Emm, of course, had forgiven him long ago.
Just one thing now puzzled her. “Papa, when you were searching for me, why did you never think to look for me in Bath? Did it never occur to you I would seek refuge with Miss Mallard?”
He shook his head. “Why would it? Youhatedthat place. You wrote me long letters every week begging, pleading,imploringme to rescue you from that dreadful place and bring you home—and don’t shake your head at me, Emm. I still have every one of your letters, a large stack.” He indicated how large with his hands. “Yes, of course I kept them. I’ve read them over and over, since you left. They were all I had left of you.”
His voice broke and, when he had mastered himself, he added almost to himself, “You hated that place.”
“Yes, when I was first sent there I did,” she agreed gently. “But I was thirteen then. And after a while I got used to it.”
“I didn’t know. You never said, not in any of your letters.”
“I suppose I didn’t.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “But we’ve found each other now.”
He took her hands in his. “Yes, we’ve found each other now.”
When the girls came home from their outing, they were amazed to discover they had a new relative. Dinner lasted a long time, with reminiscences—happier ones now—and plans for the future.
When Emm escorted her father up to the best guest bedroom—for of course her dear papa was not allowed to stay in some horrid hotel or club when his home was here, with his family—he was a man who looked ten years younger than the man Cal had first met a bare handful of days before.
And Emm? Emm just glowed with happiness.
***
A few weeks later, Cal received a note from Gil Radcliffe.
Dear Ashendon,
Took the liberty of inquiring into the situation of that Irwin fellow. It might gratify you to know his situation is far from happy. The widow he married is a harridan of the first degree, a grim-faced harpy with the disposition of a peevish rat. She was, and is, immensely rich, but the fool didn’t make any further inquiries before he married her. He got nothing—it was all tied up in trusts. She holds the purse strings, he has to ask her for every penny and she keeps him on a very tight rein.
I’m told he’s about as miserable as a man can be. She’s as healthy as a cow, and no doubt he would dream of killing her, except that she’s made it known far and wide that he gets nothing in her will.
I don’t know what Irwin was like when your wife knew him, but these days he’s a miserable whipped dog of a man.
Of course if you still wish to track him down and give him the thrashing he deserves, you could, but I hardlythink it’s necessary. It might actually gain him some sympathy.
Revenge might be a dish best eaten cold, but sometimes it’s just not practical.
Yours etc., Radcliffe.
Epilogue
Thou art my life, my love, my heart,
The very eyes of me:
And hast command of every part
To live and die for thee.
—ROBERT HERRICK,TO ANTHEA WHO MAY COMMAND HIM ANYTHING
Three months later
It was the night before the grand ball to launch the three Rutherford girls. For weeks the household had been a frenzy of preparation. Cal lay in bed with Emm.
“I should have just auctioned off those dratted girls,” he grumbled. “There’s been more planning and fuss over this one ball than there was for an entire campaign against Boney. It’s completely exhausted you.”
She laughed. “No, you’ve exhausted me.” She stretched languorously.
