Jeremy blinked, the redness draining from his cheeks. “I… am sorry.”
“And that is enough, is it?” Olivia mumbled, rubbing the tears from her eyes. “A cursory ‘sorry’ solves all, does it? What is worse, I wanted to defy you, I wanted no part of this engagement, but then… I foolishly began to fall in love with him, and nowIhave nothing! I am the one who will be mocked by society. I am the one who will think of what might have been, knowing I am destined to be alone. I am the one who has been hurt, not you.”
In the corner of the carriage, her mother stifled a sob. “Oh, my sweet girl.”
“I am sorry,” Jeremy repeated, furrowing his brow as if trying to gather his thoughts. “I… realize that I have not been the best father or husband. I suppose I knew that your… rebellion was, in part, my fault. I cannot deny that I have hurt you—hurt you both—but I must defend myself on one aspect. There were no affairs. Just one lady, one indiscretion that, I admit, might have become a prolonged affair if you had not witnessed it. It is my belief that fate put you there to punish me for my disloyalty. And when your mother confronted me, and I saw how terribly I had broken her heart, I vowed never to hurt her again.”
Laura sniffed, dabbing her eyes. “It is true, my darling. Your father loves us very much, though he lost himself for a short while, and he has been trying to do what is best for you, ever since.” She paused. “I believe this betrothal was well-intentioned, though he is explaining himself poorly.”
“I have never known how to speak to you, not since that… betrayal of mine,” Jeremy agreed. “My heart hurts, knowing that my choices have injured you so much. I thought Evan would be good to you. I thought you might be happy with him. Though, yes, I also managed this entire thing poorly. I even forged a letter to Martin, pretending it was from you, but… I did so with honest intentions. I did so because I wanted you to be secure and content and… I have made a grand old mess of things.”
Olivia’s eyes threatened to burst out of her head, swollen with rage. “You forged a letter from me?”
“I wanted to convince Martin that you were eager, and that you had changed your ways in regard to the friends you associate with,” he replied meekly. “It worked, I suppose, but I should not have done it.”
“No,” Olivia hissed, “you should not have done any of it.”
Was there something in that false letter that Evan learned of just before he departed? Did his father mention something about it to Evan?Some pieces were beginning to wedge into place, but the shape and fit of them was still not quite right. There were too many unknowns. Primarily, what manner of perceived betrayal, if any, would have been enough to make Evan ride away without having a proper conversation with her? Or was she being too generous, ignoring the simple possibility that Evan had seen his father, realized he was giving his father what he wanted, and decided his vengeance was more important than his potential future happiness?
I could forgive that,Olivia considered.
“But, the deal I had with Martin was secondary to your happiness,” her father hastened to add, “and I mean that, though you may not believe me. Mentioning the business exchange was simply the only place I could direct my anger when, in truth, I wish to take my dueling pistols, find Evan, and take satisfaction on your behalf. At the very least, I should like to punch him rather hard.” He sighed, tears glistening in his eyes. “I cannot stand to see you cry, my dear girl. It makes me want to hunt down whoever has caused the tears to fall.”
“Including yourself?” Olivia murmured.
He nodded. “Including me. I assure you, I have punished myself over the years for causing you and your mother pain.” He drew in a shaky breath. “From now on, I will not meddle, however well-intentioned my meddling might be. I know that is much too little, much too late, but… it is all I can offer until Evan is found.”
“I need no satisfaction,” Olivia replied. “Keep your dueling pistols locked away, gathering dust, where they ought to be. All I want is to go home, bolster my spirits among my friends, and forget the rest. As far as I am concerned, I have never been betrothed.”
Whatever Evan’s reasons, he had made his choice. Olivia would not plead with someone who had made up his mind without talking to her, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how long it took her heart to recover. Still, it would not heal at all if she held onto hope that he would come back to her. So,shehad no choice but to let it, and him, go.
From the opposite side of the carriage, her mother leaned toward her, pulling her into her arms. She held Olivia tightly, stroking the back of her hair, and though the tears had stopped for now, the feeling of her mother’s embrace almost made them fall once more from Olivia’s eyes.
“I am so very sorry, my darling,” her mother whispered. “We will not make you endure anything like this again.”
Jeremy’s still-strong arms encircled his wife and his daughter, holding them all together as a family, for the first time in a very long time. Olivia stiffened slightly at the intrusion, but as her father squeezed gently, she relaxed into the unfamiliar comfort of a united family. And as she did, the tears began to trickle once again.
Indeed, it seemed a terrible shame that she had had to lose something, so painfully, to gain a new relationship with her father. She could not help wondering if Evan’s relationship withhisfather had been better, perhaps none of this would have happened.
CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE
That night, Evan dreamed of her again. A nightmare, in truth. He was wandering the ghostly halls of Lisbret House, following the sound of Olivia’s voice, calling to him.
“My love, come and find me!” she wailed, her voice distorted by the cavernous hallways, at once close by and far away. “My love, you must find me!”
He hurried toward the sound, throwing open every door, searching in every alcove, desperate to locate her, as if he knew something terrible would happen if he did not. But every room lay empty and dilapidated, like no one had lived there for years, and Olivia’s voice kept getting further and further away.
Suddenly, he was no longer in that hellish house, but in the tangled and overgrown gardens of Westyork. The trees had all withered, the flowers all dead, the fountains smothered by ivy and thorns, every gate rusted off its hinges. Running now, he roamed through the abandoned gardens, disoriented by the decay, praying he was heading in the right direction.
“My love, where are you?” Olivia’s voice called out. “Why did you leave me here?”
Breathless, he barreled through the archway to the west of the rose gardens where they had shared their first—and, unbeknownst to him, their last—kiss. Olivia sat upon his favorite bench, dressed in her white muslin, wearing her straw bonnet with the spray of daisies. But the daisies had withered and browned too, and Olivia was as pale as moonlight, her lips bloodless, her eyes ringed with dark circles.
And she was not alone.
Behind the bench, Evan’s father prowled, flashing a wolfish smile. “I thought she might draw you here,” he said. “You were never able to resist my traps, were you? It is as if you long to be punished.”
“Olivia?” Evan tried to run to her, but thorns twisted around his ankles and up his legs, biting into his flesh. “Olivia, tell me you had no part in this. Tell me you did not know.”
