He’d eaten most of the veal, mushroom pappardelle, and bruschetta, on his plate. But judging from his demeanor, he’d only done so to have a task, a means to avoid looking at Victoria or speaking to anyone.
He was never chatty, but in recent years, his mood had lightened at his birthday dinners. He would regale his children with stories of his triumphs as a youth, a student, and a surgeon. Then he would ask about his children’s work and education, remarking with approval on anything they were doing well and encouraging them to reach greater heights.
Tonight, he glowered at his plate without a word.
Victoria should be grateful he was silent rather than voicing his obvious displeasure. But her stomach was creating more knots by the minute as the tension emanating from him increased.
Should she apologize for getting arrested? No, not in front of everyone. That would only bring up the very topic that was best to avoid.
“I thought I was going to slide right off the road.” Hank’s laugh and chuckles from the others drew Victoria’s attention to the story he must have been telling for a bit already. “But I remembered Westons don’t miss Dad’s birthday dinner, so no blizzard was about to stop me.”
Robert laughed. “That’s the spirit.”
Hank grinned. “And it worked, too. I think that snow was afraid of me.” He glanced at their father. “Or maybe just afraid of Dad.” Hank tacked on the addition to his joke with a jovial tone, but it was a risky remark. Especially this evening.
Their father lifted his head and looked at his favorite child.
Hank’s smile grew shaky. “Just kidding.”
Victoria jumped in before their father could misdirect his wrath onto Hank. “Dad, would you like your cake now?” She’d baked his favorite German chocolate cake that Mom had always made for him and prepared it with candles in the kitchen. Victoria removed the cloth napkin from her lap and started to rise.
“No.” The steel in his tone made her immediately sit as her heart seized.
All eyes went to their father.
“What I would like,” he dabbed his mouth with his napkin before setting it beside his plate, “is to know what on earth possessed you to harass an esteemed member of the Green Hills Country Club at his home with that reprobate I told you never to see again.” He lifted his gaze with the final words, piercing her across the length of the table with a degree of barely bridled fury she hadn’t seen in years. Certainly not directed at her, not even when he’d reprimanded her for being questioned by the police.
“I—” Panic spiked through her. But she knew how to calm her father, how to meet his expectations and please him. She knew how to calm his stormy waters. Lord, please help me.
Her father respected strength and intelligent acquiescence. She met his gaze and fought for a steady tone. “I’m so sorry you heard of the meeting characterized in such an inaccurate light. I can assure you there was no harassment, only a discussion. I was trying to help a young girl who was the victim of that particular man.”
Dad’s eyes narrowed. “Define what you are implying by ‘victim.’”
She glanced at her siblings, all of whom stared at her. They already knew of the situation, but not the identity of the guilty party. Except for Robert.
He gave her a small nod, a gesture of encouragement her heart grabbed for strength.
She returned her focus to her father. “She’s a teenager with whom Lawrence Massey had an affair. She’s now pregnant with his child.”
“Whoa.”
“Oh, my goodness.”
Hank’s and Spring’s reactions overlapped one another.
“If your story is true, you have no business becoming directly involved with this girl.” Dad’s features relaxed slightly, shifting into his usual calm expression as the pent-up anger receded.
Thank you, Lord.
Perhaps Victoria would get a chance to explain so he would understand. “With all due respect, her own mother evicted her from the only home she has when she’s about to have her child.”
“Precisely what I suspected. We don’t involve ourselves with the class of people you are dealing with.”
Victoria stared at him. She shouldn’t be surprised. He’d always placed inappropriate value on wealth, so-called class, and social standing. But to hear him admit his bias so bluntly, especially when learning the identity of the culprit, hit her with disappointment and shock.
“I sincerely hope,” he leveled her with a warning look, “you are not about to tell me you allowed her to stay in your home.”
She took in a breath through her nose. Calm strength. “Yes. She’s temporarily staying with me, so she’ll have a roof over her head when her baby arrives.”
