He stared up at her, mouth agape. “Howdareyou speak to me that way? I’m your father.”
“No.” She shook her head slowly as a calm came over her. Deep and unlike any she’d ever known. “You are no father. Not to me. I have never had a father. I had a keeper and an abuser and man who would destroy me. Butnevera father.”
He stood, tea sloshing from his cup. “I tried to protect you from yourself.”
“No, you didn’t.” She paced past him. “You tried to mold me into what you wanted, and nothing I ever did was good enough. And Iletyou. I let you do it because I thought you might love me if I did as you asked. Only what I’ve learned, quite recently, is that true love sees a person for what they are and accepts it. True love is understanding, not judgment.”
“Fairytale notions. You must live in the real world,” he spat.
“Yes,” she agreed softly. “I must. But not your world.” She stared at him, burning this image of him in her mind forever. Taking a moment to truly experience what she felt, what she knew in this moment of clarity that Robert had helped her find. Then she said, “You are not welcome in my home again. You are not welcome in my life at all. We are finished. Do you understand?”
“You dare to cutmeout of your life?” he said, his tone dripping with shock and disdain as he set his cup down.
Only that pointed disapproval didn’t hurt anymore. Not like it had all her life. She nodded. “I do dare,” she said. “And unlike all the times you’ve threatened the same to me, I mean it. Your daughter is dead to you. Give your judgments to someone else. And get out of my house.”
She pointed to the door and he stared first at it, then at her. His cheeks filled with high color and he huffed out a breath. “You’ll be sorry when you’re all alone.”
He stormed out and she watched him go, heart heavy and yet somehow free. As his carriage raced away from her drive she shook her head. “I would rather be alone than with someone who did not see my value.”
She sat down. Now that her father was gone, now that she had taken charge of that part of her life, she could think again of what had brought him here. A rumor that she would marry Roseford? And Montague had seemed to think that it had come from the lips of the duke, himself.
She walked into the foyer and found Wilkes standing by. He gave her a kind smile.
“Wilkes, will you have my carriage brought around?” she asked.
He nodded. “Of course, my lady. Straight away.”
He scuttled off to do it and she stepped through the front door to stand on her step and breathe the cool air. There was only one way to find out exactly what was going on. She had to go see Robert. And she needed to go right now.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Robert sat at his desk, staring at the thick piece of vellum before him. He had been sitting there for half an hour and all he’d written was Katherine’s name.
It wasn’t that he didn’t know what he had to say. It was that there was so much to say that he didn’t know how to organize it. Did he apologize first? Beg to see her? Should he tell her he loved her? That seemed to be something he should say to her face, but it was possible she would not see him. Would not accept another letter after the first. So maybe it was best to say it in writing.
“Bollocks,” he muttered, and threw the quill down.
“Your Grace?”
He glanced up to find Jenner standing at the door. “Yes?”
“I’m sorry to intrude, but—”
He didn’t get to finish. Before he could, Katherine stepped around the butler and stood in his study, staring at him. His heart leapt into his throat and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. She didn’t wear a wrap despite the chill to the autumn air. Her hair was loose, like it had been done hastily.
And she was more beautiful than anything he’d ever seen his whole life.
“It’s fine,” he muttered, getting up. “I’m fine. Leave us.”
Jenner gave Katherine an annoyed look, but left the room. As he did, she reached back and shut the door behind him. Then she faced Robert again.
“You are here,” he said, unable to find anything but that to say. “That sounds so foolish, but I am shocked. I hadn’t even sent my letter.”
She swallowed hard and stepped into the room. “You were—you were writing me a letter?”
He motioned to his desk and she came forward, tilting her head to read what he’d written. When she saw only her name, she arched a brow at him.
He shrugged. “I am not very good at writing letters.”
