Page 79 of Lady Diana's Lost Lord
Not because he had any particular faith in his father’s reformation. But because whatever happened, Diana would be there at his side. They were a family now, all three of them. Hannah had been grievously disappointed to have missed the wedding, but had been placated by being permitted to sit onDiana’s lap during the short carriage ride from Marcus’ townhouse to the one in which Ben’s father was currently residing.
The door swept open to admit them as they walked up the steps, and the butler ushered them inside. Hannah marveled at the lavish foyer, her grip on his hand slackening a little as she cast her gaze about. This was a sort of opulence she had never seen—even Marcus’ townhome paled in comparison.
“We were never very fond of it,” Diana said softly. “It’s…cold, I think. Impersonal.”
Yes; it was that. Ostentatious, even, with a grandeur that felt pretentious and overwhelming. The sort of house one could never truly feel comfortable within, like the slightest smudge or stain might call down wrath upon one’s head.
Diana squeezed his arm. “We will have the use of it whenever we are in London,” she said. “I think we ought to consider redecorating. And making new memories. Better ones.”
The butler cleared his throat. “My lady, you are expected in the drawing room.”
“Yes, of course.” With a gentle tug, Diana steered him in the proper direction. Her voice light and soft, designed to soothe, she said, “We take tea there, your father and I, before dinner. He won’t be expecting you—but I think he will be pleased.”
Ben could not, inanysense, imagine his father being pleasedto see him. It was simply unfathomable. He supposed Hannah must have sensed his reticence, for she ducked behind him as they found the room at last. She had never been a particularly shy child, but he had told her enough, he supposed, of the sort of man his father had been for her to have developed a healthy hesitance herself.
He stood there in the doorway with Diana at his side and Hannah half-concealed behind his back to see his father seated in a chair gazing out the window, and he was struck by the realization that his father had grown old. It was a strange thing to acknowledge, but a distance of a decade had liberally peppered his hair with grey and carved deep grooves into his cheeks and lines of weariness beneath his eyes. Far from the vital, commanding man he had once known, whose every expression was disapproval, he looked…harmless. Tired.
Sad. Perhaps he always had been. Perhaps the weight of that grief had hung itself over his shoulders for years, infecting his life like a plague.
“Benjamin.” It came out a hoarse rasp, and Father’s hands shook as theygripped the arms of his chair. He hoisted himself to his feet slowly, on creaky legs. “Ben. My son. Oh, it is so good to see you once again.” Father hesitated there, his hands flexing at his sides. His eyes glowed with a strange moisture, and he swallowed hard.
“One would think if you had had any interest in that, you would have conducted yourself differently.” It wasn’tquitedelivered in an excoriating tone, but that was largely because his throat was too tight to manage one properly.
Father managed a half-hearted smile, passively accepting the criticism as his due. “I have been such a fool,” he said. “I don’t expect your forgiveness, but I amso very sorry. You deserved a better father.”
So much resentment couldn’t be scraped away with a simple apology. But then, he hadn’t expected even that much from his father. Even as he opened his mouth to refuse the apology, he heard the echo of Diana’s words:You don’t owe him your forgiveness. But you can allow him to attempt to make amends.
Not a promise. Not a guarantee. Not a clearing away of all that lay between them, or an erasure of the hurts that had been inflicted. But an overture, however small. The tiniest step toward the possibility of a reconciliation, and he didn’t have to decline it in this moment, when emotions ran high.
Diana saved them from the awkward silence that settled over the room. “My lord, perhaps you would like to meet your granddaughter?”
“Yes.” His father pressed his lips together, and with one hand he swiped beneath his eyes. “Yes, I would like that very much.”
Diana extended her hand, smiling at Hannah. “It’s all right.”
Slowly, Hannah edged out from behind him, snatched for Diana’s hand as if it were a lifeline, and allowed herself to be led before Father. For a moment they only looked at one another, man and child. Hannah narrowed her eyes in rank suspicion, and Father—
Father stared as if he’d witnessed a minor miracle. It was enough to relieve a bit of the tension from Ben’s shoulders, and perhaps a tiny sliver of the resentment he’d nurtured these long years.
“This is your grandfather,” Diana said to Hannah. “But he is also a marquess, and that means we must greet him appropriately. Do you remember your curtsey?”
Hannah managed to bob a curtsey that was both perfectly proper and impudent at once, and she tilted her chin up at an angle that could only be considered belligerent; a blatant challenge.
Father muffled a chuckle behind his hand. “Very pretty,” he said toDiana.
“She has ears, my lord,” Diana said dryly. “Perhaps you might speak toher.”
Ben thought this rather doubtful, given that his father had gone to great lengths to avoid speaking to him as much as was humanly possible since he’d been younger even than Hannah.
And yet, to his surprise, Father sank into a crouch, his knees creaking with the strain of it. “Hello, Hannah,” he said. “I’m told you are very fond of reading.”
“Yes,” Hannah said. “Sir,” she added, somewhat resentfully, when Diana gently nudged her shoulder. “It’s my sixth most favorite thing to do.”
Father’s grey brows lifted. “Sixthfavorite,” he echoed. “My goodness. What sorts of things come before it?”
“Swimming,” Hannah said. “And sketching and stomping in puddles.”
The tiniest huff of laughter from Father, whose eyes had crinkled just at the corners. “My eyes aren’t what they used to be, I’m afraid,” he said. “Perhaps one day you will read to me.”
