tenderstarved:
.
“Please don’t apologize,” Kate murmured insistently, shaking her head at him. “You’ve done nothing wrong, Will, please –– there’s nothing to apologize for,” she insisted, her eyes drawn to the agitated tapping of his fingers against his thigh, the tense way he held himself even as he accepted the teacup gratefully. You’re a godsend. She flushed, glancing back over at him from where she stood, and slid the tea tray so that it was positioned between their two chairs, just off to the side. The urge to try and get him to eat something was strong, but she held her tongue. One thing at a time. She sat back down, holding her own cup in her lap, and listened to the words pouring out of him rapidly, her brows pulling together in concern as she did. Shifting her grip on her cup of tea, Kate leaned forward slightly and laid her fingers on his wrist, gently, lightly. “You didn’t have to lie for me,” she whispered, her chest aching at the realization that she’d made a liar of him. She felt far more guilty about that than she did about exchanging correspondence with an old friend, regardless of how society might see it. She knew what was in the letters, she knew it was innocent, and William had been satisfied by her explanation of them, so why should it matter if she was sending letters to an old friend? Still –– the fact that he’d lied for her, without hesitation, without thinking, made her chest ache in ways both guilty and warm. For the briefest of moments, she thought of the last time she’d been well and truly accused of something, and the way she’d been treated, and…when she compared it to this, something small and tender and raw inside of her felt like it was going to bring her to tears.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I didn’t…I’m sorry I put you in that position, it wasn’t my intention,” Kate murmured, releasing her gentle grip on his wrist and pulling back, taking a sip of her tea to give her hands something else to do. She didn’t know how to respond to the comments about Margate, at the truth he’d told her father. She didn’t blame him, of course; she’d have done the same in his position. But…what was there to say? They’d made a mistake, and they’d known there was a risk that they’d be caught. And Will was already moving on, his words coming out with a staccato kind of rhythm as he spoke about the rumor that Whistledown had published about him. She’d told him at the beginning that she believed him that he didn’t know, and that was true, and hadn’t changed since they’d sat down to speak. Still, she’d spent the last day having to confront the reality that all of her dreams and plans for her future might be upended, and that was…difficult to let go at the drop of a hat. Even though she believed him, the ghost of worry and paranoia was haunting her at the edges of her thoughts.
She nodded slowly as he admitted that it was possible someone had told him, but that he did not remember, that he wouldn’t have misled her, that he had reason to believe it wasn’t true. Kate was about to ask him what he meant by that, confused by the hesitant confidence in his voice, when he mentioned a compromise. She went still as he continued to speak, feeling suddenly very lightheaded, and slowly, carefully, she set her teacup back down onto her father’s desk, the china of her cup and saucer clinking together with a tiny little rattle. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. She barely heard his comment about his mother, barely paid attention to the fact that this was something she should comment on, should speak to him about, should console him on. All she could focus on was the compromise.
A year. That was what they had agreed on, without her there to have a say, to make a decision. You can still say no, her father had told her, but he hadn’t thought to warn her that if she still wanted to say yes, she was only going to agree to three hundred and sixty five days with William. Her stomach felt like it had dropped to somewhere near her ankles, like there was a hollowness that had taken over her body. It felt like someone had carved everything out from within her until nothing was left behind, except for her heart, raw and exposed and held in a grip like a vise. She felt like something had been taken from her, something she could not put a name to, something she could not even fully identify. She knew it only by its absence.
Kate swallowed thickly, pressing her hand to the hollow at the base of her throat, working the skin with her fingers as if that would get rid of the awful thick feeling that she was trying to swallow around. “Is that–– that’s what you want?” She asked, her voice sounding smaller and thinner than usual, her throat still tight and her chest still hollow. She couldn’t imagine it was, it didn’t sound like it was, but…Kate couldn’t help the small horrible anxious and morbid voice in the back of her thoughts that dug a knuckle into a soft, bruised spot of her heart and wondered if he was going to fight for her.
.
Her touched soothed and William had to marvel at the way she could always reach him, seeming to know when to drawn him out with conversation and when to sit with him silently, when to reach out and when his self control was wavering. She knew him more intimately than any woman he ever undressed had and it was a weighty thing to be expected to know someone, but looking into Catherine's eyes, William felt known. "I did." He countered, calm and certain about that if nothing else. "I swore to you that your reputation wouldn't come to any damage from me, and it did. I wasn't going to break my promise to you and you didn't deserve..." What your father said, he thought, trailing off before starting over again. "You don't deserve your father to think less of you." Even if it hadn't been her father, but someone else, someone on the street, William would have done the same, trying to protect Catherine no matter the cost.
"If I can't apologize, neither can you. there's nothing to apologize for." Was that how Catherine felt when she asked him please not to apologize, that he hadn't done anything wrong to prompt it and that whatever perceived slight had been done was so infinitesimal as to not even be considered. They were forgiven before the apology was even thought of. "You didn't force me to do anything and I didn't force you. We did it together." And it didn't matter if you called it a scandal or a mistake or an outrage, William couldn't say that he minded the result. Oh, he was upset about Whistledown, angry at being so exposed by her and the risk it brought to his relationship, but he didn't regret that the events of that night brought him Catherine.
She'd wanted him to talk and so William did, explaining everything as quickly as he could and it was still a marvel at just how quickly he could move through conversations with Catherine, how quickly he fell into them and could admit things to her when usually it was a strain to open up to anyone else, alcohol needed to loosen his tongue. All Catherine needed to do was look at him and ask and suddenly words spilled from him like a fountain, giving her access to depths most weren't aware William possessed. He'd been better about that once, capable of watching his words to shield her from unnecessary truths like his feelings, but it seemed that the moment his hand touched hers the night on the roof, the stopper that held back his emotions was forever lost. Still, the inability to be silent did not mean he was unaware of what his words were doing and he knew she wouldn't be happy, could sense it when his prediction came true. But he couldn't stop talking, needing to get everything out. And Catherine let him, but it was only in the silence that followed that William allowed himself the time to see what his confession cost her.
There were times when William felt that he didn't know Catherine as well as she knew him, but he knew her well enough to read the expression on her face, the press of her fingertips to the dip at her collar a signal that not all was well. "Catherine, darling, please." This time it was William setting aside his cup so he could reach out for her hand, the urge to slide to his knees before her in supplication flaring up inside him. "What I want is to marry you and stay with you forever, and then a day past that. But I don't know if I'll be allowed to keep you that long, so I want whatever I can have because I would rather know a life with you than go forever regretting that I let you go without trying." Giving into his urge, William watched carefully not to disturb the tray as he sunk down on the floor next to Catherine. Moving slowly so not to irritate his knee in any way that he couldn't hide on his face, he was able to hold onto her hand while looking up at her, thumb brushing against her engagement ring before Willian leaned in to kiss the back of her hand.
"Your father asked if I still wanted to marry you, knowing there was a chance that I could never make you happy." He explained, and just hearing it against caused a fissure of pain in his heart. He wanted to make her happy, how could anyone ever think less? "And I want to marry you, but not at the cost of your happiness. I want to marry you and to make you happy, and that's when I suggested a compromise. Because I would never force you to stay with me and be miserable, but I do want a chance at giving you a happy life. Your father would prefer the year compromise rather than, well, you would need to ask your father the specifics, but what's important is what you want. It's what you want to say yes to."












