weather was poor. Papa then dared to pocket one of Mr King’s miniature roses when your uncle found him. He threatened to have Papa incarcerated, and I was left with no choice but offer to work off his debt, lest my sisters and I starve. And thus, you find me.’
Weakened by the vehemence of her outburst, Serena slumped onto the damp grass, heedless of the mud that might seep through her dress. She watched as thoughts and emotions flashed across Mr Simon’s face.
‘Even if that is true, you cannot deny you have bewitched him.’
‘I beg pardon?’ Serena gazed up at him in disbelief.
‘Once you saw how vulnerable Uncle Eddie was, you resolved to turn his head. You only want his money. Confess. The same thieving blood that runs through your father’s veins, flows through yours.’
From where did this absurd, twisted, poison stem? ‘How dare you insult me, sir? How dare you?’ Heat burned in her face and neck as she stood to look him in the eye, rigid with anger.
‘I dare because someone has to tell you what you are.’ Mr Simon stepped closer, stretching to his full height. A device to intimidate, no doubt, even though he smelled strongly of clay.
‘And what am I?’ Serena’s eyes narrowed to slits, and she clenched her fists around the folds of her dress.
Mr Simon leaned in close and lowered his voice to a dangerous whisper. ‘A manipulative, scheming, thieving witch.’
The shock of his words sucked the air from her lungs. No one, ever, had spoken to her thus. It stung, more than she thought possible. They had never been on friendly terms after all. ‘I cannot conceive of why you paint me so low. My motives are innocent. I was here against my will from the beginning and I resent that you make it otherwise. Never have I met a more callous, unfeeling young man. I only pray God will have mercy on you.’
Serena turned to walk away, deflated, but faced him again when another notion struck her. ‘You know, I do not even understand why Mr King always speaks so highly of you. You obviously fooled him well.’
‘Pardon?’
‘What do you mean, “pardon”?’
‘What ... what did Eddie say about me?’
Serena released an impatient breath. ‘Only that you were clever and talented and a loyal nephew. The loyal part I suppose I can understand, but ...’
This time Mr Simon sank to the grass, the fight gone out of him. ‘Uncle Eddie is my hero. I’ve only ever aspired to emulate him. He’s smart. And fervent about, well, about everything. He’s been granted good looks, and he’s so, so talented. I’ve always tried to match him, making things with
