Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

SYD ALLOWED ANOTHER week to go by without contacting either her mother or her father. She made every excuse possible not to see them, until she had run out of reasons and could no longer delay the inevitable. Even London's popular gossip rag, The Tattler, was hinting of a rift within the family, a circumstance she found most odd because her family had never been known for their close ties. So what made it suddenly of interest to anyone?

Octavian, always sensible to the point of irritation, had not been pleased to learn the Harcourts had been in the news. He had just returned home after a long day at the Admiralty, and now set the most recent edition down on the writing table where Syd was seated. "Octavian, what is that?" she asked, putting down her quill pen as she rose to greet him.

"More gossip about you and your parents," he muttered.

"This is most curious." She shot him a questioning gaze. "Why would anyone care or notice that I had not seen them since returning to London? Someone is planting this information to stir mischief."

"No doubt, but this changes nothing. Love, you cannot avoid seeing them. My concern is not for us, but for the Douglas family. I've dealt with the London magistrate. He has accepted my statement and closed the investigation. But if gossip continues about this split among the Harcourt family, some eager reporter might dig a little deeper and uncover something that is better left buried."

She knew he was right. "I'm sorry. I'll write to my parents as soon as I finish this note to Lady Withnall accepting her invitation to tea. I'll arrange to call upon them early next week. Is that all right?"

"Yes, of course." He took her into his arms and kissed her with a wealth of tenderness, and then kept her in his arms when he sensed she needed to be held a little longer. "I know this is hard for you. But your fear in facing them will–"

"It is fear of the unknown," she insisted. "I am not afraid of my mother or father."

"Fine, but whatever this unknown fear is, it is obviously rooted in your unsettled feelings for them. Otherwise, you would not hesitate to visit them."

She squirmed in his arms.

He held her gently, but would not let her go just yet. "You would not even stop by there to pack up your belongings. I had to ask the Harcourt housekeeper to ensure it was done. You cannot let this dread fester, Syd. It will grow worse over time. Isn't it better we address it now?" he pointed out.

She rested her head against his broad chest, taking comfort in his nearness. "Everything you are saying is right, Octavian."

"I've offered to go with you. You know I will always stand by you."

"To catch me if I fall," she said with a mirthless lilt of laughter. "I can do this on my own."

"Are you certain, Syd?"

She nodded. "As I said, I am not afraid of them."

While Octavian went upstairs to their bedchamber to wash up and change out of his uniform, she finished her note to Lady Withnall, and then jotted another to her mother. By the time she joined him in their chamber, he was comfortably ensconced in one of the large, tufted chairs beside the hearth, glass of wine in hand while staring into the fire and lost in his thoughts.

He smiled when she came over to sit on his lap.

He had taken off all but his trousers and shirt that was now unbuttoned down the front to expose much of his chest. She settled cozily against him, resting a hand atop the light spray of hair across his chest.

The silver of his eyes captured the golden glow of firelight so that he looked devilishly handsome as he welcomed her into his embrace. "The note is done and will be delivered to my mother in the morning. We'll see if she responds."

"I'm proud of you, love."

She sighed. "I would reserve judgement, if I were you. Your Sassenach witch of a wife might still make a mess of the reconciliation."

He gave a deep, rumbling chuckle. "First of all, my wife is a gem and not a witch. She is also exceptionally clever. She can do anything she puts her mind to doing."

"I am sure you are referring to a wife you may have had in a prior lifetime," she said with a light laugh. "You cannot possibly be referring to me." But she paused a moment to kiss him, loving the warmth of his lips as they covered hers. She tasted the wine he had been drinking, just a hint of its full-bodied, fruitiness. "Thank you, Octavian. You always have a kind word for me."

"Because you are that special, Syd."

"I'm not sure my mother will agree. I don't think she will be all that thrilled to see me. She never is. But one can only hope her opinion of me will improve now that I am married to you and you have a lot of money."

