Which is exactly what I should do. Walk past him without acknowledgment. Make it clear that he’s not welcome in our lives.
But the man’s expression reminded him uncomfortably of his own feelings when he’d failed his daughters. The desperate desire to make amends for mistakes that seemed impossible to repair.
Damn.
“Sybil,” he said quietly, his decision made. “Take Rosalie and Lord Pemberton and wait for me by the carriage. I’ll be along shortly.”
“But Papa?—”
“Go.” His tone brooked no argument. “Now.”
Rosalie looked as though she wanted to protest, but something in his expression convinced her to comply. She took Lord Pemberton’s arm and followed a silent Sybil toward the exit, casting worried glances over her shoulder.
Hugo approached the Earl slowly, noting how the man straightened his shoulders as though preparing for battle.
Or execution.
“Your Grace,” the Earl began formally, inclining his head, “I didn’t expect… that is, I hadn’t hoped…”
“Lord Keats.” Hugo’s tone was carefully neutral. “You wished to speak with me?”
“If you would spare a moment.” The Earl’s hands trembled slightly, Hugo noticed. “I know I have no right to ask anything of you, but as one parent to another…”
He’s appealing to the one thing I can’t easily dismiss.
“Very well,” Hugo said curtly. “But make it quick. My family is waiting.”
Relief flooded the Earl’s features. “Thank you. I won’t take long, I promise.”
They moved to a relatively quiet corner of the lobby, away from the departing crowds. Up close, Hugo could see the toll the years had taken on Sybil’s parent. Lines around his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights, a slight tremor in his hands that suggested the weight of guilt carried too long.
He looks like a man haunted by his choices.
“I know what you must think of me,” the Earl began, barely above a whisper. “What Sybil has undoubtedly told you about… about what happened with Emmeline.”
“What do you want?” Hugo asked bluntly, cutting through any attempt at preamble.
The Earl reached into his coat and withdrew a folded letter, the paper slightly wrinkled as though it had been written hastily.
“I want you to give this to her,” he said simply. “And I want you to stay with her when she reads it.”
Stay with her. He expects this letter to upset her.
“I’m not a messenger service.”
“No, you’re not. You’re her husband. The man who promised to protect her.” The Earl’s words grew more urgent. “I’m asking you to protect her from this if necessary. To be there if… if what I have to say proves too overwhelming.”
Protect her from her own father’s words. What is in that letter?
“I won’t force her to read anything she doesn’t want to read,” Hugo warned.
“I’m not asking you to force her. I’m asking you to give her the choice. And to be there for whatever she decides.”
The choice. As if forgiveness were something that could be chosen rather than earned.
Hugo studied the older man’s face, noting the deep lines of regret etched around his eyes. “She may refuse to have anything to do with you. Are you prepared for that possibility?”
“I’ve been preparing for it for eight years.” The Earl’s composure cracked slightly. “But I have to try. As a parent, I have to try to make amends for the gravest error of my life.”
