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“He did, though,” Stephanie said. “We ended up on the far western edge of the park. There are some hills there and then a long, meadow-like lawn stretches all the way to the formal gardens. The park is a rather lovely mix of wild and tame and carefully cultivated.”

They were sitting close to one of the windows in the drawing room because the window was open and some lovely cool evening air was moving inside. Before the tea tray was carried out, there had been general conversation, but then a few card tables had been set up to occupy several of their number while others had wandered away to the billiard room. Bertrand and the marquess had taken Lady Molenor to the library to choose a book to replace the one she was currently reading because it had a tendency to put her to sleep after four pages at the most.

“I calculate that at this rate I will finish the book around Christmastime,” she had said. “I need primarily entertainment when I read. If I also learn a thing or two about the world or human nature in addition, then all the better.”

“Books can entertain, Mildred?” Mr. Lamarr had said. “Maybe I should try one sometime. Do you think I ought, Louise?”

She had chosen him as a partner at cards.

“You have to learn to read first, André,” the marquess had said.

“I like these people,” Owen said now. “I am jolly glad I came. Are you, Steph?”

She thought of her imaginary cabin on the outer edges of the park and of the changes her life had undergone during the past year. They would not be apparent to anyone but her—except perhaps Bertrand—but they were fundamental changes that affected everything in her present and past and perhaps her future.

“Owen,” she said. “When you think of Papa, what do you think?”

“When?” he said, looking at her with a frown. “I don’t think of him.”

“But you do,” she said. “When I said something similar to you the night before we came here, you told me that even if we do not consciously think about him, it is all there inside us, what happened.”

“I just wish he were alive,” he said, his voice suddenly both soft and fierce, “so I could kill him.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed.

“He was a blackguard,” he said. “I know you loved him, Steph, and cling to his memory, and I ought not to tread upon your illusions. Yes, he seemed to love us. We fit his image of himself as a loving family man. At Ravenswood, surrounded by all of us, his adoring and adored family, he could bask in the admiration and affection of all his neighbors. Benevolent lord of the manor and all that. He knew Mama could do nothing about the hidden half of his life. Women don’t, you know. They maintain their dignity and protect their young. He was a selfish, self-indulgent bas—blackguard. The fact that he bathed us all in the glow of his love and praise with a charm that came very naturally to him only made the reality worse. I will wager half the world blamed Mama and the other half blamed Devlin when everything came to a blazing end. There was only one person to blame, Steph. One. And I devote my life to being as different from him as I can possibly be.”

Stephanie continued to stare mutely at him.

“Worst of all, he destroyed the person most precious to me,” Owen said, the fierceness suddenly gone from his voice to be replaced by a flatness. “Though I did not realize it at the time. He destroyed you, a sweet, sunny-natured, happy little girl with a backbone of steel. But steel was not strong enough to withstand the onslaught of his betrayal.”

“I was not destroyed,” she said.

He gazed at her while there was a gust of laughter from one of the tables and the cardplayers all stood to stretch and change partners.

“No,” he said. “You were not. Only your childhood was. But you were a survivor. We all were, actually. I think Mama is happy, don’t you?”

“I do believe I was a little hurt at first, when she announced she was going to marry Matthew,” she said. “But they are perfect together, and I am happy for both of them. I do not know much about Matthew’s life, apart from the fact that he and Mama were very close friends when they were growing up. But I think he must have known his share of turmoil and suffering.”

“And he is a dashed brilliant archer,” Owen said.

She laughed. “You try your best, Owen, and you never give up,” she said. “It is all anyone can do.”

“You are genuinely happy you came here, then, Steph?” he said.

“Yes,” she said.

“I think I am going to wander along to the billiard room,” he said. “Do you want to come?”

“I’ll stay here,” she said. “I may make my excuses soon and have an early night. I am exhausted.”

“Glad to hear it. Getting so very lost on your way home from the village this afternoon must have worn you out.” He grinned and winked at her as he got to his feet, watched the card playing for a minute or two, and then left the room.

And she faced the memory of his hushed, impassioned outburst about their father. Was he right? She knew he was. About much of it, anyway. Most of it, probably. For the first time she understood Ben’s probable motive in leaving home with Devlin, though he had not been banished. She had always assumed it was brotherly love. But Ben was their illegitimate brother, son of Papa and an unknown woman to whom he clearly had not been married. Had Ben always believed he was the son of a great, monogamous love that for some reason could not be legitimized? Papa’s only love except Mama? Had he understood the more probable truth that night? Had he been made to suffer as much as any of them?

But Owen was not entirely right. Papa really had loved them. Oh, it had been an imperfect, flawed, selfish love. There was no doubt about that. But human nature was not a simple thing. Just as good and evil were not. She was not going to stop loving her father even though between them today she and Owen had dismantled all her self-delusion. Yes, Papa’s behavior had approached a borderline to the unforgivable when he brought that woman to Boscombe and even to Ravenswood to mingle with his unsuspecting family. But there had still been those precious moments before the ball when he had beamed upon them all with such love and pride and had her promise never to cut her hair.

One could love another person without having any illusions about them, surely. Her love would mean nothing to Papa now, of course. But it would mean something to her.