Page 45 of The Remarkable Myth of a Nameless Lady
She could feel Tom’s eyes upon her as she reached the door, fumbling for the latchstring that she might let herself in. Surprisingly, her father had left it out. Either he had forgotten it, or was feeling regretful of his actions toward her. She prayed it was the latter.
The door creaked open under her touch. Alicia held her breath and entered.
Chapter 33
“’Tis far enough. I would no have a betrayer in my house.”
Alicia’s father sat by the fire, staring into the flames. He never so much as looked her way as she came in, though she had heard him clear enough.
Alicia shut the door behind her carefully, pulling in the latch string as she did so. Much as she appreciated the Duke’s gesture in sending someone to stand guard outside her door, she had no need of being rescued and felt more secure were she the one to determine who should or should not come through that door. “Da…” she said softly, speaking the childhood nickname almost without thinking.
He sat, slumped in his chair, his face slack with drink, his hand still wrapped around the neck of the bottle, though at first glance it appeared empty. His eyes, though, were cold and hard. Not sober, but not drunk enough by a long shot.
“I am no traitor,” she said quietly. “I might question whether you are.”
The bottle shattered upon the hearth. Alicia jumped, her heart thumping wildly in her chest as her father drew himself up and faced her. She found herself rethinking that latchstring, calling herself a fool for being proud and wondering whether the night would end in violence. Would she soon be slumbering in the churchyard beside her beloved Adam?
Oddly enough, the thought was not so terrifying as it might have been. She was tired, and had been living in the shadow of violence for far too long. In truth, her only regret was that she would have liked to have seen the Duke again, if only to see if she could make him smile one last time. He had a glorious smile.
Her father wavered on his feet, still a mighty figure of a man when he drew himself up like that. Alicia faced him without moving, terrified, trying to think what to say, when she caught sight of the crumpled pages lying on the table between her father’s pipe and the family Bible, the latter being coated with a thick covering of dust.
“What did you take from the Duke’s office?” she asked quietly, starting forward the instant she saw the papers. She snagged the sheets, but could not hold onto them for long.
He tore them from her grasp with a growl, casting them into the fire. They old paper caught quickly. She watched the edges curl and turn black. Long lines of numbers on one side of the page, what looked like names on the other.
She looked at him, seeing for the first time the ghosts that lay within the depths of his eyes. “What have you done?” she asked again, coming forward to lay a hand upon his face, the way she had when she was small.
He shuddered beneath her touch, sinking into the old chair and bending forward as though he could no longer hold himself upright. A single sob shook him. “I should not have hurt you.”
The words came out hoarse and strained, spoken as through with great effort. “I have not been a good father. Not to you, nor to Adam.”
She nearly replied that it was all right, giving both absolution and forgiveness in that simple phrase. But she could not make herself frame the words with her lips. Denying she was ill-treated was not forgiveness. It was not all right. It had never been all right. Regardless of what the law said, she did not agree. He had not the right to hurt her.
“No,” she said finally, “You have not.”
His eyes never left the fire. She followed his gaze, seeing the papers collapse into so much ash, flaring brightly for a moment and then gone.
“A long time ago,” he said finally, “I did a terrible thing.”
Alicia cocked her head to listen, sitting carefully on the footstool at his feet, the way she had as a child. “What did you do, Da?”
He sighed, rubbing one leathery hand over his face roughly. “I need a drink.”
“What did you do?”
He looked up, as though seeing her for the first time. “I gave up Ballyroyal and your birthright for gold.”
The ledger, the pages…Alicia felt as though she could not breathe. The books had been ledgers of some sort, accountings from the past, dating back to the time of the old Duke. “He paid you.”
“He paid many of us. Gold for a peaceful transition. Give land and title to the Crown, and make no nevermind about it. It seemed harmless, prudent even. The English would take what we did not give, we were told. There would be war. People would die. To sell our birthrights was to ensure peace.”
“There was no war,” Alicia said softly as she thought this through. “The Irish yielded. They even supported…” she faltered here. “The British lied.”
“I know not about the Crown. Whether the Duke of Woodworth was acting under orders or simply lining his own pockets, I dinna know.”
Alicia shot to her feet. “Why would you do that? You had to know it was a trick.”
“Alicia, you dinna understand.” Her father reached beside him, groping for something that wasn’t there. He was looking for the bottle, she realized, when he stared mournfully at the broken glass upon the heart. “I need a drink.”
