"She has done her best," her father answered. "Perhaps later we can discuss some of your challenges. Sometimes you might need the perspective of an older gentleman to give insight."
Victor chuckled politely and held out his arm to Alice.
"Shall we adjourn to the dining room?" he asked.
She took his arm but didn’t look at him even though he could feel the tension in her body as it traversed through her arm. The lavender scent she favored wafted up to him, and he couldn’t resist the urge to breathe in deeply.
The Viscount and Viscountess rose from their seats, and he preceded their entrance into the dining room, seating himself at the head of the table with Alice by his right.
They usually never sat this close, and from the way she stared away from him, he knew she would have much rather preferred their usual seating arrangements.
He nodded, signaling the meal could begin, leaning back as the plates were brought in.
"You have a beautiful home, Your Grace," the viscountess commented, breaking the silence that had settled over them as they ate. "I must commend how you’ve managed to keep your home despite it being one of the oldest castles. That is an impressive feat."
"I cannot take all the credit," he answered, not looking at her as he did. "Alice spent the better part of the last two years restoring the castle."
"That must be why she isn’t yet with child," the viscount quipped, causing Alice to choke on her wine.
His eyes shot to her, his hand momentarily reaching out, but he pulled back before his hands could make contact. She stopped coughing, her cheeks red with embarrassment.
"You should consider relieving her of such stressful tasks if you intend to get an heir, Your Grace," her father continued, briefly eyeing her with disgust. "My daughter is incapable of handling several tasks simultaneously."
Victor said nothing still, truly at a loss for decent words to reply to the man. He couldn’t help but notice that Alice had reddened deeply. Her mortification was almost palpable, and he wondered then how her parents could be too dense not to see it or too hurtful to ignore it.
"I must thank you, Your Grace," the Viscount added after a sip of his wine. "I have never seen my daughter move as gracefully as she does now. She was such a clumsy thing growing up, I feared she would displease you. I’m glad to see that all she needed was a husband to refine her."
Victor said nothing, but anger filled him at her father’s lack of decorum in speaking about his daughter. His irritation had grown with each word that came out of the man’s mouth, and if it hadn’t been his concern for Alice, he would have given into his desire to ask the man to leave his estate.
Apparently taking his silence as a reason to continue, her father continued.
"Did you tell the Duke how many etiquette tutors you had, Alice?" he asked bitterly. "She had gone through four at thirteen and by her debut, none wanted to teach her as she was hopeless. She failed to grasp the simplest things which her sister had perfected at her age. It was honestly a marvel how they could look alike yet be so different."
"Father, please," Alice begged softly, her eyes darting to him and back to them. "There is no need to bring up the past. I ammarried now, aren’t I? Have I still yet to meet your impossible standards?"
She was clearly hurt by his disparaging words but, worse still, embarrassed that he was there to witness the entire incident. Victor wondered at the satisfaction parents derived from ruining their children’s happiness.
"There is no need to use that tone with your father, Alice. I thought we raised you better than that," the Viscountess scolded. “It is indeed in the past, and your father is only trying to make conversation."
"I see there’s still some things she has yet to learn," her father sniffed in disapproval. "I am sorry to see this, Your Grace."
Victor was incensed to see Alice wither under the barrage of her parents’ words. He wondered if there would be no more attempts to refute her parents’ words and was sorely disappointed when her eyes remained downcast.
"If she weren't my daughter, she would have never secured any matches but even then, she always found some way to ruin it. Her sister had no fewer than ten suitors all vying for her attention by the end of her first season. If you hadn’t married her after she ruined that match with Pembroke, then… well I guess I can’t complain as she secured a match to you, a duke no less. That at least salvaged our family’s reputation."
"I am perfectly happy to have your daughter as my wife, Lord Westridge, and if Lord Pembroke didn't see her worth, then itwas his fault and not hers," he said, having had enough of the man’s words. "Alice is an interesting woman who has proven herself an embodiment of grace and intelligence. My home has wanted for nothing since we married and if you or the rest of thetoncannot see this in her, you must indeed question your sense."
Three mouths hung open at his declaration, but Alice collected herself once his eyes landed on her. He could see the gratitude in her eyes, but mistrust still shone in their depths.
He rose from his seat, needing to be away from her and her parents, who had regained themselves and were visibly thinking of how to reclaim the situation. But he had had enough. He couldn’t trust them to be around Alice without upsetting her, and by extension, him.
"It is probably best we retire as the day is far gone," he announced. "I hope, come morning, that the weather would be favorable for a safe travel."
"Your Grace, we were to stay…" the viscount started but stopped once Victor’s eyes landed on him.
Her mother looked away, too, red in her face and neck. It was a welcome sight to see that they at least had the decency to feel embarrassed. He wondered why they had failed to see just how deeply their words had distressed their daughter, and in that moment, he sympathized deeply with Alice.
Even if they hadn’t physically hurt her for her shortcomings, as his father had, they had left deep scars on her mentally, whichcould have been the reason for the clumsiness they had referred to. It was almost pitiful that neither of them had had the blessing of loving parents.
