“Wouldn’t I? It’s mine to bestow. I will arrange for Mother to have unfettered access to her dower from my father, should she wish it. Shecango with you, if she so chooses. But she is more than welcome, and I’d say encouraged, to remain here with me. But that isherdecision.”
He hears a soft rustle from the stairwell. No one in this family will be controlled by his stepfather any longer, if that’s what they wish.
“You...” his stepfather starts, swiping out at James’ leg.
James simply kicks his wavering hand away. “Sober up, pack your things, and you’ll take the horse I hired back up to the country. If you go quietly, I’ll have no reason to go to the authorities about your betting and your mistreatment of my mother. She can divorce you, if that’s what she wants. Lord Havenfort knows some of the best solicitors in the city, and Lady Ashmond would be happy to help her.”
“You shut up about my wife,” Stepfather says.
“Mother?” James calls, taking a chance.
“I’ll be staying here,” his mother says, her voice faint, but firm. “Get out, John. You heard my son.”
James smiles and turns back to his stepfather. “Understood?”
Stepfather glares up at him, but doesn’t respond.
“Reginald will be staying with me. Any of the staff who wants to return with you are welcome. Be packed and out of here by morning, or I’ll call in the constable.”
With that, he turns on his heel and makes for the stairs, watching in amusement as Reginald leads a flurry of maids out of the servants’ hall, all of them in their pajamas and hastily tied robes, eagerly grabbing things to pack. Reginald winks at him.
When James reaches the top of the stairs, he finds his mother standing in her morning gown, staring at him with wide eyes.
“In a few weeks, we’ll sell this place, and you and I will pick out a new townhouse, which you can have your run of during the year, if you like,” he says, feeling a true smile come over his face. “You’re welcome back at the estate as well once the season’s over. But I’ll decorate the townhouse, at least the first floor.”
His mother lurches forward, wrapping him in her arms. “You wonderful boy,” she whispers, and he feels his chest unclench.
“It took me too long,” he whispers back.
She pulls away, brushing the hair from his eyes. “You are braver than me, and that is more than enough. I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight, if you don’t mind. And you can have the primary bedroom tomorrow, if you want.”
“Would you prefer I take it?” he asks.
“I would.”
“Then we’ll switch. We can order anything you like, within reason,” he adds as her eyes light up.
“We’ll have breakfast before you go out tomorrow?” she suggests, a little meekly. They haven’t dined together in weeks.
“I’d like that,” he says honestly, squeezing her hands. “For now, though, I’m going to rest. It’s been a long day.”
“Was everything all right at the Masons’?” she asks.
James hesitates only for a moment. “I’ll tell you at breakfast,” he decides.
Maybe he’ll tell her everything, maybe nothing. But that’s tomorrow’s problem. And they’ll weather it together, whatever he decides.
For now, he turns and strides down the hall, closing the door to his room so he can collapse face-first onto his bed. He’s taken the first step toward making things right—toward righting his own life—and that is something.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Bobby
“You’re sure about this?” Albie asks, looking across their newly refinished carriage at him. Meredith, sitting beside Albie, looks just as concerned in her beautiful new tea dress, face ringed with shiny red curls beneath her bonnet.
They’ve spent the week keeping him frighteningly busy with the house, and with teas, and dinners, and endless shopping. Meredith’s maintained an incessant running commentary on anything and everything. Albie’s attended almost no meetings with Uncle Dashiell and hasn’t said two words about the ones he has—their tacit, unspoken agreement to pretend everything is normal. There’s been no post, no heartfelt letters of apology, or excuse, or proof of life. And he’s fine. He’s perfectly fine.
And now they’re watching him like he could shatter into a thousand pieces of glass at any moment.
