Chapter 12
The engagement ring remained in my safe for almost a year.
Not because I expected Rosamund back.
Because I forgot about it.
Then one afternoon Benedict found me sorting old family objects.
He saw the box.
“Still love her?”
“Yes.”
“Still stupid.”
I looked at him.
“You’re the man who paid ten thousand dollars to make a maid crawl.”
He grunted.
Fair.
Then he said:
“I liked her.”
“You called her decorative.”
“I liked irritating her.”
Apparently fatherly nuance.
Then more seriously:
“She wanted my approval too much.”
“Yes.”
“You wanted mine too much once.”
That stopped me.
True.
At twenty-five, I tolerated things from Benedict I later banned.
Not because I agreed.
Because I wanted him to see me as ready.
Rosamund’s mistake had an echo in me.
Difference:
I had eventually changed.
Maybe she could too.
That still did not mean I owed her marriage.
But it complicated contempt.
Good.
May you like
Simple villains are convenient.
Families rarely provide them.
