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Gwen nodded, waiting for Harry to find his way around to whatever he needed to say.

“I’m going to tell you something, cariad—” His face scrunched with a brief flash of reluctance before smoothing again. “Aled would be madder than a wet cat to hear it. But he’s dead, and you’re here, and… damn it all, I’m not about to let you throw away your chance at a happy marriage by comparing your husband to a saint who never existed.”

He pressed his lips together and lowered his gaze. “There isn’t a man over thirty who doesn’t have to learn to live with his mistakes—make peace with the choices he’s made and hope to God he’ll be less of an idiot when something like that happens again.”

The girl Gwen had been, who’d spent the better part of every day trailing her father in open adoration, wanted to shove her fingers into her ears and beg Harry to stop talking. But Harry’s devotion to her was beyond question. If he thought this was something she needed to hear, then it likely was, and so she ignored the uneasy churning in her stomach and remained silent.

“Aled inherited the yard from his pa when he was barely nineteen, not even a year into marriage with your ma and with a wee daughter depending on him. He was rash. Hotheaded. Thought he could do things better than his pa. By the time he saw his mistakes through clear eyes, the yard was in trouble. Serious trouble at that. Just a few bad months from losing it all, with his family depending on him.”

Harry scrubbed his palms over his face, then settled his elbows on his knees once more, deep lines etched into his dear, familiar face.

“Aled went fairly mad with desperation after that, started underbidding the other yards for merchant contracts, reduced his prices to near breaking point to secure work. He even accepted delayed payments, effectively shutting out competitors at every front. It was a damned mess, it was. The surrounding shipyards begged him to stop, even offered financial help to dig him out of the grave he’d made for himself if he’d only cease his maneuvering.”

“One of those offers came from your ma’s kin. Elizabeth’s uncle had a thriving business in Cardiff. She pleaded with Aled to accept the offer. I did too. Proud bastard wouldn’t hear a word. By the time Llanelli recovered from its debts, he’d made enemies of every shipyard in Wales and ran two of them into the ground. You’re great uncle’s yard never fully recovered after that.”

Harry looked up then, his gaze desireed. “Your pa paid a terrible price for his poor judgement.” He shook his head. “Elizabeth couldn’t forgive him. She left you and Aled and returned to her family that spring. His conscience ate him alive—for the men he’d put out of business, for costing you your ma, for becoming the sort of man who could no longer bear his own reflection. For months he could only stay sober enough to see to your care, and even that fell to Morgan and me a fair amount of the time. By the time he got his head straight and tried to make things right, it was too late.”

He exhaled slowly. “Your pa spent the rest of his life trying to make up for those days, determined to be the sort of father you could be proud of. In time, he earned the forgiveness of the other yards, but in so many ways the damage was done.”

Gwen shook her head, not in denial but in bewilderment. It felt impossible to imagine her father capable of such unscrupulous behaviour, of falling victim to the kind of character weakness and self sabotaging pride that would wreck his family and his reputation. It felt like the actions of another man entirely. And yet, she did not for a moment doubt the truth of Harry’s words. Her world—the very axis upon which it turned—had come unmoored, spun and shaken until nothing remained as it had been.

Gwen stared blankly at the men working off in the distance until her focus caught and held on Michael, perched on the bow of a half built clipper ship, sharing lunch with little Davie.

She watched her husband toss a scrap of food to a gull, which swooped down and caught it just above the lad’s head. She could practically hear his laughter as the boy wiggled with delight, pointing excitedly before throwing his own crust to the flock of waiting birds. There was not the slightest hint of a lie in that easy smile.

“I hope I did right by you Gwen, telling you about your da.”

Gwen blinked, tearing her attention away from Michael to face Harry again.

“You did. I’m sure it wasn’t an easy choice to make, although, in truth, I’m not at all certain it will change the course of my marriage. Michael didn’t choose deception for some nobler cause. It was entirely in service to himself.”

Harry scoffed. “And when Aled pushed aside offers of help, who do you think he was thinking of? Himself—that’s who. Pride’s a damnable thing, Wyn. Whether it’s your own you’re serving… what you think a man ought to be… or someone else’s you’re trying to earn—a father whose opinion isn’t worth the striving. It’ll poison a man either way.”

“It’s a painful bite to take in one swallow, I know,” Harry said into the silence. “But promise me you’ll think on it, at least.” He rubbed his palms up and down over his knees. “And that you won’t let what I told you ’bout Aled wholly spoil your memories of him.”

Gwen shook her head.

Even if her father’s principles had been less absolute than she’d thought, he was still her da.

Leaning in, she kissed Harry’s cheek before rising to her feet. She needed time and space to think. Briefly, she considered returning to her office, but there was no guarantee of quiet at this time of day. Instead, she set off for the Wandering Gull for a hot meal before returning home.

By the time she climbed the stairs back at the boarding house, her head was beginning to ache. Moving gingerly so as not to worsen it, she paused on the landing at the sound of raised voices from the rooms Michael had commandeered as his office.

“….. tinkering with ships and panting after a woman who doesn’t want you, but this is a powerful sum of money on the table, Michael. Last I checked, the acquisition of coin was rather the point of what we do.”

She recognised Michael’s partner straight away. Smythe had arrived shortly before she and Michael married, but had departed on business soon after. Apparently, he’d returned. Gwen hesitated. She would continue onto her room in a moment, just as soon as she could be certain their conversation was unrelated to the yard. Michael’s reply was too quiet for her to make out, but she could hear Smythe well enough.

“No. It has to be you. You know very well you’re better at this part than I.”

“Then I suppose, if the deal goes ahead, it will have to be with the second best negotiator at the table because I’m not leaving.”

“Damn it, Michael. Why are you being so stubborn about this!”

Michael’s too quiet response came in one long, breathless stretch of speech, as though he’d emptied his mind and set it all down on the desk between them.

She should leave. Clearly, this had nothing to do with her yard, and while she didn’t like the idea of her predator husband circling the carcass of another company, it wasn’t any of her business. But before she could take a step, Michael’s voice sharpened, not with anger but with conviction, and the sound of it rooted her feet to the floor.

“I don’t expect you to understand, Smythe. I don’t entirely understand myself, but…” He let out a sigh, fervent enough to carry through the door. “We’ve been going about this for years, patching faulty ships just well enough to see them sold, then moving on to the next without a second thought to what becomes of them after we’re gone.”