She had spoken of how, in a dream world, she would have an apology from them though she truly believed such an apology would not be possible in this lifetime. Maybe, at least, they could understand the pain they had put her through.
“I wonder, Father.” Frederica changed tact, moving to stand beside her husband as she brought up a subject she knew would cause pain. “Did you ever miss your sister when she went to Cornwall?”
Ernest’s head jerked up. Slowly, he turned around to face her.
“Or did you write her off as a scandal, too? Someone with whom you just didn’t want to trouble yourself? Did you ever ask her what led to that scandal? What drove her to run away to Cornwall?”
She had never seen this expression on her father’s face. It was a mixture of guilt and abhorrence.
“I will not discuss this subject with you,” he seethed under his breath.
“Because that is how you handle anything difficult, isn’t it? You pretend it hasn’t happened.” Frederica shook her head.
She realized now just why he never wanted to talk about Honora. It wasn’t so much that the scandal had happened in the first place; it was the fact he didn’t want to talk about or deal with the fallout. It was a constant reminder. A constant disappointment.
“I think I’m ready to leave now,” Frederica whispered to Allan, turning to face him.
“You haven’t got what you wanted yet,” he murmured back so that only she could hear him.
She shook her head, showing that she knew it would be a losing battle to fight it anymore. Her parents had retreated into complete silence. They may not speak again for the rest of the evening.
“A little more yet,” Allan said, taking a step forward. He cleared his throat, addressing her parents. “Your daughter is waiting for her apology.”
Ernest shifted his weight between his feet.
“For what?” Ernest grunted. “For trying to protect her?”
“No, that was not what you did. You tried to protect her reputation, nother.The two are very different things, aren’t they?” Allan protested. “If you wish to see your daughter again under our roof, then you will apologize to her.”
Margaret jerked her head up.
“We’re sorry,” Margaret said at once.
“She doesn’t mean it,” Frederica whispered, taking Allan’s arm, intent on leaving at once. If her mother had meant it, she would have said it sooner without the threat of never being welcomed into their home.
“No, I do mean it,” Margaret said hurriedly, stepping forward. “I am sorry. I am. I was just trying to make life simple. I did believe him to be a good man. I really did, Frederica. Please, believe me in that.”
Frederica looked to her father to see if he would second his wife’s words, but he didn’t.
“Maybe this will help,” Allan said with exasperation. “Lord Wetherington has been arrested for assault.”
“Truly?” Ernest muttered in alarm. “He’s going to prison?”
“He is.” Allan nodded. “My wife’s testimony along with my own of what he told me about the matter is enough, not to mention a letter she wrote to a friend about the incident. Lord Wetherington will lose any respect he once had in the ton. You can depend on that.”
“So, the authorities… they call it assault?” Ernest looked shocked at the idea. His hand trembled around his glass as he looked at Frederica.
He believes me now.
She could finally see it, like a great veil being lifted.
“I’m sorry I did not listen to you.” His voice was somber. That apology, even more than her mother’s, meant everything. It was the understanding she had been searching for.
“Thank you.” She couldn’t smile but nodded. “I think that’s enough for one night.”
“Good. Shall we?” Allan offered his arm to her. She gladly took it, her fingers hooking around the crook of his elbow as he led her out of the room.
Frederica glanced back just once in the doorway. She saw her mother was now in floods of tears. Margaret flung herself into Ernest’s chest and buried herself there as Ernest raised his arms and wrapped them around her.
