“I am sorry…” Maria said, embarrassed that she had perhaps overstepped. But he interrupted her.
“I try to act as though I am unobserved by him. It is the only way I have discovered to be honest.”
“You talk as though you did not know him well either,” Maria replied in surprise. “But I suppose still better than me, who did not know him at all.”
“It was a distant relationship,” Nicholas admitted with a sigh. “When he was most himself, he disliked being contradicted; he disliked the appearance of owing anyone anything; he disliked company that did not remind him of his consequence. It may be that these are common tastes among men.”
“And our mother?”
“Spoke to him as one speaks to a duty that must be managed,” he said quietly. “She possessed considerable poise. It served her.”
“Were they happy?” she said.
“At first,” he said. “They married for love. Everyone called it a love match. They liked being seen as the pair that surprised the world. It pleased them to have the story told that way.”
“And after the beginning?”
“After,” he said, “the story had to be performed. The marriage changed its use.”
“Did he love her?” Maria asked. She felt suddenly afraid to know the answer, though.
“He loved how they looked together,” Nicholas said. “He admired her effect, I suppose.”
“And did she love him?”
“She believed in being married to him,” he said. “She treated the form as a duty and bore it as a good woman will. There was strength in it, but it was not a happy strength.”
Maria drew a breath and kept her hands still.
“So it was not a happy marriage then?”
“Would you really wish to know the truth?” he challenged.
Maria steadied herself and braced herself with courage.
“Perhaps,” she nodded. “It is better to know the truth than to be fed a lie.”
“There were lovers. Over the years. They came and went.”
“You saw them?” Maria said, shocked.
“I saw enough,” he said. “A boy in such a house learns footfalls he would rather not know.”
She was quiet for a moment.
“Then I am relieved I was not here for it,” she said.
“I am relieved,” he answered, “that you were spared.”
“What were they like together,” she asked, “when there were no guests?”
“He kept the weather,” Nicholas said. “If he was pleased, the day went on. If he was not, everyone adjusted. She kept the form. She made things smooth. She did not show hurt. That, too, became part of the form.”
“Did they quarrel?” Maria asked.
“Rarely aloud,” he said. “He disliked scenes.”
“And you, as a boy? Where did you stand in it?”