She stepped into the study and was instantly overcome by memories of the last time she had been summoned here, back when her father had told her she was to marry Bertram Sinclair, Nathaniel’s uncle. Her stomach twisted at the memory of it.
“Evelyn,” her father said. “Please, take a seat.” He motioned to the chair in front of him, but she shuddered, not wanting to sit there, as if the memory of that horrible day would creep into her even further. Instead, she walked to the window.
“Aunt Eugenia said that you would like it if we could talk.”
“Yes,” her father said. “I would like that very much. You see, now that you are Duchess once more, I thought perhaps we could make our peace. All settled now, after all. I know you and the Duke are still undergoing some adjustment?—”
“Nathaniel and I are perfectly happy,” she said.
“Well, that is wonderful,” he said. “I had hoped that we could all come together as a family. In fact, I have a few business opportunities I wanted to discuss with?—”
She rounded on him immediately. “There will be no discussion of business opportunities. I am your daughter. He is your son-in-law. We are not business prospects. All my life, you have done nothing but take advantage of me. You forced me to take Mother’s place when I was far too young to do so. I should have been flittering about town, cackling at milliner shops and talking to my friends about hats and ribbons and all manner of frivolities. Instead, I had to always worry about my sisters, this home, our reputation, and everything else. No more, Father. No more.”
Before her mind’s eye, she saw herself as a stern schoolmistress with a wooden ruler in one hand, swinging it dramatically through the air as she railed against an unruly student. And in many ways, her father was just that.
He was well-meaning, but dreadfully incapable. How funny it was that Nathaniel thought himself incapable of being an effective duke, when her father had held his role in society most of his life.
She looked at him, and a wave of pity crashed down on her.
“Father, why do you not simply admit that your capabilities at running an estate are faulty at best? Why not seek help? Why not hire somebody else to help you oversee?—”
“Do not paint me as an incompetent, bumbling fool,” her father said, but he couldn’t meet her eye, because he must have known that he was exactly that. “We have a steward?—”
“—whom you will not allow to do anything. A steward who must answer to every decision he makes, left, right, and center, morning and night. Look what your dealings have done to us, Father. You forced me to marry a seventy-two-year-old?—”
“He was not a grandfather,” her father replied stiffly.
“We will not deal in semantics. He was old enough to be a grandfather ten times over. His skin was like an old glove,” she said. “And you would’ve sent me to bed with him. To bear him children. Think of what Mother would’ve said.”
Then the most extraordinary thing happened.
Her father crumbled before her. He sank into his chair like an old wrinkly tomato left out in the sun for too long. His shoulders curled, and his head drooped so it almost rested on his chest.
“I know it, Evelyn. I know it. I’ve used up all of your mother’s inheritance—everything that was meant to be yours.I’ve depleted my sister. And then I married you off to an old man, and I would’ve done the same to your sisters. But I cannot help it. I cannot help myself. When something looks like a good deal, I simply must—I must… What if I miss something? What if I miss a wonderful investment that would secure our family?”
“Father, we have a country estate. We have income. With it managed wisely, we would be perfectly fine. And Nathaniel would help you. But you will not use him to pad your purse.”
“Do you know how humiliating it was—to be spoken to, the way your husband spoke to me? He owes me?—”
“He owes you nothing,” she called. Wishing she had that ruler now, she waved her index finger through the air. “He protected me when you wouldn’t. It was your responsibility to protect me, and you failed to do so. He protected my sisters. Who knows who you would have married them off to, given the chance? I hear Lord Wellingham is still looking for a bride—and on good days, his bad breath only clears out the pew in front and two behind him at church. Isn’t that a wonderful match for Marianne?”
She could hardly believe she was speaking to her father this way, but it had to be done. She had grown into her role as Duchess. And while she had already grown more confident beforehand, knowing that Nathaniel loved her—truly loved her—had given her the final push she needed to confront her father.
“Perhaps Charlotte could be mistress to the Prince of Wales. We all know he doesn’t care for his wife very much. With any luck, she could be Queen.”
Her father looked up at her. “Stop, Evelyn, stop… I understand. I have done wrong. I will try to do better. I hear what people say about you.”
She paused. “What are people saying about me?” She had assumed that all these vicious rumors about her being a one-day widow and such were over now that she was married.
“Oh, you know the ton talks. We cannot pay attention to what is on dit.”
“What is on dit, Father?”
He shrugged. “Just the same rumor—that you finally got what you wanted. Married to the handsome Duke, after dispatching the old…”
“It was not me,” she said. “It was the date seed. Who even serves dates in winter?” She shook her head. Was this never going to end? Was she always going to be looked down upon?
Well, let them look down on her if they wanted to. She was titled now, rightfully so. And she had a handsome husband at her side. Let them talk.