He kissed her on the nose. "Aha," he teased, "I knew you only married me for my wealth. The truth finally comes out. You went about it very cleverly, too. Never asking me for so much as a shilling. Never complaining about our accommodations as we traveled throughout Scotland. Berating me for insisting on acquiring five gowns for you when you only wanted two."

"Dare I point out that you spent a fortune on my father."

"But I got you in the bargain, and it is the best bargain I have ever made. I love you, Syd."

A pang tore through her.

She loved him, too.

She loved him so much, she ached with it. But the feeling of dread once again seized her and would not let go of her now. Something was going to happen when she saw her parents, something awful that would have her losing this man she loved with all her being.

This fear sent prickling sensations up her spine.

Was this real? Or was she simply going mad?

Three days later, she walked up the steps of the Harcourt townhouse, her legs feeling as heavy as blocks of granite. Her father's reception would be warm because Octavian had since taken care of the vowels owed to Sir Henry. He had paid them over to that villain's brother who turned out not to be a villain at all and agreed to cancel the debt upon repayment of a mere thirty percent of it. "Henry had no moral scruples," the brother had told Octavian. "I do not know who was cheated and who was not, but I suspect not all of these vowels were honestly acquired. I have no way of knowing which were and which were not. I expect he cheated most, for this is the manipulative, evil man he was. I would forgive every last debt if I could. But there is a cost to cleaning up his affairs and putting the Maxwell businesses back in legitimate order. So, I must ask for a thirty percent settlement. I think this is fair."

Octavian had agreed and settled the account.

Syd knew he intended to set aside the remaining seventy percent and use it to assist her parents when her father ran up more debts, which he inevitably would. The only question was how soon and how much?

Her mother ought to have been pleased by the outcome, but Syd knew that she would not be. It was not in her nature ever to be satisfied. She would find a reason to ignore the fact they had been saved from ruin by Octavian's generosity.

"Good afternoon, Stanford," she said with a smile when the Harcourt butler opened the door of her former residence to find her standing on the other side of it.

"Lady Sydney!" His stoic expression melted away as he cast her a beaming smile in return. "What a joy it is to see you again."

That he appeared genuinely surprised only meant her parents had neglected to inform the staff of her visit. "Typical," she muttered under her breath, for there was nothing prepared to receive a guest, even though the arrangements had been made several days ago. Her mother was aware of the date and time agreed upon for her visit.

Had she bothered to tell her father?

Syd began to doubt herself, and now wondered whether she ought to have sent a note off to him, too.

She should have done so, she realized.

Those two moved about the household like two wraiths passing in the night. They rarely spoke to each other. Rarely acknowledged the other was there. Mostly, it was her mother who ignored them all. Her father often tried to be affable.

This meeting would be their first after she had married, but her mother would not care, nor would she rejoice in her daughter's happiness. Her mother had never viewed her role as one of bringing the family together.

Syd chided herself again.

How foolish of her not to send separate notes. But was her mother not mostly to blame? Even though her parents led fairly separate lives, they did live under the same roof and spoke on occasion. Would a recently married daughter's visit not be something worth mentioning to him? Or the staff?

Apparently not.

She stifled her hurt.

Why did she think her mother would ever change?

She followed the Harcourt butler into the parlor. "How are my parents, Stanford?"

His smile faltered. "Same as always."

"I'm sorry for that."

"May I congratulate you on your marriage? Captain Thorne came by several days ago to meet with your father. He seems an excellent man."

Syd nodded. "He is, Stanford. The very best of men."

"I am happy for you, Lady Sydney. Well, you are Lady Thorne now. You deserve the best. I shall advise your parents that you have arrived. Will you be staying long? Shall I bring in tea and cakes?"

"No, that won't be necessary. Please convey my best regards to the rest of the staff."

"I will." He left her on her own while he went in search of her parents.

It felt odd to be sitting in the visitor's parlor while awaiting them, to be sitting here as though she were a stranger calling upon an earl and countess she hardly knew when this had always been her home. In truth, none of the servants would stop her if she waltzed up to her bedchamber and had a look around.

