Georgiana must have read his silence as a question. “I sweetened it with honey,” she told him. “No sugar.”
He hadn’t doubted. “Thank you.”
And though she drank tea, she’d given him coffee, because two hundred years ago the Horde had slipped the bugs in through sugar and tea, then put up their towers that made slaves of an entire population. He’d only had to tell her once what he would and wouldn’t eat, and she’d always provided what he needed without asking why. That was Georgiana. She hadn’t pressed him to talk about memories he’d rather forget, or of the occupation in England. Thom didn’t think about his arms being taken and replaced with iron, or the years on a boat, hauling up fish. He didn’t think of the frenzies and the revolution. All that was done. He’d left England behind and found himself in Skagen, where he’d tried to make the sort of life that other men did, men who hadn’t been born under the boot of the Horde.
He’d tried and failed. Thom was his own master now. But he would never be what other men were.
Holding her mug cupped between her hands, Georgiana watched him eat, her green eyes steady and calm. “You’ll need to speak with the magistrate about the bullet wound.”
Mouth full, he nodded.
“Who shot you?”
“I ran into pirates,” he said between bites.
“Your crew?”
There was no crew. Thom shook his head, but his mouth was full again, and she went on before he could answer.
Her voice troubled, she asked, “And Oriana?”
“Stolen.”
Along with his new submersible, and a fortune in gold coins. His throat closed, making it impossible to swallow.
It was time to tell her that this was done.
But he couldn’t yet. He couldn’t meet Georgiana’s eyes now, either. His gaze dropped to the bowl. Still mostly full, but he couldn’t eat. And there was one question that still had to be asked before he could leave. “It’s been some years since I was here.”
Just the corners of her mouth tilted upward, as they did when her humor was sharp. “Yes, it has.”
“Was there a child?” He had to force it out. “The last time.”
“It’s difficult to conceive a child when your husband spills his seed on the way out the door.”
Heat rushed to his face. He hadn’t actually spent on the floor, but the way he’d rushed out of the room to escape the pain and shame of hurting her, he might as well have. “And your father, mother?”
Her smile disappeared. Her thick lashes swept down. Quietly, she said, “They’re gone.”
“Gone?” Thom stared at her. “Dead?”
“Yes.”
When she looked up again, moisture had pooled in her eyes. She abruptly rose from the table to pace its length. No task to complete. Just upset.
“How long ago?” His voice was rough.
“A month after you came home last. The lump fever swept through town. They both caught it.”
Almost four years ago. So Thom’s failure was worse than he’d known. Raised in a Horde crèche, he didn’t know what it was to have a mother or father. But he knew she had loved them. Losing them must have ripped her heart to shreds.
“I should have been here.”
“Yes.”
Her soft reply was a heavy condemnation. Thom knew he’d never stop feeling its weight. “Who’s been supporting you, Georgie?”
“I have been, Thom. Sea Bloom came into my possession. I made use of her.”
Throat thick, he nodded. He’d let it all fall out of order. Her father had told him, over and over. Thom’s place as a husband was to support his wife, support any children. And not to come back until he had something worth bringing.
Go on, Thom, and make yourself a man. I’ll look after her while you’re gone.
But her father hadn’t. And Thom shouldn’t have relied on anyone to help him. He’d been so focused on trying to do what a man should, on trying to make her happy, that everything had lost its place. Georgiana had been supporting herself, while Thom had come home with nothing.
And she wouldn’t be arguing with him, he realized. Not his strong, practical Georgiana. She’d see all the wrong here, too, and let him go.
With a sigh, she took her seat again. “The money you sent was appreciated.”
“It wasn’t much.”
“It was enough.” Her steady gaze held his. “What are your intentions now?”
“I’ll be going again.”
“Without a ship?”
Without anything. No home, no work. But he’d been there before. He’d left England with nothing, and had found everything here.
Now it had gone all wrong. Even if he found work, found a place to sleep, Thom didn’t think his life would ever be right again. It didn’t matter where he went, what he did.
But he had to give some kind of answer. He picked the name of the nearest town. “I’ll try to find work in Fladstrand. Maybe on the docks.”
“Not in Skagen?”
“No.” He made himself say it, though the ache in his chest felt like it would rip open and swallow him whole. “It’ll be for the best. I’m hardly a husband to you. Never bringing you anything worth having. Not doing what makes you happy.”
For a long second, Georgiana didn’t react. Just looked at him. Finally, she nodded. “We’ll go into town and see the magistrate together, then, and set about drawing up papers of separation.”
“Papers?”
“Legal papers, Thom. Marriage binds us together by law. Those ties have to be dissolved.”
He hadn’t even known there’d been anything official to it—he’d thought the marriage had just been a ceremony and a promise. But she’d been tied to him by law. Something as real and as solid as the emotions that were choking him. And no sooner had he learned of them, those bonds were to be broken.
The ache in his chest burrowed deeper, threatening to overwhelm his control. But he wouldn’t let pain be his master.
Jaw clenched, he gave a sharp nod. “That seems sensible.”
“We’ll have to decide how to divide the money and property.”
Thom didn’t want any of it. “What I have is yours. Though it’s not much. I never made much.”
And when he had, he’d lost it all.
She slowly nodded. Then her gaze fell to his gloved hands. “You made enough for those arms.”
Which would have cost more than Thom had earned in four years, if he’d bought them. But he hadn’t paid anything for the prosthetics, except for the time he’d spent helping a blacksmith build a better diving machine.
He could imagine how it appeared to Georgiana, though. Sending her tiny bits of money, yet coming home with arms fit for a king.
“They were a gift,” he said.
“From Ivy Blacksmith?”
A new note had entered her voice, something hard and trembling. No surprise, that. He’d kept notorious company when he’d helped Ivy.
“Yes. You know of her?”
“I heard rumors of your acquaintance. And Mad Machen’s obsession with her is just as well-known. He came into town about three years ago, searching for her, and there weren’t many people who dared leave their houses while he was here.” She looked down at her cup, her thumb rubbing along the rim. “Is he the pirate who shot you?”
Why would Mad Machen have reason for that? Thom had no argument with the man.
“That wasn’t him. It was some nobby gent.” But even as Thom spoke, he realized what she’d been getting at. Sharp anger spit up his throat. Had people told her that he’d been carrying on with Ivy? “Whatever you heard about me and her, it wasn’t anything like that. Is this why you’re agreeing to the separation?”