Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-One

O liver was rattled. It was why he didn’t see the carriage right away. It was right there, its colors blending with the rest of Lord Hartwell’s dreary townhouse.

He swore that his sigh of relief could be heard from across town. His chest felt lighter after that as he jogged toward Hartwell’s house.

Rusty railings and wilting bushes decorated the front, suggestive of how Hartwell’s life had fallen apart because of his vices. Oliver thought of the times he had almost ruined his life and thanked his lucky stars that he was able to turn his life around.

His first lucky star was Catherine.

The other one was Alexandra.

She was here, confronting or being confronted by her father. She shouldn’t have to be here alone, without protection. Oliver knew Hartwell enough to know that he didn’t want his wife exposed to his abusive nature. Not again, anyway.

Oliver didn’t need to be announced. He took some banknotes and handed them to the butler. When the manservant quickly accepted the money, Oliver couldn’t help but shake his head in an odd mix of relief and disgust.

It was so typical, he supposed. Hartwell’s servants were just like their master—disloyal.

He’d been to this place before. It was only once or twice, but it had left a mark on him. It led to a series of events that he thought he would regret. In the end, though, he could not regret marrying Alexandra.

In fact, he was regretting telling her to leave.

There were fleeting moments when he thought he would be happier without her, but whenever he thought of her, he would feel slightly annoyed but never truly angry. It was like he had a slight inconvenience in the countryside, but it also saved him from some women.

Whenever a woman approached him then, he had a reason to stay away.

“I’m married, don’t you know? My Duchess simply wants a little break from the ton.”

The oohs and aahs were often laughable as women tried to disguise their disappointment with something else. But he also knew that there was greed behind it. They wanted to marry a duke for the title. Or perhaps they only wanted him for his body. There was never an interest in getting to know him better.

As with Alexandra? She didn’t even want to see him. That was why she was the perfect choice.

Today, though, he wasn’t certain he could settle for the aloof and distant facade she often presented to others. He wanted more of her. Not just her body or her music, but all of her.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard voices in the parlor. He was startled to see that Prescott was standing by the door.

Instead of rushing to confront the man, he stopped when he heard the other voices in the room. Hartwell. Alexandra. They were all there.

It really was a confrontation.

He listened. He heard Hartwell threaten both Prescott and Alexandra. Oliver felt pity for the man he used to be jealous of. It must be hard not to tell other people about the person you love. Right now, he just wanted to grab his wife and tell her what he had slowly come to realize—that he loved her and must have done so for a long time.

He wanted everyone to know, but he knew that Prescott didn’t have that good fortune.

“He never tried to control me, and that makes him a better man,” his wife said.

His chest tightened at the way she defended him, even though he had told her to leave. He didn’t give her a chance to tell him what was going on. Yet, she apparently still held him in high regard when he could have easily told her father that he would not help him.

Hartwell’s behavior made Oliver’s jaw clench. He felt like he was in Devil’s Draw again, in the midst of the cheering and jeering. Whenever he was there, his only desire was to feel the physical pain to forget the emotional one. The urge was to punch and overpower.

At that moment, he felt something else. The desire to hit was no longer about getting rid of his pain, but to get rid of his wife’s pain.

How dare her father make her feel unsafe?

“I will pay his debts!” Oliver bellowed.

He didn’t have any more patience for the disgusting way Hartwell was handling his daughter.

“Ah, late for the party, Your Grace! Come and see how distressed you have made your wife by telling her to leave London. She had begun enjoying the soirées and little friendships,” Hartwell said with a strange kind of cheer. “So, you’re going to pay off all my debts at Devil’s Draw? Lockwood is certainly waiting. I can feel the noose around my neck tightening.”

How could he sound so happy right now when he had made people miserable, including himself?

“As it should. You brought this upon yourself, Hartwell,” Oliver reminded him as he casually closed the distance between them.

Prescott had cowered, letting him in without any issue. Oliver could almost feel the man shiver, and his heart went out to him.

“Now that I think about it, you didn’t exactly complain about marrying my daughter. You realized even then that she was a good investment,” Hartwell said maliciously.

“Investment?” Alexandra spluttered, not believing her ears.

“Yes, that is what you are. What daughters are. Audley here certainly was fortunate to have married my child. Not a hunchback. Not an old spinster, as people were saying,” the wretched man continued. “He married a beautiful young woman of keen intellect, until she let lust take over.”

Oliver felt his muscles tense up from anger. His fists had clenched, and his body had stiffened. He could not believe the audacity of the man before him. At that very moment, his wife finally looked his way and paled as she scanned his face.

“Oliver! What happened to you?” Alexandra cried, rushing to him.

Her hands were on his face, but barely. She was gentle, knowing that she could hurt him easily. Tears welled up in her eyes.

Oliver wondered how awful he must have looked for her to want to take care of him even after he told her to leave. After all that mistrust.

“I… it’s nothing,” he said, taking her hands in his own. He kissed one of them softly. “I-I had to go to Devil’s Draw,” he admitted, his earlier anger dissipating as shame washed over him.

Alexandra’s eyes were shimmering with tears, red and slightly swollen. She had already cried before he came, but he was not necessarily blameless for that.

“You hear that, Alexandra? The Duke was at the gambling hell. Again! A rake will always be a rake! Did you not know that his father was unfaithful to his mother? Didn’t he share that little story with you? No. I can see it on your face, dear daughter. Blood is strong, you know,” Hartwell scoffed. “Give it time, and he will show you his true colors.”

Oliver was quiet. Perhaps Hartwell was right on that point. He went back to a place he shouldn’t have simply because he didn’t know how to deal with his emotions. However, he also knew that there was no woman he wanted to be with other than his beautiful and talented wife. He was here for her now and would not let her go unless she told him to.

