“Ambrose!”
His father-in-law rose from his chair upon seeing him, although whether as a mark of respect, or surprise at his disheveled appearance, Ambrose could not say.
“Ambrose was expecting to find Frances here,” said Lady Scovell with a sigh, ushering the duke into a chair and waving to a maid to bring more coffee and a plate.
“Was he indeed?” said Lord Scovell, his voice less warm than his wife’s and his eyes rather appraising. “Why would that be?”
“We had a misunderstanding yesterday afternoon,” Ambrose decided to admit honestly now rather than have this emerge later. “Frances was angry at me and rode off, apparently to Scovell Hall.”
“Dear me, we need more toast and eggs but I’ve already sent Betsy for coffee,” Lady Scovell fussed. "I’ll just go and speak to the kitchen.”
“And did my daughter have reason to be angry at you?” Lord Scovell demanded, his hostility becoming more direct once his wife was out of the room.
“What do you mean by that, Sir?!” Ambrose returned hotly.
“I mean, are the rumors now around half of London true, Your Grace? Have you a mistress? You’re not even married half a year yet. No wonder Frances is angry with you. She is probably breaking her heart.”
Heartsick himself and exhausted besides, Ambrose could not take this. His fist slammed down hard on the table, making the crockery shake.
“No! I would never do to Frances what you did to Lady Scovell. Do not judge everyone by your own standards.”
“It wasn’t the way you think,” retorted Lord Scovell looking shaken at having this thrown back at him when he had expected to play the role of the righteous husband and father. “I never wanted to hurt anyone.”
“You still did though, didn't you?” Ambrose told him bluntly. “Your actions scarred Frances for life in ways you’ve neverimagined. You’re only lucky that your wife never discovered you.”
“I always knew,” said the soft sweet voice of Helen Harcourt, returning to the breakfast room on light feet and closing the door with a sigh. “Now, both of you calm down and listen to me. A long time ago, Edmund made a mistake. It was not because he was wicked but because he was human.”
“I am so very sorry,” Lord Scovell said, bowing his grizzled head as his wife came over and laid her hand on his shoulder. “I wish it had never happened.”
“We talked about this long ago, Edmund. I was ill and you had needs that I could not meet. Neither of us talked to one another and we both went down the wrong path. I forgave you then, and I’ve never stopped loving you since. I only wish that Frances could forgive you too.”
“I don’t deserve you,” Lord Scovell told his wife with undeniable affection. “But I will spend the rest of my life trying.”
At any other time, Ambrose might have been touched by such a display of genuine feeling. His own parents’ happy marriage had inspired him to wed Charlotte and conceive Winnie at a young age, hoping to experience something like this.
Today, however, the blind love of this pair almost infuriated him. Lord Scovell had strayed and Lady Scovell had forgiven him, but that didn’t mean that there weren’t consequences. Itonly meant that they had been blind to some of the most negative and formative experiences in their elder daughter’s life.
“I am happy that you were able to reconcile,” Ambrose said. “But I also understand why Frances can’t forgive you, Lord Scovell. This didn’t end for her on the day you returned to the marital fold and begged your wife’s forgiveness.”
Both Lord and Lady Scovell looked at him with incomprehension.
“It is always a shock for children to realize that their parents are not perfect,” noted Lady Scovell, “but Frances is an adult now. Why must she judge Edmund as though she were still a child, and he were still the man he was then?”
“Two children stumbled on your affair and were scarred by it, Lord Scovell,” the Duke of Westall stated with some impatience. “Frances and your lover’s son, Oswald Keeton. Frances grew up fearful of all intimacy and Oswald grew up twisted, obsessed with the wrong that he thinks your family have done to his, and determined that Frances should pay for it. Did you really not know this?”
“What do you mean?” asked Lady Scovell uneasily, sinking into a chair beside her husband. “What has Oswald Keeton done?”
“He has harassed and tormented Frances for her entire adult life, in a fashion that makes my skin crawl. When I learned of this, I made it clear to him that if he persists, I will take the strongest possible measures.”
“Dear God,” muttered Lord Scovell, his face flushed with a mixture of shame and wrath.
“Frances never told us anything of this,” Lady Scovell said unhappily. “Why did she not tell us?”
“She did not think she would be believed,” Ambrose answered evenly. “Nor did she wish to be blamed by others for encouraging him. It would have been Lord Mulford’s word against hers, and he is a very vicious and manipulative man. I understand her fear.”
Lord Scovell’s face reddened and worked as he tried to make sense of all that Ambrose had just said. Eventually, he rose to his feet with clenched fists.
“How dare he! If Oswald Keeton was any kind of man, he could have called me out for whatever happened between me and his mother all those years ago, not molested my daughter. I should go to Mulford Manor now and call him out for this myself…”
