Her mother tipped her chin up and snorted in indignation. “Of course, leave me behind and run to your undeserving father. You always liked him best.”
“At the moment, I do not like either of you. However, you are alive and my father is possibly dead.”
“Exactly,” her mother said. “He is dead and I am alive. You should be looking after me.”
Eden sighed. “Come with us, then.”
“I will not set foot in that house while your father is still there. I am staying here.” Mama turned to Connor and cast him an engaging smile. “You seem to have a lovely house party going on. I do adore a good party. I’ll have a visit with your mother while the two of you deal withthat man.”
“That man is your husband,” Eden shot back, leaping to her feet now that the last vestiges of her patience had been spent. “You’ll come with us and—”
Connor was still holding her hand, and gave it another light squeeze as he rose beside her. “Let’s you and I deal with this. Give me a moment to fill my mother in on what has happened. She’ll take care of your mother until we return. All right, Eden?”
She dreaded the impression her mother would make on his guests, particularly the Lothmere family. It made her cringe to think of her mother going on and on about her father and this being his fault. But was it not better to simply get this inevitable embarrassment out of the way? If Eden’s mother did not scare Lord Aubrey away after this, then nothing would. “All right.”
Connor took a few minutes to speak to his mother and also ordered his brougham brought around. The elegant open carriage awaited them in the courtyard by the time they were ready to leave a few minutes later.
Connor settled beside her and ordered his driver to proceed.
“Right, Your Grace,” the man said, spurring the team to a trot.
Eden let out the breath she had been holding all the while in her mother’s company. “I’m so sorry this—”
“Eden, none of this is your fault,” Connor said gently, and took her hand again. “Nor do I mind helping you out after all the help you’ve given me. I just hope your father is all right.”
“So do I.” She sighed and leaned back against the squabs. “Connor, what makes two people hate each other so much?”
“I don’t know.” He nudged her to his side and allowed her to lean her head on his shoulder instead of the carriage’s metal frame. “Love and hate are not opposite emotions. Love and apathy are opposites. Sometimes, there is a thin line between love and hate.”
“I cannot imagine they ever started with love. I doubt they ever felt the slightest connection to each other. Nor do they feel very connected to me. I am more of a truce negotiator—and not a very good one at that, since tensions always flare within an hour or two of my attempted resolution. They never think of me as their beloved child.”
She felt like crying, but this was not the time for it. She prayed they would find her father sitting up and breathing when they reached her home.
“Eden, assuming your father is still alive and cannot travel for a while,” he said, “you are welcome to stay with us at Lynton Grange, if you ever feel the need to escape. My home is always open to you. Come to us whenever you want, day or night, and stay for as long as you wish.”
“And have my parents disrupt your household when they come shouting for me to referee their next match?”
“Is it much different than my boys and their antics?” He cast her an affectionate smile.
“Much different. I like your boys. They will grow up to be fine men, just like their father. My family, on the other hand, is hopeless.”
“Well, you are a treasure and more than make up for their failings.”
She gave a mirthless laugh. “Well, I… Oh, look! There’s the doctor’s carriage. That was fast.”
Connor nodded. “Your staff probably sent for him after your mother ran to us.”
That made sense. Unlike her parents, her staff was reliable and sensible.
To her relief, her father was sitting on the settee in the parlor with a bloodied cloth held to his head while the doctor ministered to him.
Eden greeted the local doctor, a dependable man with army training that she thought would come in handy, since her father probably needed stitches in his head. “Thank you for coming so promptly, Dr. Weaver. What’s to be done for my father?”
“Just a few stitches and a bit of rest.”
She nodded. “I’ll attend to whatever he needs.” She turned to her father, noting the lump that was the size of a goose egg protruding from his skull. “She really beaned you this time, Papa. What did you say to her?”
Her father cast her an indignant look. “What makes you think I said or did anything?”
