How foolish of her not to send separate notes. But was her mother not mostly to blame? Even though her parents led fairly separate lives, they did live under the same roof and spoke on occasion. Would a recently married daughter’s visit not be something worth mentioning to him? Or the staff?
Apparently not.
She stifled her hurt.
Why did she think her mother would ever change?
She followed the Harcourt butler into the parlor. “How are my parents, Stanford?”
His smile faltered. “Same as always.”
“I’m sorry for that.”
“May I congratulate you on your marriage? Captain Thorne came by several days ago to meet with your father. He seems an excellent man.”
Syd nodded. “He is, Stanford. The very best of men.”
“I am happy for you, Lady Sydney. Well, you are Lady Thorne now. You deserve the best. I shall advise your parents that you have arrived. Will you be staying long? Shall I bring in tea and cakes?”
“No, that won’t be necessary. Please convey my best regards to the rest of the staff.”
“I will.” He left her on her own while he went in search of her parents.
It felt odd to be sitting in the visitor’s parlor while awaiting them, to be sitting here as though she were a stranger calling upon an earl and countess she hardly knew when this had always been her home. In truth, none of the servants would stop her if she waltzed up to her bedchamber and had a look around.
One of the things Octavian had done when arranging to meet with her father was to order her clothes packed up and sent to the Huntsford residence. Her father had agreed without rancor and advised their housekeeper to attend to it, for he was always most amiable, especially when swindling someone. The clothes had arrived in a jumbled mess, no doubt her mother’s doing. A sign of her resentment? Why did the woman wish her any ill? Should a mother not rejoice in her own daughter’s happiness? But this had never been her mother’s way. She was as vain as her father, except lacking his charm.
As the minutes passed, Syd felt the walls begin to close in around her. She took several deep breaths.
The parlor felt like a mausoleum.
Dark drapes.
Dark furnishings that were in obvious need of replacing since most were chipped or frayed.
As she was about to conduct her own search of the house for her parents, her mother walked in.
Syd smiled and rose to greet her. “Mama, how are you?”
“How do you expect me to feel?” Her mother stiffened as Syd kissed her on the cheek. “I have a husband who has burned through his inheritance and mine.”
“Not to mention mine,” Syd muttered. “But Papa’s debts are cleared now. With a little effort, the entailed properties will once more provide enough of an income to get you back on your feet.”
“Do not be absurd, girl! Effort? When has your father ever lifted a finger? The only thing he has ever been diligent about is gambling. He will toss the entirety of his earnings away before a single coin ever reaches his hands. That is your miserable father for you. He has never had a care for me, nor did he ever care for you.”
Syd tamped down the urge to turn around and walk out.
She had a home with Octavian now and did not need to endure this constant criticism. Yes, most of it was aimed at her father and most of it was true.
Still, why could she not ease up on him just this once? “I know he is quite flawed, Mama. But he never beat us or mistreated us. I agree, at times we could have lived better. But we went about in the best circles, had a roof over our heads, and food on the table. We did on occasion have to run from creditors, but it wasn’t all that often. Father always found a way to land on his feet. And we did have some happy times together, did we not?”
Her mother took a seat on the settee and motioned for Syd to take the chair across from hers. “Happy times? Are you deluded, girl? It was all fakery. Make-believe. Just as our marriage has always been.”
Syd cringed, for was this not exactly how she had insisted her marriage to Octavian needed to be? Sham. Fake. Make-believe.
Dear heaven.
Would she resemble this angry, sour woman in twenty years?
