Frederica stood up and turned to face her parents, finding the extra height helped her to feel a little more control in this room.
“A year ago in this house, I was attacked. A man you called your friend, in fact, a man you were besotted in making a connection with, tried to… tried to force himself upon me. He followed me, isolated me, then tried to make me kiss him.” Her words made Ernest scoff.
He stood and walked around his settee.
“Perhaps you simply do not understand the strength of a man’s affection,” he said belittlingly.
“You’ll find, Father, that I understand what true affection is like.” She didn’t look back at Allan though she felt his eyes on her with the words. “I know it very well, and it is nothing like what Lord Wetherington tried to do me last year.”
Apparently no longer finding an objection to the idea of wine, Ernest poured himself a second glass. The first one had disappeared rather quickly.
“After I was attacked by him, I had no sympathy from either of you. No understanding. There was no appreciation of the fact that I had been forced into a situation in which I did not wish to be. What was worse was the fact that you both insisted that I marry the very man who had done it.” Frederica halted, watching as her mother’s breathing had quickened.
Ernest had turned his back, choosing instead to drink his wine rather than focus on her.
“Did you honestly think that was the right thing to do?” She first addressed the question to the pair of them but seeing that she had no chance of getting an answer from her father — who was doing his best to pretend she hadn’t spoken — she turned to face her mother alone. “Could you really accept the idea of me being bound to a man who… who would…”
She struggled to say the words, but in the end, she didn’t need to. Margaret raised a hand, begging her silently not to say the word.
“I do not believe he would have done it. Not really.” Margaret shook her head with desperation in her expression. “It was just the first pangs of passion. That’s all. He would have been a good man. A good husband.”
“And what in his behavior persuaded you to believe that?” Frederica asked, wide eyed.
“He has always been so charming, so kind… and your father…” She looked around, appealing to Ernest’s back. “He assured me that Lord Wetherington was a man of good spirit. Of honor.”
“Even though they probably met in a gambling hall,” Frederica pointed out.
“That is slanderous!” Outraged and with shining eyes, Margaret moved to her feet. “Your father is not a gambler. Do not believe such a thing.”
“Oh, he is. He is a gambler.” Frederica nodded. “Allan saw him in a gambling hall just last week.”
Lost for words, Margaret turned on the spot.
“Still… still…” She struggled to continue with her argument. “It all would have been fine. It all would have worked out well.”
“Do you believe that? Really? Or is it just your willful blindness of not wanting to believe you were pairing your daughter with a man who would attack her?”
“Please, no more.” Margaret put down her glass and tried to walk out of the room though it did little good. Frederica walked toward her, determined to drive her point home even more now that she had a sign that she was being listened to at last.
“Mother. Were you really so happy to marry me to a man I said I did not want to marry?”
That should have been everything.
Frederica held onto a tight knot in her stomach, knowing this was something she would struggle to ever forgive. It didn’t seem to matter how many times she had told her parents she didn’t want to marry Lord Wetherington; they were going to insist on it anyway. They had no respect for her wishes and no understanding of her fears.
Yet Frederica didn’t get an answer. She saw her mother’s shoulders quake, a sure sign that she was on the verge of tears.
Slowly, Margaret moved further away from her across the room. She went instead to Ernest’s side and laid her hand against his shoulder. He angled his head around, in acknowledgement of her reaching out towards him, though he offered no comfort with words, nor did he raise a hand towards her.
“Well, Father?” Frederica pressed. An apology from either of them would mean the world at this point, some acknowledgement that they had done wrong.
Silence extended across the room. All of their glasses lay forgotten and neglected. This was not the ‘happy drinks’ her mother had been hoping for, but it was right. It had to be done, and Frederica knew she would feel happier for it once it was.
The night before, after dinner, she and Allan had sat together outside in his rose garden, watching the sun set. His arm was around her as she laid her head on his shoulder, and he had asked her what would finally make her feel free from the sadness her parents had imposed on her life?
Frederica’s answer had come swiftly.
“If they understood.”
