Squall Leonhart (gunsword) wrote in sanditon, @ 2021-02-15 20:26:00 |
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Though the maids had been ordered to make up Catherine Moreland's room with all haste, until it was quite as if the young lady had never been there, Henry still found, upon his return, the evidence of an expeditious departure: a single hair ribbon, the thin silk bandeau she had purchased in Bath upon his own recommendation. He would have bought it for her himself, had he fully suspected her interest in it at the time. He had often retained a secret smile whenever he saw her wear it, understanding that she must have gone back for it of her own volition that day after they parted ways.
He had not, as yet, mustered the words to speak with his father—which was very well by the General, as he did not require the active participation of his children in conversation, his only dictates being that he was listened to and obeyed. Eleanor had evidently borne the brunt of the General's fresh fury the previous evening, and Henry, upon his return, had simply been informed of his father's ushering in a new epoch: they were to speak no more of Miss Morland, nor devote her any sheets in correspondence, nor even to think of the young woman who had so lately existed as the treasured jewel of their home.
Henry's first rebellion, then, was to think of Catherine. Indeed, since his departure, he had rarely ceased his thinking of her. Poor, innocent Catherine, thrown out as cruelly as any of the heroines in the novels she so loved, and by his own father. The shame was almost too much to bear. And yet Henry knew he must bear it, as the man himself would not.
And so he found himself in the made room—perhaps chasing the ghost of the young woman who could no longer be discovered skirting the imagined horrors of their halls, her hair ribbon arrested, and yet still hopelessly slipping, between his fingers.
There was a hesitant step in the corridor outside. He had not closed the door behind him. Henry turned, not with his body, but his head, already knowing who he would find. His father couldn't help but announce his entrance into every room, whether it fell under his immediate possession or otherwise, and the General's own tread was unmistakable. So, too, was Eleanor's, by consequence of their mother's death, and Frederick's coming more and more to resemble their father's as the years progressed despite his own best efforts to disavow all comparison.
"My apologies, I should have come to you directly. They said you had not left your room, and the General strongly advised you were to be forsaken for the rest of the evening."
Which meant, of course, that Henry had merely been biding his time before he sought out his sister to discuss what had transpired.