“I highly doubt it.” Allan shook his head. “His lawyers have worked mighty hard to keep his name out of the papers, an aim which I haven’t exactly gone to any effort to jeopardize. I don’t want our names in the papers, either. Our business is our business; it’s no one else’s.”
She smiled again. The fact that Allan took such care — as well as making sure her name wasn’t in the papers in the morning — was a kindness indeed.
“Right, I am ready.” She turned and knocked on the door with Allan moving to stand behind her.
There was a commotion behind the door. At first, Frederica could make out no words. She and Allan just kept exchanging perplexed looks.
“I’ll answer it. Out of the way.” It was Margaret’s voice. Judging by the commotion, Frederica expected she had brushed the butler aside to answer the door herself. “Sweetheart!” she gushed as she opened the door.
Frederica couldn’t even force a smile at the sight that greeted her.
Her mother was already in her cups with a healthy glass of wine clutched between her fingers and a beaming smile on her lips. Behind her, Ernest was fidgeting like mad. He stood there awkwardly, his eyes shooting straight to Allan.
Frederica looked at Allan with curiosity. Since he had come to find her in Cornwall, she had learned about his meeting with her father when he had gone looking for Lord Wetherington. She rather expected after Allan’s outburst that Ernest was a little frightened of him now.
“Come in, come in,” Margaret begged. “It’s been so long since we’ve seen you.”
Frederica stepped forward, saying nothing, but clearly, she didn’t need to. In the next moment, her mother had taken hold of her arm and steered her into the house.
“Come, let’s share a drink.”
“Don’t you think you’ve —” Ernest began but was quickly cut off by his wife.
“Ernest,” she snapped.
Ernest fell silent and nodded, hurrying behind them. From what Frederica could see, her father avoided meeting Allan’s eye at all times.
They ended up in the parlor together where Frederica was hastily pushed down into a chair as her mother sat beside her. Ernest topped up Margaret’s wine glass then poured three more. One he passed into Frederica’s hand. Another, he put upon the mantelpiece, close to Allan though he didn’t go near enough to risk the chance of touching him.
“We’re so glad you suggested these drinks,” Margaret said, leaning toward Frederica. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen you, and that silly misunderstanding last time wasn’t worth us fighting about.”
“Is that what you call it, Mother? A silly misunderstanding?” Frederica asked in surprise.
“Of course. Let us move past it.” Margaret clinked her glass against Frederica’s own as if toasting something then gestured to Ernest. “Now, your father seemed to think some awful tragedy had happened — that you and your husband had split. I am so relieved to see he was wrong about that.”
She looked appealingly at Allan then glowered at her husband as well.
Ernest settled himself in a seat as far away as he could get from Allan, who chose not to sit but continued to stand by the mantelpiece instead.
“There are some rumors, too, about your split. There was an awful tale that you, Lord Padleigh, had had something of a ruckus with Lord Wetherington. I do hope that is not true.”
Allan conveniently hid his hands behind his back. The wounds were mostly healed now, but Frederica was relieved to see he didn’t want to make it obvious.
“Now, let us talk about our plans for the future,” Margaret said with sudden keenness, turning back to face Frederica. “You must come for dinner soon with all our old friends. Lord Wetherington will be there too; of course, you still owe him that apology.”
Frederica had heard enough. She sat forward, catching Allan’s eye, who nodded, urging her on.
“I will not be issuing an apology to Lord Wetherington, Mother. Not today, not in the future. Not ever in fact.” Her words made Margaret halt, the glass going slightly askew in her hand.
Nearby, Ernest rubbed his brow discontentedly.
“If you think I have come here today to play along with the way you have run my life these last few years, then I’m afraid you’re mistaken.”
Deciding she needed a little Dutch courage, Frederica took a hefty gulp from her wine then placed the glass down on a table beside her and turned back to face her mother. “In fact, I have come today to ask for an apology from you.”
“From us?” Ernest spoke with more freedom at last. “Whatever for? What did we do wrong?”
Allan tutted, but he said nothing, choosing instead to shake his head. Ernest glowered at him, resenting his condescension.
