“This cake is delicious,” Zach said. “And I will allow you to hold my wife’s hand as I know she’s comforting you.”
The words broke some of the tension in the room, and Monty snorted out a laugh. Releasing Mary after a last squeeze, he waved his guests all into seats but did not take one himself.
“One of our mares was having a foal. I often spent time in the stables when this was happening. Iris had been with me for a while too, until her father sent a groom to take her home.”
“You and she were close?” Nathan asked.
“Very. She was my best friend as I was hers. We were young, but still, most days we saw each other.”
“Because you were young does not lessen the friendship you obviously shared,” Forrest said.
“Have you been reading again?” Zach looked at his cousin. “You seem a great deal more intelligent than normal this evening.”
Forrest rolled his eyes.
“My parents said I could stay with the mare as long as I liked. The foal was born in the early hours of the morning. Father had told me to tap on his door when I returned and inform him, no matter the time, as he liked to know I was back in the house.”
“Your parents were well respected,” Gabe said. “A few people have told me that.”
Monty nodded. “They were the best parents a child could ask for. I was an only child, but they always ensured I had cousins or friends around. I loved them very much.”
“Losing them must have been hell,” Zach said.
“It was. That night, I tapped on the door, but Father did not answer. I turned the handle to go in and whisper to him that I was back, and the foal born. The door handle felt damp.”
Monty remembered the icy fear as he’d raised the lamp he carried.
“I held the light closer and saw blood on the wood. Pushing open the door I entered the room and found my father lying across my mother. Both were dead.”
“Christ,” Gabe whispered.
“I knew they were dead, but I still checked,” Monty said in a cold, emotionless voice. “I grabbed my father’s hand to move him off Mother, and in it was this.” He pulled the carvings from his pocket. “Iris found an identical one on the ribbon tied around her late husband’s papers.”
Monty handed them to Mary. Why he was telling them now, he had no idea, but when Forrest had said the telling helps, he’d thought he needed that. Help to become warm inside again. Help to be someone different from the cold man he’d made himself into.
Iris slid into his head. She would listen if he talked. The girl he’d known would be inside her still. But Monty also knew that she was dealing with her own trauma. And that whatever her late husband had done to her had left scars that were deep and painful.
“What did you do then?” Michael asked.
Monty made himself look at them. These people he now counted as friends. Possibly the first friends he’d had since Iris. There was sympathy in their gazes, but he saw the anger on his behalf too.
“I ran down the stairs screaming until the staff heard me. Our butler went immediately to my parents’ rooms and stopped me from entering again.
“He sounds like a good man,” Gabe said.
“The staff looked after me until my uncle arrived,” Monty said.
“Was your uncle a good man?” Mary asked.
“He wasn’t, but that is another story. I went into mourning and never left the house until that period passed. I was then sent to Eton.”
“Tell me you had more than your uncle to watch over you?” Nathan said.
“He decided it would be him and me for the mourning period. No visitors.” And I hated him for it. In small ways, Monty remembered rebelling. Little things that annoyed his uncle and made him feel better.
“Bastard,” Zach hissed.
“I was eighteen when I was due to leave Eton. Walters, the man in charge of Alexius before Geraint, was waiting for me at my lodgings the day before I left.”
