Octavian held his tongue.
Oh, lord.
The man was a weasel, an inveterate gambler, an idiot when it came to investments. However, Octavian quietly forgave him for all of it, even for attempting to marry Syd off to Sir Henry Maxwell. Well, that one required quite a bit of bile to swallow.
But Syd loved this man.
There was no denying he had done everything he could to protect Syd, in his own hapless way. He had stepped up when no one else would protect her. The man could have abandoned his wife and set up house with another woman. He could have found his happiness in one woman or a string of them if he wished, for he was an earl and women would have given themselves to him whether he was eligible or not.
But he had stayed with that cold witch in order to protect Syd’s secret…or the secret he thought was true, that Syd was illegitimate. He had sacrificed everything to protect Syd, even given her the protection of his own name.
“Oh, my precious girl. How can you not hate me?” Her father was now blubbering as he hugged her and she hugged him back with fierce compassion. The two of them were shedding enough tears to drown them all.
Parkhurst was also sobbing.
Dear heaven.
Octavian set down his fork.
No one was going to eat a bite of this delicious meal.
After a moment, Harcourt looked over at him. “See, Thorne? Did I not tell you this girl was a golden charm?”
Octavian laughed. “Yes, you did.”
Harcourt gave Syd another embrace. “I will admit, I was worried when I learned you had taken off for Gretna Green. I did my best to slow Sir Henry down in the hope we would not reach you in time. Still, I worried about your happiness, Syd. My stupid mistakes had forced your hand to find someone elseto marry. I was so worried you would be leaping from one bad bargain straight into another.”
Parkhurst grunted. “And I would have been as much to blame.”
Syd turned to Octavian and smiled. “Octavian always loved me. He never wanted a make-believe marriage.”
“And you, Syd?” her father asked.
“It was never make-believe for me, either. I have always loved him.”
And this is what they admitted to their friends several days later during a dinner party hosted at the Hunstford townhouse. Ambrose and Adela were back from Devon. Julius had returned from York. The two dowagers were present, along with Marigold, Leo, and Gory. Marigold’s aunt and uncle, Sophie and John Farthingale, were also in attendance.
Harcourt, the man Syd refused to consider as anything less than her loving father, was not present. He had taken his wife to the seashore for a rest cure.
Octavian expected the hotel they were staying at was in actuality a hospital and Lady Harcourt would not be returning home. However, this was not a matter to be discussed at a dinner party. He would not raise it, and knew Syd did not wish to talk about it, either.
The conversation remained mostly light and jovial.
No one was surprised when he and Syd admitted they had loved each other all along.
“Good grief, you had it etched across your forehead, Octavian,” Lady Withnall intoned. “And you, Syd. You were even more obvious. Haven’t I always said so? In truth, I’ve never seen so much starlight spring into a girl’s eyes whenever that big brute walked into a room. Well, he is a big, handsome brute, isn’t he? I can understand why it was impossible for you to resist him.”
Ambrose laughed and rose to his feet. “A man never had two better brothers. Nor a better wife.” He toasted them all. “Nor a better sister-in-law. Syd, you have not only tamed my brother, but managed to make him father to a duke should you ever be blessed with a son. He will have no better protector than his father, or Julius and myself as his uncles. I raise my glass to the next little Duke of Parkhurst.”
“To the next little duke,” everyone said and joined in the toast.
After that round of cheer and jests on how quickly she and Octavian might produce him, Lady Withnall thucked on her cane and rose. “I would also like to propose a toast to Lady Gregoria.”
Gory choked on her wine. “Me? Why me?”
Lady Withnall cast her a knowing smile. “Because you are next, my dear girl. There is no escaping the Marriage Mart. You shall have your Season and find your match. Nothing short of murder will have you escaping it.”
At the time, no one expected the dowager’s words to ring quite so true.
