Father shook his head. “You have no concept of how very blessed you are, George. You are the heir to a thriving estate and various holdings. You have so many possibilities and choices. The majority of men are not granted such bounty, and even though I am doing my best to provide for your brothers, heaven knows they will have to work far harder to secure such a comfortable position in life. You were able to marry however you wished, and you had the affection of a woman whom you counted a dear friend, yet you cast all that aside to marry some chit who batted her eyes at you.”
“You needn’t curb your tongue, Father. Please, speak the whole truth,” murmured George.
Father leaned closer, his gaze darkening. “You and your siblings are important to me. You are among the most important people in this world, and I would do anything for you, but it is your mother who holds the chief place in my heart. Children grow and leave the house, and it is your spouse who remains with you long after the pitter-patter of little feet has faded from memory. You and your Juliette hurt my wife again and again since your marriage, and I don’t know if I am ready to forgive you for the pain you caused her, George. So, my sympathies are for Miss Wakefield. I hope she can forgive you, but I do not fault her if she does not.”
“I hurt Mother?” Simply saying the words made his heart twist, and though George hoped for Father to deny it, he wouldn’t have said it if it weren’t true. He didn’t know what to say in response to Father’s accusation. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Of course not,” said Father, waving that away. “But that is part of the problem, George. You are a good man but far too often blind to what is going on around you. Juliette was the same way, and together, you made each other worse, and when she inserted herself into the family, it was far too often accompanied by unintentionally hurtful words.”
George opened his mouth, though with no thought as to what to say, but he was cut short when Father raised a staying hand.
“Had there been anything overt, I would’ve said something,” said Father. “Juliette never meant to cause harm, but her comments pained your mother and Evelyn all the same. Bridget never paid it any heed, but then, Juliette never viewed her as lacking.”
“What did she say?” asked George, though he could well imagine what Juliette might’ve done in the spirit of “aiding.”
Father’s jaw tightened, his fingers curling into a fist as he studied the pattern of the rug. “She was fixated on your mother’s complexion, determined to set it to rights. Kept hounding Felicity that with a little bit of effort, all could be made right, and there was no reason for her to go about with such ‘ghastly’ scars.”
George’s eyes slid closed, and he leaned forward, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Your mother has long come to accept the woman she is, but having another point out a flaw again and again would try anyone’s composure. Juliette thought she was helping, but all she did was reinforce the idea that most people judge Felicity for her imperfection. Which is ridiculous! Your mother is a lovely creature, and I cannot comprehend why so many fixate on something that accentuates the unique woman she is.”
“Had I known, Father, I would’ve put a stop to it.” George sorted through his thoughts, trying to lay hold of an example of what he might’ve done.
“But that is the problem, isn’t it?” Father arched a blonde brow at his son. “It was happening in front of you and you were as unawares as Juliette.”
Worse than that, George had thought his wife suited his family. Reaching up, he rubbed his forehead, but that didn’t ease the ache.
“Your mother is a grown woman, and she can fight her own battles. She told Juliette that her ‘assistance’ was unnecessary, and she was quite content with her appearance.” Father paused, his lips curling in disgust, and George’s heart sank at what he knew would not be a happy conclusion to the story. Just as Father was about to finish it, a memory flashed into his thoughts, and George winced once more.
“The box. Juliette was so proud of what she’d done that she told me all about it. I hadn’t thought…” George didn’t know how he could finish that statement in any happy manner.
“Did she tell you about the note?” asked Father, and George braced himself for the answer. “It assured Felicity that she needn’t continue to suffer in her current state and that there must be something among the mountain of creams, tonics, and makeup in the box that would do some good. And that she had the potential to be quite pretty if she expended some effort.”
George shot to his feet, one hand fisted against his hip and the other pinching his nose as he paced the length of the room. Then, stopping before his father, he threw his arms out wide. “You know I had nothing to do with that. Mother needs no improvements, and I would have spoken to Juliette had I known what was happening.”
“I tried to talk to you, George,” said Father, his voice hard and unyielding. “I had several conversations with you on the subject, but you could not see the truth of the matter. You were so convinced your bride was perfect in every way. But then she embarrassed Evelyn, calling attention to and even chastising her timidity—in public, no less—and Evelyn is far less able to protect herself from such treatment than your mother. I had to send you to Manchester. It was the only way.”
George’s feet felt rooted to the floor, his whole being hardening as he stared at his father. “Pardon?”
Sucking in a deep breath, Father let out a long sigh. “I didn’t want to, George. And heaven knows I tried to find another solution, but I had to protect the well-being of my wife and daughter. When it became clear that we needed someone to oversee operations there, I decided you were the perfect candidate.”
Father’s eyes dimmed as he held his son’s gaze. “You were a grown man who had made your choice, and it was time for me to make mine. I had to choose them, George.”
Crossing his arms, George moved to the window and stared at the expanse of green surrounding the estate. His conscience wriggled inside him, unsettling his insides as he considered his father’s words, though he didn’t know if it was worse to discover the truth of what had happened or to realize that Father had done the right thing.
Marian’s words came to his mind, calling forth a similar hollowness in his chest; she did not care for the woman she’d become in the last few years, and at this moment, George realized how aptly that sentiment applied to him. Of course, he hadn’t seen the alteration that had come over him, but it was there, plain as day. George Finch was not a wicked man. Nor cruel. Nor vindictive. But he was blind to the needs of others. So ignorant of their pains that his own father exiled him to Manchester.
Though they hadn’t been happy together, George hadn’t considered his marriage to Juliette a disaster. But now he saw the truth of it. His marriage was no mere mistake but a hefty regret.
How different would his life have been if he’d chosen Marian. She would never have allowed him to remain in his blind state. That heart of hers may be causing her pain at present, but George wished he’d had a piece of it for himself. Then perhaps he might not have been absent from his family’s life for so many years. Who else had suffered because he was too self-focused to notice the world around him?
“You were right to send me away, Father. I am sorry to see my marriage was a burden for more than myself.” Pausing, George turned to face his father as he reconsidered that. “Not that I was miserable, per se, but we were not happy together, either. And it pains me to know I was not the only one made to suffer. It seems my marriage brought no happiness into the world. I only wish you had stopped me from making that mistake in the first place.”
Though he’d meant that last bit to be spoken in jest, there was far too much truth in it for his voice to be as light as George had intended. And his father met that with the same level of compassion and understanding he’d demonstrated throughout this conversation.
“As if it would’ve done any good,” said Father with a huff, his gaze narrowing on his son. “You were determined to marry the girl. Had your mother or I objected as we’d wished to, it would’ve only put a wedge between us. We preferred to try to salvage things.”
Taking his seat once more, George faced his father, speaking the words that needed saying. “I know I ought to have said something before, but I am sorry for the heartache I caused you and Mother. I wish I could undo it all, but know that I never intended to hurt you.”
