Page 70 of The Gentlewoman Author

“I watched the way your eyes followed her, the smile that brightened your handsome face when she entered the room. You love her. But your father and I have decided. We have taken enough advantage of you. We cannot accept your help.”

“So, you’ll take from my future wife? Do you hear what you’re saying?” Resentment boiled in his chest. He did not want to reengage with his anger, but she infuriated him. He tempered his voice until it became a whisper. “Mother, why don’t you help me?”

She laughed in her flippant way. “I? Why don’t I help you? You are asking the wrong question, my dear. Why didn’t you help yourself? Did you expect me to declare your love for Lady Mary so you wouldn’t have to? To defend her while Emma called her book garbage? While I criticized her age and your father reduced her to an object whose worth depended on her ability to provide for him?” She demonstrated acute understanding while admitting her part in demeaning Mary.

“I don’t understand you. Why contribute to Mary’s pain?”

“I don’t understand you. Last night, I said what I thought, but you shriveled up. If I were you, I would go after what I wanted. Why is this castle so important to you? Why do you succumb to our manipulations?”

“Why are you manipulating me?”

She laughed. “We are terrible parents. I know this. Your father is determined for you to marry Miss Thorpe. All your choices oppose his values. You went to school when he wanted to educate you. You went to Smith’s Bank when he wanted your forgiveness for his idiotic investments that cost us so much. He doesn’t care so much about Miss Thorpe’s property as he does for getting your compliance.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Don’t I know it. Though a snug cottage would benefit me to no end.”

It didn’t matter enough to her. For all her talk of the importance of love, she would not advocate for him. “I cannot speak to you if you won’t be serious.”

She took his hand, her smile gone. “I am very serious. This is not a matter in which I can help. I observed your behavior while the woman you purport to love was taken down by the entire family.” She pulled a face. “Myself included. You did nothing. I question if she mattered to you at all. If I were her, I would not think you loved me at all.”

She was right. “What should I do?”

“Tell Miss Thorpe you love Mary. Simple. Get what you want most.”

Now that she was taking his side, his sense of justice rose. “But she lied to me. She hid her identity from me.”

“You are no stranger to deceit, love. What are you willing to forgive? What are you willing to sacrifice? Make the right choice, and it will all come to rights.”

“Miss Thorpe’s reputation is at risk. Our marriage will save her. That is what Mary wants.”

“Does she indeed?” His mother raised a brow. “How do you know?”

“She told me as much.”

His mother narrowed her eyes at him. “Anything else?”

“It is possible she believes the only reason I asked to marry her was to keep my inheritance.”

Now she leaned back and nodded. “Is that not true?”

“You know it is not.” Daniel rested his elbows on his knees and his head on his hands.

“Perhaps you should start there.” She put her hand on his back. “Mary is your equal, your true match. Be brave and tell her how you feel.”

“And Father will alter the will?”

“Doubtful. Or rather, impossible.” She sighed as if she had nothing to do with the decision. “No, the will remains as it is.”

“Forgiveness and sacrifice characterize all my relationships.”

She kissed his cheek. “No, forgiveness and sacrifice describe every good relationship. You are a lovely boy.” She stood. “Now, I would like to continue talking with Mrs. Eliot. I find her most diverting. It speaks to Lady Mary’s good judgement to have such a friend.” His mother skipped out of the room.

What was the balance between forgiveness and protecting himself? He’d pardoned his parents but could not accept or excuse their behavior. Yet he was accepting it, if he conceded to a marriage with Miss Thorpe. There never was a person both as daft and astute as Daniel’s mother, but it was not as simple as she made it sound. Everything he’d done had been aimed at refurbishing Almery. While at the bank, the fantasy of seeing it restored had driven him to work harder rather than spend time on his relationships. Could he exchange Almery for a future with Mary?

He wanted her, burned for her, but she was a new feature in his life, while the castle was like a mountain, something that had always been there and would always be, even as it slowly crumbled to dirt. And could he trust her?

His mother’s assertion that he could lie rankled. He cultivated trustworthiness and dependability like a farmer tended to an orchard. But if he had been honest with Miss Jensen, he would have told her at the beginning of their engagement that he would delay their union for years. Instead, he’d made excuses every few months, pushing back the day until she’d made other plans. The years she waited for him must have been hard for her, taking her from marriageable age and into what some considered spinsterhood. She’d likely become desperate.