Alice climbed the stairs to the second floor and headed for the blue parlor, nerves fluttering in her belly. Why was her father here? He never came to London unannounced.
She inhaled the scent of beeswax and orange oil, her housekeeper’s concoction, and looked up at portraits of her ancestors gazing down at her in judgment as she attempted to regain control of herself. Her steps made no sound on the carpet as she reached the parlor door and paused with her hand on the latch.
He will leave again soon, she reminded herself. Just get through this.
She entered.
Her father stood at the hearth with a glass of claret, spectacles low on his nose, and he read from the book her aunt had left in here this morning. His hair had gone grayer this past year since she’d seen him. Tall, elegant as always, he was a man who had aged well. A selfish, spoiled man who cared only for himself.
“Hello, Father. To what do we owe this honor?” Alice tried to say the words without giving away any of the emotion she felt. She’d fought long and hard against her resentment toward this man, who had simply abandoned her and Charles for a woman he was not even married to.
“Ah, Alice.” He surveyed her, but made no move to kiss her cheek or hug the daughter he’d not seen in many months. The monster that was resentment roared louder inside her. “You are late.”
“I did not receive word you were arriving, so I fail to see how I could be late, Father.”
“Where have you been?”
“Out visiting friends,” she said.
Alice knew how this worked. He liked to be right all the time and hated anyone challenging him. Loathed the fact that Alice didn’t just bow to his every whim and flatter his ego.
She had long ago realized she would always love her father, but she in no way liked or respected him.
“In the rain?”
“She lives in a house, not on the streets, Father.”
His lips tightened, and then formed a sneer. “Lord Braxton called to see you. I told him you would be home tomorrow to receive him.”
“Why are you here, Father?”
“It is my townhouse, daughter; do not forget that,” he snapped at her.
“How could I? It is I who runs your affairs and deals with everything. It is I who sends you and your mistress money.” The words slipped out before she could swallow them down. No good ever came from speaking to her father like this, but perhaps because she was already unsettled, she’d done just that.
“How dare you speak to me like that!” he thundered.
“How dare I?” Alice snorted. “I think you have that wrong, my lord. How dare you walk away from all your responsibilities. How dare you put your mistress before your duty.” Her words were coated in ice.
“Enough!” He raised a hand. “I have decided you will wed, Alice, and soon, because I wish to return to London, and have no wish for you to still be living in my homes.”
Shock had her taking a step backward.
“Clearly, Lord Braxton has an interest in you. He is a sensible young man,” her father said. “Attentive, but not—”
“You know nothing about him,” Alice said through her teeth. “You have no right to do this. Come in here and demand I wed, when I have kept everything running while you frolic with your mistress.”
“I am an earl, and as such can do as I wish,” he declared. “We will return for next year’s season, and you and your aunt will not be living here.”
It hit her then, hard. “You would bring your mistress back here for everyone to see, and to mock?”
“How dare you speak of the woman I love in such a way. We are going to marry.”
The word was like a gunshot to Alice. It silenced her and had her reeling.
“You can’t mean that?” she whispered.
“Of course I mean it. I am traveling to the country now briefly and will return in a few days to discuss this matter further. I expect by then you will have something to report to me.”
