Anton's intrinsic reaction was to walk away before the confrontation grew any worse. He didn't like conflict. It was part of his personality that had frustrated his father for years. The elder Baron de Bartholin wanted a son whose blood rose at the thought of battle. A son who could protect himself. Anton felt anger and he was the same as many boys - a tussle here and there was a good thing. This sort of argument wasn't his preference. He wasn't on level footing with Helena. She knew things that he didn't. She had a whole year of her life on him and she might not tell him the truth of what had transpired. Her point of view wasn't his, as plain fact. There might have been magic involved from another source, but who could say? The books definitely kept mum on the subject. They didn't even call him by name.
Only the "Bloody Baron".
And now Helena was once again accusing him. Anton closed his eyes and released the chair with one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose and dissipate the building tension there. Very slowly, he drew the chair from beneath the table and sank into it, his spine straight but not stiff.
"I'm not denying that it happened. I know nothing of the circumstances, only that the man sitting here with you now would never think of hurting you. I cannot say whether I had changed so much or why I should have done so. Even knowing at this moment that you've come to break our engagement - and yes, Helena, even I understand that much - I feel only sadness. Confusion. Can you imagine what it's like, to be in my position? To be told by a book that I go on to do something so horrible, rather than passing into anonymity after a well-lived life? There is no sense in it."