Page 97 of The Duke and the Lady in Red
He returned his attention to Sir William. “Who did?”
Sir William’s face went blank. “It’s not important.”
“Was this when he supposedly died in a fire?”
“I would invite you to sit, but I suspect you’d prefer to hear all this standing,” Sir William said. “There was a fire, which he started, but he was rescued from it. Would have been better for all if he’d been left where he’d fallen, but he wasn’t. Arrangements were made for him to travel as a convict on a prison hulk to the far side of the world. Smart man, your father. He managed to escape and made his way back here.”
“Once I realized he was alive and back in London, I knew he would come for me,” his mother said softly, sadness in her eyes. “I sent you and the servants away. I’d changed while he was gone. I was happy. I wanted him to understand that I would not allow him to take that away from me; I would not allow him to take you. But he had trussed William up like a Christmas goose. He was going to kill him, send me to Bedlam. Who would protect you from him then?”
Avendale shook his head. “I don’t remember Sir William being there, not trussed up. I recall him later, telling you the man was dead.”
“Trauma can affect one’s memory,” Sir William said. “And it’s been a little over twenty years.”
He nodded. So much of his early years was a blur, so many things he hadn’t wanted to remember sharpened into clarity with his mother’s confession. He recalled his father beating her.
“Is that why you’ve kept your distance all these years?” his mother asked. “Because you knew what I’d done and can’t forgive me.”
He thought of all the things Rose had done to protect her brother. How she had once told him that she knew she would pay a price for them. His mother had done the same, paid a price to protect him. They both had. He knelt before her. “He came to me one night, told me you were trying to rid yourself of him, that you also wished me harm.”
She gasped. “No.”
“When I saw you kill him, I feared I was next.”
“Oh my dear God, Whit.” Tears brimmed in her eyes, overflowed onto her cheeks. She cradled his face between her hands. “I would never hurt you. You are my precious boy.”
How was it that he had so badly misjudged? He wrapped his arms around her waist, rested his head in her lap. “I’m sorry, so sorry that I distanced myself. I was angry, didn’t understand what had happened but was too cowardly to ask.”
“It’s not your fault. Damn your father for putting such notions in your head. I swear if he were alive I’d kill him again.”
Straightening, he looked into eyes that were not those of a murderer, but a lioness who would protect her cub. He could hardly countenance what he’d believed at the age of seven, the fears he had allowed to guide his life. “As I got older, it made no sense, but the damage was done.”
She cupped his cheek. “I am not completely without fault. I felt such guilt. I was always afraid that somehow you would discover the truth. Now you have. If only I’d taken you aside and told you everything years ago. But I feared what you would think of me.”
“I suspect I would have thought what I think now: that you are a remarkable woman.”
Once more tears filled her eyes. “Not so remarkable. Defending my life and those I loved was thrust upon me. My actions were not what I would have chosen, but sometimes we don’t have a choice.”
How did one know, he wondered, when one had a choice—when one should have a choice?
“If he had told you that you could leave, would you have gone?”
“Yes,” she said softly. “He had beaten my love for him out of me. William came into my life and refilled my heart. I will always choose love above all else. It is the only thing that matters. My dearest wish is that none of my children will go through life without it.”
“I’m sorry I’ve not been a good son.”
“Oh, Whit, I could not have asked for a better son.”
He knew it for the lie it was, but he let her have it.
Leaning back, she brushed his hair from his brow in the same manner that she had when he was a small boy. “Now, you came to ask a favor of us. What is it?”
The years of separation melted away as though they’d never been. His heart swelled with all the love he held for his mother. Then he told her what he needed done.
Chapter 20
This time when Rose descended the stairs to see Harry dressed in evening attire she didn’t stop partway, but carried on and forced her trepidation into submission. She trusted Avendale, absolutely, unconditionally.
“Are you ready for a night engaging in wicked things?” she asked her brother as she neared him.
