things, but which particular act are you referring to?”His lips quirked again. “For wanting to marry into the family.”
“Nay, nay, I do not blame him for that at all. Nor do I think him a fool for wanting to marry Sarah; she will be more than enough of a catch for most men, though most men would not have the spine to take her on.”“True.” He nodded appreciatively. “Thus it irks me that he wished to marry her merely for her relation to me. I had feared that very thing.
He asked me for Elizabeth’s hand several years ago, and was quite distraught when I told him her betrothal was of some political use to me. I do not think he loved her, either. Not that I truly cared. With Sarah, I care.”
I thought it must be good to be Sarah. “So, you had guessed at his design.”
“Aye. I am not blind.” He shrugged.
“Father, take this how you will, but you have given me great reason to believe you are blind about such things.”
His breath was heavy, but his eyes held no malice. “I was not blind then, either.”
I felt very cold, despite the fire reddening my hands. “Then, if you were not blind, then one might assume you condoned what occurred.”
“I did.”
I struck him, good and hard on the jaw, and he was thrown back to his desk. I had not known I would do it until my fist clenched. He seemed no more surprised than I had been at Sarah’s slap the day before. He pulled himself up and tested his jaw a little, before retreating to the far side of the desk, where he pulled a bottle and two glasses from a cupboard. He motioned for me to take a seat across from him, and poured for both of us. I sat.
“I deserved that,” he said with a rueful grin, “and probably a great deal more.”
“Then why?”
“First, let me say that I did not realize events had advanced so very far. When he tortured a horse in order to anger you, I decided enough was enough. I was called away before I could confront him, and by the time I returned, you were gone.”
Fury gripped me, and I very carefully set the glass down before I crushed it in my hands or hurled it at him.
“Son,” he continued. “You must understand that I will regret that for the rest of my days.”
“That will make two of us, then. Why? You did not intend for it to go as it did, but apparently you were not against it occurring.”
“I thought it might put you off men.” There was no amusement on his face. He was stating a truth.
On several occasions I have been confronted with situations in which there can only be two responses: tears or laughter. I was damned if I was going to cry in front of him, so I laughed.
“It is a damn good thing you are on the other side of this table.”
“I know,” he chuckled in return. “Why do you think I walked over here?”
I wanted to smash something. I held my voice steady. “Damn you to Hell, you are an utter arse, truly a bastard of the worst design.”
He accepted my words with a solemn nod.
“What did I do as a child to earn your hatred?” I asked.
He shook his head thoughtfully. “I never hated you.”
“Fine, your dislike then, because I can never remember you approving of me. And that far predates my favoring men.”
He sat forward. “Christ, boy, you never knew when to be seen and not heard. And when you were not telling the world about every thought that ran through your head, you were doing a great number of things to insure that you were seen, heard or not. You made pictures with your food. You spoke to your mother’s spaniel and every other animal you encountered, as if they would respond. We could not allow you to be seen by proper guests, after you informed the Lady Willoughby that she should have a portrait made like your mother’s, because the painter would make her look prettier than she was. In that instance you were three years of age, and you had gotten the better of your nanny’s dull wit and escaped the nursery.”
I was incredulous. “And you hate, excuse me,
“Nay, nay, I do not blame him for that at all. Nor do I think him a fool for wanting to marry Sarah; she will be more than enough of a catch for most men, though most men would not have the spine to take her on.”“True.” He nodded appreciatively. “Thus it irks me that he wished to marry her merely for her relation to me. I had feared that very thing.
He asked me for Elizabeth’s hand several years ago, and was quite distraught when I told him her betrothal was of some political use to me. I do not think he loved her, either. Not that I truly cared. With Sarah, I care.”
I thought it must be good to be Sarah. “So, you had guessed at his design.”
“Aye. I am not blind.” He shrugged.
“Father, take this how you will, but you have given me great reason to believe you are blind about such things.”
His breath was heavy, but his eyes held no malice. “I was not blind then, either.”
I felt very cold, despite the fire reddening my hands. “Then, if you were not blind, then one might assume you condoned what occurred.”
“I did.”
I struck him, good and hard on the jaw, and he was thrown back to his desk. I had not known I would do it until my fist clenched. He seemed no more surprised than I had been at Sarah’s slap the day before. He pulled himself up and tested his jaw a little, before retreating to the far side of the desk, where he pulled a bottle and two glasses from a cupboard. He motioned for me to take a seat across from him, and poured for both of us. I sat.
“I deserved that,” he said with a rueful grin, “and probably a great deal more.”
“Then why?”
“First, let me say that I did not realize events had advanced so very far. When he tortured a horse in order to anger you, I decided enough was enough. I was called away before I could confront him, and by the time I returned, you were gone.”
Fury gripped me, and I very carefully set the glass down before I crushed it in my hands or hurled it at him.
“Son,” he continued. “You must understand that I will regret that for the rest of my days.”
“That will make two of us, then. Why? You did not intend for it to go as it did, but apparently you were not against it occurring.”
“I thought it might put you off men.” There was no amusement on his face. He was stating a truth.
On several occasions I have been confronted with situations in which there can only be two responses: tears or laughter. I was damned if I was going to cry in front of him, so I laughed.
“It is a damn good thing you are on the other side of this table.”
“I know,” he chuckled in return. “Why do you think I walked over here?”
I wanted to smash something. I held my voice steady. “Damn you to Hell, you are an utter arse, truly a bastard of the worst design.”
He accepted my words with a solemn nod.
“What did I do as a child to earn your hatred?” I asked.
He shook his head thoughtfully. “I never hated you.”
“Fine, your dislike then, because I can never remember you approving of me. And that far predates my favoring men.”
He sat forward. “Christ, boy, you never knew when to be seen and not heard. And when you were not telling the world about every thought that ran through your head, you were doing a great number of things to insure that you were seen, heard or not. You made pictures with your food. You spoke to your mother’s spaniel and every other animal you encountered, as if they would respond. We could not allow you to be seen by proper guests, after you informed the Lady Willoughby that she should have a portrait made like your mother’s, because the painter would make her look prettier than she was. In that instance you were three years of age, and you had gotten the better of your nanny’s dull wit and escaped the nursery.”
I was incredulous. “And you hate, excuse me,
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