“A great grandfather or a distant uncle? Who knows? I have often wondered from whom I inherited my affinity for computing sums with a poet for a father and a mother who despised dealing with numbers. Don’t you see how foolish it is to play guessing games about something you cannot prove?”
“But how can I look my mother in the eye again after she cuckolded my father?” Henry gripped his knees. “All those years of fake morality! Her endless lectures. It makes me sick to my stomach.”
“She’s human, and she made a horrible mistake. We should pity rather than despise her for the terrible burden she must live with. I think her moralizing is a reflection of her guilt. She spends her life trying to correct her mistake.”
“Do you mean me?” He asked sardonically.
“Of course not. She loves you. You are everything to her. Don’t you see that all of her moralizing was aimed at protecting you?”
Anger blazed in Henry’s eyes. “How can you defend her when she hurt your mother the way she did? Her own sister, for heaven’s sake!”
Ottilie sighed and leaned back on the carriage seat. “It was a heartless betrayal, and I will never forget the hurt she inflicted upon my mama. But to be sure, I blame my father more. He was a rake who thought nothing of a woman’s feelings, including those of his wife and daughter. I am at peace now that I understand why my mama kept me from him. It is terrible to feel anger at your own mother. I don’t wish it for you. That is why I urge you to look at things from a different angle.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You heard what Mr. Lewis said. Your mother suffered enormous stress at seeing her sister near death. My father took advantage of her, and she fell in love with him.”
Henry scoffed. “That doesn’t excuse her behavior. It only explains her hatred for poets and why she has been so cold and set against love all these years.”
“Maybe she’s right. Maybe love is a fairytale.” Ottilie turned to the window, thinking how Mr. Bastin’s web of charming platitudes and lies had almost ensnared her. A shiver ran down her spine as she thought of the night she’d spent in his house. She’d almost given herself to him. Henry’s arrival was like a supernatural intervention—as though her mama watched over her and sent him to save her.
The hansom cab rolled to a stop in front of their hotel on Oxford’s High Street. Henry stepped out and gave Ottilie his hand as she alighted.
“I’ve made up my mind to take a flat at Albany. I cannot stay with my mother in Berkeley Square after what I’ve learned.”
“That sounds like a wise choice. And I think it best if I return to Kent tomorrow.” She glanced up at the hotel and then back at Henry. “But I would do so with a happier heart if you would accompany me. We can go to Margate and enjoy the benefits of the healthy sea air. You can start work on your second book of poetry.”
“I like the idea of going to Margate, but I won’t be writing any more poetry.”
“What about your book? You’ll want to make revisions, won’t you? And get it published?”
“No. In fact, I’m going to write to Bastin tonight and tell him to burn it.” Henry spun on his heels and strode into the hotel.
Ottilie stared after him, and the brave front she’d been putting on all day started to crumble.
*
Sir,
It has come to my attention that you gravely dishonored my wife, Lady Astyr, and I demand forthwith that you publicly declare yourself a blackguard by publishing a sincere and humble apology to both the lady and me for the injuries you inflicted upon us. If duels were still fashionable, you would regret having crossed this excellent member of Her Majesty’s Armed Forces. You may thank the good Lord that I am a gentleman who, despite enormous temptation, will uphold the laws of his country and refrain from lodging a bullet between your eyes.
Sincerely,
General Sir Richard Astyr
Sir Richard’s demand arrived, hand-delivered to Jack’s front door within hours of Lady Astyr’s furious departure. “Wait where you stand,” Jack instructed the messenger. “I wish to send a reply.”
Sir,
I shall offer you no apology, public or otherwise. Furthermore, I declare you a coward who hides behind the law’s skirts like a frightened child. You are no more than a braggart who received an honorable title for strategizing and issuing orders that sent young soldiers to their deaths. Did you fight, sir? Did you march on the battlefield with those courageous men? Did you look death in the eye? I think not.
If you are indeed the fearless soldier you claim to be, prove your worth by standing up and defending your wife’s honor. I challenge you to a pistol duel at dawn. Name the meeting place. If England has outlawed duels, let us go to France!
Sincerely,
J. Bastin
Jack smirked as he reread his deliberately outrageous insults, intended to provoke Sir Richard’s overblown hubris, challenge his masculinity, and offend his self-righteous demand for unquestioning respect. Surely, no man had ever dared to insult Her Majesty’s general in such a manner. Sir Richard, Jack knew, would find it impossible to refuse his challenge. He deposited his reply in an envelope addressed to his uncle and handed it to the waiting messenger. “Tell your master I look forward to his reply.” He pressed a weighty silver coin into the messenger’s hand. The servant gave a slight bow and retreated.
