Page 111 of The Truth About Lord Stoneville
Maria had. Trying to protect him, she’d asked him repeatedly if he was sure this was what he wanted to do. But they deserved to know. It was as simple as that.
When he finished, a deathly hush descended upon the room. Maria squeezed his hand painfully tight, and he still couldn’t bring himself to meet their eyes.
Then Jarret spoke. “That cold bitch,” he said, his voice filled with venom. “I should have known Mrs. Rawdon was mixed up in it. She and Major Rawdon hustled off after the house party in a big hurry.”
Oliver’s stunned gaze rose to meet Jarret’s, which held no hint of condemnation toward him.
“She flirted with every man there, even me,” Jarret went on. “And I was only thirteen. It could just as easily have been my room she walked into that day.”
Beside Jarret, Celia was silently weeping, and Gabe was clearing his throat with a vengeance. Minerva regarded Oliver with a look of such compassion that tears stung his own eyes.
He couldn’t believe it. Hadn’t they understood the point? Hadn’t they been paying attention? “I thought you should know that I was the one to blame for—”
“You were not to blame for anything!” Minerva cried as she leapt to her feet. “You were in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong person. That’s all.”
“If anyone’s to blame,” Gran said from his other side, “it’s me.”
He turned to look at her. She, too, was crying, her papery cheeks damp from tears.
She lifted a remorseful gaze to him. “I should have listened to you when you said it was important I go after them. I have always regretted that. If I had only known . . .”
He laid his hand on her shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault. I was too embarrassed to tell you what Mother and I fought about.”
“Can’t say as I blame you, old boy,” Gabe put in, his voice hoarse. “Iwould never have told Gran such a thing. I can’t even imagine having Mother walk in on me while . . . That’s every chap’s nightmare.”
They all chimed in to agree with Gabe.
“You know,” Celia said, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, “Mrs. Rawdon must have told Mother something to make her go into your room at the right time.” When everyone looked at her, she blinked. “It justdoesn’t seem feasible that Mother would have happened to go into Oliver’s bedchamber without knocking or anything.”
Oliver said, “Unfortunately, we’ll never know for sure. Lilith and the major left England long ago, so I wasn’t able to ask.”
The conversation turned to speculation about Mrs. Rawdon’s motives, and then to memories about their mother and how rigid she could be. Before he knew it, they were laughing at some tale Gabe told of Mother paddling him for running naked across the courtyard at five.
Oliver cast Maria a bewildered glance, and she pulled him into the empty chair beside her. “Let them laugh,” she said softly. “It makes it easier for them to face. It’s a lot to swallow at once—the knowledge that your mother killed your father on purpose. You have to give them time to absorb it, to figure out what it means to them. Right now, all they can do is laugh or keep crying, and they don’t want to hurt you more by crying.”
“But they should be blaming me. And they don’t.”
“Because they’re not stupid,” she said with a loving smile. “They place the blame where it should be placed, on Mrs. Rawdon and your mother. And on your father, for being a heartless rakehell.”
Gran laid her hand on his. “Your mother always was a sensitive soul—too sensitive, if you ask me. I would have gone after your father with a poker the first time he even looked at another woman.” She patted his hand. “You may not know this, but your grandfather was quite therogue in his own day. Shaped right up after he married me, though.”
Oliver eyed her askance. “I don’t imagine you gave him much choice.”
“No, indeed.” She blotted her eyes with a handkerchief. “I still miss him, bless my soul. You remind me of him sometimes. He cut quite the dashing figure. And what a dancer! Lord, we used to dance all night.”
“I told you,” Maria said to Oliver. “It’s your mother’s line you favor. Not your father’s.”
He began to think she was right. With Maria in his life, he couldn’t imagine looking at another woman, much less bedding one. His duties at Halstead Hall kept him so busy he wondered how his father had ever managed to juggle a wife, an estate, and assorted tarts. The man must have been mad.
“Are we done now?” asked Minerva, jerking him from his reverie. “Or do you have other astonishing revelations to drop into our laps? Because if we’re done, I have some writing to do.”
He looked around to see that the others were awaiting his answer. He’d expected an entirely different outcome to this discussion, and now he was all at sea.
“Yes, we’re done,” Maria said helpfully. “Thank you all for being so understanding.”
“Well, then.” Minerva rose to her feet. “We’ll see you at dinner.”
And with that, the rest of them stood and trooped out of the room.
