“That your father respected you. My father does not respect me. At least not very much. He values me, yes, as his son, as an image of himself that he can fashion and turn to his will, and he loves me—for my personal characteristics. But he does not respect me. I suppose he sees me as your father saw your brothers.”
I shake my head. “You are nothing like my brothers. They were not bad men, but they were narrow-minded and coarse and like dogs when it came to my father. And I disagree. It seemed to me that your father respects your goodness.”
“Perhaps. I am not sure he can truly respect one who has been so obedient to him and for far longer than I should have been.”
“He took advantage of your gentle nature. My brothers were obedient, but it was only out of self-interest. However, I can see why love without respect does seem a rather hollow gift from a parent. Although respect is something that can grow with time, whereas I’m not sure love can grow from respect. At least the kind that a child wants from a parent. And in my father’s case, by the time he respected me, all chance of real love between us had gone.”
“Every child deserves to be loved. And of all people,youdeserve love.”
I shake my head again and look away. He does not know all that I have done.
“I have wanted my father’s respect all my life,” he says. “I have tried very hard to earn it. And yet he has never given it to me.
“That fault is all his,” I say, my gaze returning to him. “Not yours.”
“Perhaps if I had been a more commanding man—and even more pious, ambitious, if I had been a better reflection of him, I would have earned it by now. But I never could live to his standard.”
“His standard was inhuman. Even he does not live by it. Have you written him? And told him we are married?”
He shakes his head.
“I will soon.”
“I hope he is happy,” I say, turning away from him. “As happy as he can be.”
He pulls me towards him and kisses me in the crisp autumn air.
I can feel his gratitude. And I am glad that I married him.
Chapter 39
Alfred
Later that afternoon Annabelle and I are cloistered in the sitting room when a knock sounds on the door. She draws away from me and my body protests.
“Yes, Montgomery?” she says.
The butler appears.
“You have another visitor, ma’am.”
“Who is it?” Annabelle asks. She doesn’t saythis time, but the addendum feels self-evident.
“Mr. and Mrs. Ludlow, ma’am.”
Annabelle lets out a little laugh. “Oh, yes, please let them in, Montgomery.”
I am relieved that my father has not returned. Or it isn’t an irate villager intent upon finding and killing us for our disgraceful union.
A moment later, Mrs. Ludlow bustles into the room followed by her husband.
“We have only just heard the news,” declares Mrs. Ludlow immediately, running to embrace Annabelle. “You sly girl! I know I advised you to do it, but I still didn’texpect you to dash off and marry our young man so quickly.”
Annabelle blushes a deep pink at her words.
“Our marriage surprised us the most, I expect,” my wife manages. “Please, sit.”
“I am sure you have received many visitors, lass,” Mr. Ludlow says. “So we will not bother ye for too long.”