“You know that you’re wrong, Father!” Alexandra cried. “Oliver is not like that. He is nothing like that!”

She had untangled herself from her husband and turned to face her father. She was not going to hide from him this time. No. No more.

“For now, Daughter.”

Oliver wanted to punch the smug look off his father-in-law’s face. He tried to hold on to his belief in respecting his elders, especially his wife’s father. He reminded himself that without this profligate, he wouldn’t have Alexandra. He would still be living an aimless, empty life, going back and forth between Devil’s Draw and his house.

“Enough, Hartwell. I have had enough of listening to you. Set your daughter free, or I will unleash the full wrath of the ton on you.”

“The full wrath?” Hartwell echoed as if he truly couldn’t understand. His eyebrows were knitted together in confusion, and he lifted his hand to his chest.

Oliver wondered if it was all mockery and if it was right for him to finally hurt this man. Physically.

“Yes. I will use all my connections to make sure you don’t get to show your face anywhere near us again. You will be pushed back to the country, or worse. I will even force you to leave England.”

“You can’t do that,” Hartwell whimpered.

It was then that Oliver noticed just how pale and dry the man’s lips were. His right hand trembled at his side.

Was he ill?

Oliver decided that if the man needed help, he should have asked the proper way. He shouldn’t have resorted to threats, cruelty, and endless gambling.

“I can. I will pay off all your debts, but you will leave your daughter alone. We will not hear from you again unless you want a public castigation, Hartwell. Enough is enough.”

Hartwell fell silent. His smug expression had vanished. His face was blank as his shoulders slumped.

A deep breath.

A small frown.

He fidgeted, walking around in circles. Oliver could see Prescott watching the whole thing with curiosity and hope. Would the man who was threatening to ruin his reputation—and possibly his life—finally be defeated?

While Oliver could understand Prescott’s role in the matter, he still was not convinced he was an ally. How did Hartwell find out that the man knew J. Lewis’s real identity?

Then, Hartwell spoke, “All right.”

It was so simple and short. Oliver couldn’t believe it, and he wouldn’t take any more chances.

“You will sign a document drafted by my solicitors saying that you will stay away not only from Alexandra and me but also from Prescott. I am willing to help you get rid of your debts. You must attest that you have received the amount, or we can give the money to Lockwood, and he’ll sign a statement confirming that your debt has been paid in full.”

“Alexandra—” Hartwell began.

“No, you do not get to talk to your daughter again. You lost all rights when you made her a pawn in your little game. Children, of both sexes, should not be used for financial gain.”

“W-What if you two have children in the future? Will I get to see them?” He seemed older then, and his back seemed to be more hunched.

Was it all an act?

“No, Father, you will not. You have hurt me long enough. I don’t want you near my children, not until we can be completely certain you will not speak to them the same way you speak to me. I should have severed all ties long ago, but I still had hope and believed that you could finally love me.”

Oliver’s heart shattered upon hearing his wife’s words. He could remember the pain his sister had to carry upon finding out what his father was. He was saved from the brunt of it.

“Alexandra, I-I was only afraid that?—”

“We won’t listen to what you have to say, Hartwell. My wife is kind-hearted. She loves you. She came to London to pay off your debts and risked her reputation to sell compositions under a man’s name. If you talk to her, she will more likely give you another chance. But I won’t. Maybe in a few years, you may try again. But not now.” Oliver’s voice was sharp and unyielding.

He was looking at the man who ‘sold’ his daughter.

He was looking at the man who didn’t bother to check how she was doing during her first year of marriage.

Oliver felt guilty for doing the same thing, but he saw his mistakes now. Even if he didn’t love Alexandra back then, he could’ve handled things the proper way by checking if she was comfortable. If she was happy.

He was looking at the man who had forced his daughter to pay off his debts.

He was looking at the bastard whose daughter tried to save him at Devil’s Draw, and he repaid it with insults.

Oliver could not imagine a life where his future children would visit their grandfather. Their family could only be Catherine’s. He couldn’t think of anyone else at this point.

Hartwell looked at his daughter as if for support. The eyes that had often shone with hatred and contempt were soft now. Dull.

“No, Father. That will not work this time. The last time you looked at me like that, you married me off to a stranger days later.”

Oliver felt like he had been punched. Did she still regret being married to him? Was she merely making the best of it?

“There are no regrets now,” she continued, “now that I know who Oliver truly is.”

Oliver reached for her hand. She turned to him and smiled. It was sweet, but the tears were still there. He vowed that he wouldn’t let her hurt like this again.

“Are you choosing your husband over me, Alexandra?” Hartwell asked in a husky voice.

Oliver knew that if he didn’t get rid of his own vices, he would look like his father-in-law one day—perhaps even worse. After all, he boxed. His face still bore the evidence of the last fight.

“Yes, Father. I am choosing a man who saw my talent and who saw not only a woman but also a person. I am leaving the past behind. I can’t stay with someone who has called me stupid and worthless. I am worthy of so much more,” Alexandra declared, jutting her chin.

“She is,” Prescott confirmed with wonder. Although Oliver didn’t turn around to look at him, he could hear the smile in his voice. “The brilliant student had become a master. Oh, how our genders have betrayed us, Your Grace.”

Alexandra nodded at him. This time, when she turned to her husband, her smile was brighter.

“Let us go home, Alexandra,” Oliver said.

He knew he had to say the words. He was there to take her back, to let her know that she didn’t have to leave for the country unless it was with him.

She looked at him curiously.

Uncertainty tainted their little reunion, and he would have to reassure her that he would listen to her from now on.