Was this one of the dragons he must fight? If so, the price was high indeed. Nothing would ever be the same. But the same as what? He had brushed much beneath the metaphoric carpet five years ago. He would do so no longer.
“You do not know how I have suffered, Peter,” she said, tearful now—as she had been the last time. “If he did it for revenge, he certainly had the final word. Do you think I have not felt like a murderer all these years? But it is unfair. I did not mean him any harm. I was fond of him. I have always been your mother, and I know it is hard to see your own mother as a woman. But Iama woman, and I was lonely. We were both widowed. He had loved his wife as I loved your father. He even told me at the end that he could not continue with me because his heart had broken at her death and he could not forget her. But for a time we were almost happy. We were not hurting anyone.”
He almost felt sorry for her. She had done something monstrous, but she was surely not a monster. And the worst thing about her monstrosity must always have been that she could not atone—Osbourne was dead.Wouldshe have brought false accusations against him if he had lived? There was no way of knowing, and he did notwantto know. But she had done irreparable harm anyway.
He was very tempted to get up, to take her hands in his and draw her to her feet and into his arms, to comfort and reassure her, to send her off to bed. But he had done that the last time, after Grantham. If she needed forgiveness, it was her own she must seek, not his.
Besides, there was one more thing he needed to say, and it was best to say everything now tonight and hope that tomorrow they could both start piecing their lives back together.
She spoke before he could, though.
“Peter,” she said, “youcannotmarry his daughter. You must see that. It would be an impossible, horrible situation.”
He drew a slow breath.
“And yet it would have been perfectly fine for me to marry Bertha?” he asked her.
She did not reply.
With the commonsense part of his mind he agreed with her, though. The past would always be there between him and Susanna, the knowledge that his mother and her father had been lovers, that she had caused his death. It would be far better to allow Susanna to return to Bath, to go to London himself after Christmas and set his mind to choosing a suitable bride during the Season. Eventually they would forget each other, and when theydidremember, they would both be glad they had not taken a chance on happiness.
But he had renounced simple common sense since leaving Bath behind him a few weeks ago. He was reaching for happiness, or if happiness proved impossible, then at least for self-respect. He would no longer avoid the darker corners of his life.
It was altogether possible—even probable—that Susanna would not have him after all, but he would not lose her just because he had chosen to tiptoe his way past his dragons. Even after she was gone he would have to live with himself. And finally he was determined to like the person who lived inside his body.
Not that he particularly liked himself at the moment.
“The only question to be settled on the issue of Miss Osbourne, Mama,” he said, “is whethershewill marry me under the circumstances. She has already refused me once.”
She looked sharply at him with a curious mixture of indignation and hope on her face.
“Mama,” he said after drawing a deep breath, “I want Sidley to becomemyhome.”
She stared at him.
“Itisyours, Peter,” she said. “If you do not spend more time here, it is your own fault. You know how often I have urged you to come.”
“Because it has always been more yours than mine,” he said.
“Sidley has been yours since you were an infant,” she said. “I have always kept the household running smoothly for you. I have always kept it beautiful for you. Lately I have begun some refurbishings, all for your sake.”
“But I have never been consulted about anything,” he said.
“Because you are neverhere,” she cried.
It was true enough. She did have a point there.
“I ought to have taken over both the house and the estate when I reached my majority,” he said, “but I did not for reasons we need not rehash yet again. I have my own ideas on how both should be run, and now I am ready to implement them. I want to make friends of my neighbors. I want themherefor frequent entertainments. I want them to feel welcome, to feel at home here. I want tolivehere most of the time.”
“Peter,” she said, looking more herself again, “this is wonderful! I shall—”
“I want it formyself,Mama,” he said, “and for my wife and children if I marry.”
She smiled uncertainly at him.
“Perhaps,” he said, “you would like to redecorate and refurnish the dower house and move there when it is ready.”
“Thedowerhouse?” Her eyes widened in indignation.
