“Clemency?” Martin spat, tossing his head like a proud horse. “Why should I need clemency, when you are exactly the man that I always wanted you to be? I taught you survival, Evan. And you have survived. You have learned how to bend people to your will, even if it is only society. You now desire the things I planned for you—marriage and children. And you are here, back where you belong. Thiswasmy plan, Evan.”
Evan turned up his nose, his disgust flaring. “I am nothing like you, and nothing like the man you wanted me to be. You sicken me, even now.” He paused, gathering himself. “But, as I said, I am willing to offer you one chance for forgiveness for all the wrongs you have done to me. Accept, and there might be a hope of you meeting your grandchildren one day. Refuse, and you will never know them, as you will never know me, as I am now, or my wife.”
“What wife?” Martin sneered. “I refer you to my previous remark—if you want marriage, you need me. I am the only one who can find someone for you, after this… unholy mess you have made.”
Evan chuckled softly, and thought he saw a flicker of alarm in his father’s eyes. “Accept my terms, and I will give you details of what you clearly desire to know.”
“What terms? You have mentioned none.” Martin’s voice grew tighter, shriller, his entire body as stiff as a statue.
“Apologize,” Evan said simply. “A true and genuine apology. Give me that and, one day, we might build a weak sort of bridge between us. Deny me that, and you will live your life alone and miserable, with only your butler for company.”
Martin’s cheeks flushed a livid shade of red, his eyes glinting with fury, his stiff body beginning to rock back and forth upon the edge of the settee. Coming to his childhood home, Evan had known that asking for an apology was a near-impossible request. It was the one thing that his father could not do. Even on the occasions when Evan had almost died because of Martin’s cruelty, Martin had not offered a word of regret or sorrow, choosing to blame Evan always.
“You should have sought shelter. There were blankets in the stables,”Martin had said once.
“You locked the stables, and told the stablemaster not to allow me entry,”Evan had replied.
“And you did not demand entry? Pah! That is why you almost died, Evan—because you are weak and pathetic and inferior to even the stable boys.”
“What will it be?” Evan prompted, watching the storm of emotions that twisted across his father’s face. “Say you are sorry, and you will not have to spend the rest of your days in complete solitude, shunned from society. Perhaps, you think you could manage that well enough right now, but what about in your advancing years? Will you choose to be gray and bitter and filled with regret, wandering these halls like a ghost?”
A sheen of sweat glistened upon his father’s brow, every bead formed by the realization that he no longer had any power over Evan. “I… will not… apologize for the sake of your… wounded pride,” he wheezed. “I have done nothing wrong. I raised you as my father raised me, and as his father raised him. But you have always been weak, Evan. Indeed, you ought to apologize to me for being a feeble excuse for a son.”
Evan did not doubt that his father had raised him in the image of howhehad been raised, without the guidance of Evan’s mother to soften him, but that did not excuse everything Martin had done. Just like Evan, everyone had a choice, and his father had chosen to be cruel, perpetuating a history of cruelty instead of changing it. What was worse, Martin could not admit to it, even now. An apology might have sparked a change, better late than never, but Evan could see it was not going to happen.
“So, that is your answer?” Evan asked. “You refuse to apologize or take responsibility?”
“I refuse to pander to your weakness,” Martin retorted. “I shall be waiting, when you decide to crawl back, and then we shall see who needs to apologize.”
Evan got up and smoothed out the front of his tailcoat, tugging on the bottom edges of his waistcoat to straighten everything. “Very well. In truth, I do not think there was any part of me that thought this would end differently, but perhaps I hoped I might be surprised.” He walked to the drawing room door. “Farewell, Father. We will not be seeing one another again.”
“That is what you said in that pitiful note, when you were six-and-ten and ran off into the night to my sister,” his father replied, still seated. “But you came back. Eventually, you came back.”
“Your wait will be long and lonely,” Evan said, “but that is no less than you deserve.”
With that, Evan left, striding through the cavernous, echoing hallways with his head held high. With every step, a great weight dropped from his shoulders, relieving him of the burden he had been carrying for decades. At long last, he had put his ghosts to rest.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-TWO
Olivia awoke to the sound of blackbirds chirping on the window-ledge, stirring to the caress of the sunlight with a smile upon her face. She had dreamed of Evan and the rose gardens, and though he had not yet returned from his journey northward, it warmed her heart to know that she could take a walk in those rose gardens that very morning if she wanted.
After the events at the Countess of Grayling’s ball, a plan had been hatched for Olivia, her mother, and her father to resume the fortnight they were supposed to spend at the Westyork Estate. Olivia suspected it was so that Caroline would have company, and to help her recover from the ordeal of hearing such awful things being said about her cousin, but either way, Olivia was content to be back at the Dowager House.
Stretching out, Olivia froze as something rustled beside her.
She turned over to find a note resting on the second pillow of her bed. Her name was etched upon it in pencil, bringing a curious smile to her lips, for now she recognized that handwriting. Eagerly, she grabbed the note and unfurled it:Meet me in the rose gardens,was all it said.
“He has returned,” she gasped, as realization dawned.
A moment later, she leaped out of bed and hurried to dress, forgoing the need for a lady’s maid. There was no time, nor did she want anyone to know where she was going.
Within half an hour, she was racing out into the warm morning, her skirts flapping behind her as she ran up the path to Westyork Manor. Eventually, she had to slow down or her lungs might have exploded, but she walked at a clip, her heart soaring as she thought of her beloved.
How did he put that note there without me realizing?she wondered, doubting that he would have entered her bedchamber himself. He must have asked her mother to do it, Olivia reasoned, for her mother had always been very stealthy.
Finally reaching the back gate that led into the gardens, and finding it blissfully unlocked, she made her way through the labyrinth of blooms and blossoms and decorative shrubs and bushes, all blanketed with a rich perfume of earth and flowers, until she came to the entrance of the rose gardens.
There, seated beside the fountain, was Evan.
