“Do you intend to see Mr. Bastin again?”
“There’s no need. I only went on the headmistress’s behalf to ask if he cared to give a live reading at the college.”
“And has he agreed?”
“Yes,” Ottilie said.
“That won’t do your school’s reputation any good.”
“On the contrary, it will be fantastic for the college. Mr. Bastin is a well-respected author.”
Lady Hudsyn rubbed her thumb across her palm. “Did you ever wonder why your mother waited five years to remarry?”
“Because my father was a rake. He hurt her and made it difficult for her to trust anyone. In fact, she should have waited longer than five years because she was fooled a second time.” The sting of her stepfather’s betrayal added a trace of bitterness to her voice.
“All true, but that is not the reason she waited.” Lady Hudsyn stood up and walked to the window.
Ottilie assessed her aunt, trying to read her motivations. Lady Hudsyn wasn’t usually the sort to mince words, so why was she being evasive now?
“Are you going to tell me the reason, Aunt?”
Lady Hudsyn elongated her neck as if she were a martyr about to die for her cause. “Your father didn’t die when you were three.”
Ottilie stood up and joined her aunt by the window. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that your mother kept the truth from you.” Lady Hudsyn retained her martyr’s stance.
“Did he go to prison?”
“Not imprisoned, no.”
“Aunt!” Ottilie snapped.
“Not imprisoned but locked away.” Her aunt said the words slowly as if making time for them to sink in.
“An asylum?” Ottilie’s body grew cold as the realization dawned on her. “My father’s madness wasn’t a figment of Mama’s imagination?”
Lady Hudsyn lowered her gaze. “I’m afraid not.”
“Are you saying that Mama waited to remarry until I turned eight years old because that is when my father died?”
Her aunt nodded.
“My father lived in an asylum for five years and died after my eighth birthday?” Ottilie repeated.
“Yes,” Lady Hudsyn said.
“Where was this asylum located?”
“East Sussex, I believe.”
Ottilie’s chest tightened. She sank onto the window seat like a deflated sail.
“It was the best institution money could buy,” her aunt added as if to soften the blow. “Your grandfather paid for his treatment. He didn’t want the gossips saying that his daughter’s husband was locked away in a pauper’s house for the insane.”
“East Sussex? All that time he was so nearby? Why didn’t Mama allow me to visit him? Was he so bad that he couldn’t recognize his own wife and daughter?”
“Your grandfather laid down stringent conditions for his continued support. Your mother was to have no contact whatsoever with your father. In exchange for her cooperation, Papa paid for her upkeep and those ridiculous tutors she insisted upon for your education.”
