“I have not been the father you deserved.” He looked between them. “Either of you. I cannot undo that. But I can tell you that I am proud of you. Both of you. For standing in front of me and telling me the truth when the truth was the hardest thing in the room.”
Mary squeezed his hand. Charlotte leaned her forehead against her father’s knee, and Langham rested his hand on her hair, and the parlor held the three of them in a silence that carriedmore weight than any words Evander could have written for the occasion.
Richard pushed off the bookshelf and caught Evander’s eye. They exchanged a look. Evander tilted his head toward the door, and Richard followed him into the corridor, and they left Mary and her family to their reckoning.
CHAPTER 30
“Ibeg your pardon.” Evander’s hand caught the banister.
“No, I beg yours.” Mary gripped the newel post.
They had reached the staircase at the same time, from opposite ends of the corridor, and now they stood on the landing like two strangers who had collided on a public street. Evander’s hand gripped the banister. Mary’s gripped the newel post. Between them, three feet of carpet and the memory of every word she had said in his bedroom two nights ago.
“After you,” Evander said.
“No, please. After you.”
“Mary.”
“Evander.”
They stood there. The clock on the landing ticked through five seconds that felt like five minutes. Evander’s jaw worked, and Mary’s fingers tightened on the newel post, and neither of them moved until Harding appeared at the foot of the stairs with a tray, and both of them descended at once, nearly tripping over each other on the third step.
“Forgive me,” Evander said, catching her elbow.
“It is fine.” Mary pulled her arm free. The place where his fingers had been burned through her sleeve, and she clasped her hands together and walked past him into the morning room without looking back.
This was the third day.
This was the third day.
Five days had passed since Mary stood in Evander’s bedroom and told him she could not accept his offer. Three since Lord Langham sat in the parlor and heard the truth about his daughters, a confrontation that had ended in tears and a blessing, and left Mary grateful and exhausted.
The reconciliation with her father should have lightened the weight she carried. Instead, it sharpened it. Charlotte had her family. William had his bride. Even Lord Langham had found his way to an apology. And Mary walked the corridors ofBlackholm House, avoiding the one person whose apology she did not want and whose love she could not have.
The days had passed, all of which had the same distance, the same politeness.
The morning room was the first test.
Mary arrived early, expecting an empty table. Evander was already there, his coffee half-finished, the morning paper open. He looked up. She looked at him. The silence lasted four seconds.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Good morning.” Evander folded the paper. “I was just leaving.”
“You have not finished your coffee.”
“I have had enough.”
He had not had enough. The cup was half-full and still steaming. Mary sat and poured her tea and listened to his footsteps retreat down the corridor, and the steam from his abandoned coffee curled into the air between his chair and hers.
The corridor outside the nursery was the second.
Mary rounded the corner with Tommy in her arms, and Evander emerged from the opposite end at the same moment. They stopped. Tommy blinked at his uncle. Evander’s eyes moved from the baby’s face to Mary’s, and the look lasted two heartbeats before the composure slid back into place.
“Excuse me,” he said. The formality of it stung.
“Of course.” Mary pressed herself against the wall. Evander passed. His sleeve brushed Tommy’s blanket, and the baby reached for him, fingers grasping, and Evander’s step faltered. He did not stop. Tommy’s hand closed on empty air.