One of the things Octavian had done when arranging to meet with her father was to order her clothes packed up and sent to the Huntsford residence. Her father had agreed without rancor and advised their housekeeper to attend to it, for he was always most amiable, especially when swindling someone. The clothes had arrived in a jumbled mess, no doubt her mother's doing. A sign of her resentment? Why did the woman wish her any ill? Should a mother not rejoice in her own daughter's happiness? But this had never been her mother's way. She was as vain as her father, except lacking his charm.

As the minutes passed, Syd felt the walls begin to close in around her. She took several deep breaths.

The parlor felt like a mausoleum.

Dark drapes.

Dark furnishings that were in obvious need of replacing since most were chipped or frayed.

As she was about to conduct her own search of the house for her parents, her mother walked in.

Syd smiled and rose to greet her. "Mama, how are you?"

"How do you expect me to feel?" Her mother stiffened as Syd kissed her on the cheek. "I have a husband who has burned through his inheritance and mine."

"Not to mention mine," Syd muttered. "But Papa's debts are cleared now. With a little effort, the entailed properties will once more provide enough of an income to get you back on your feet."

"Do not be absurd, girl! Effort? When has your father ever lifted a finger? The only thing he has ever been diligent about is gambling. He will toss the entirety of his earnings away before a single coin ever reaches his hands. That is your miserable father for you. He has never had a care for me, nor did he ever care for you."

Syd tamped down the urge to turn around and walk out.

She had a home with Octavian now and did not need to endure this constant criticism. Yes, most of it was aimed at her father and most of it was true.

Still, why could she not ease up on him just this once? "I know he is quite flawed, Mama. But he never beat us or mistreated us. I agree, at times we could have lived better. But we went about in the best circles, had a roof over our heads, and food on the table. We did on occasion have to run from creditors, but it wasn't all that often. Father always found a way to land on his feet. And we did have some happy times together, did we not?"

Her mother took a seat on the settee and motioned for Syd to take the chair across from hers. "Happy times? Are you deluded, girl? It was all fakery. Make-believe. Just as our marriage has always been."

Syd cringed, for was this not exactly how she had insisted her marriage to Octavian needed to be? Sham. Fake. Make-believe.

Dear heaven.

Would she resemble this angry, sour woman in twenty years?

No. No.

She would never be like this. Her flaw was that she had too much compassion. She was the opposite of this woman in every way. In truth, she had never resembled her mother either physically or in temperament.

She did not have much in common with her father, either. Perhaps the color of their hair was similar, although his was much lighter, more of a cornsilk blond in his younger days. His hair was shot through with strands of white now. His eyes were green, but a much darker shade than hers. More of a forest green.

But they did often laugh together.

The mere sight of her always cheered her father whenever he felt particularly defeated. He always had a smile for her, and would make her smile if she appeared to be overset. Despite his many flaws, she still loved him. In time, she might forgive him for agreeing to sell her off to Sir Henry.

What did it matter?

She had escaped that evil man's clutches and was happily married to Octavian now. Best of all, theirs was a love match.

She placed a hand over her stomach as it began to churn with this perpetual dread she could not seem to shake off.

Why did it plague her?

Octavian was nothing like her father, and would never repeat any of his mistakes, for he was fine and brave.

Abandoning her was out of the question.

He would never gamble away his fortune.

They were truly husband and wife in every possible way now, and he would always put her and any children they were blessed to have first in his heart.

"Oh, he smiles and struts about like a fine gentleman," her mother grumbled, regaining Syd's attention as she bemoaned her father. "He pats you on the head and tells you what a pretty thing you are, but he lies through his teeth. You are nothing to him. You, my girl, with your smug smile and new husband who will soon deceive and disappoint you, were never anything more than a useful tool for him to access an inheritance."

"What do you mean?"

Her mother said nothing, merely responded with another smug look.

"Mama, why do you stay under the same roof with my father if you are so miserable with him?" Syd asked.

"And where else would I stay?"

"You have family who would help establish you elsewhere."

Her mother huffed. "Are you suggesting I retire to Bath? Move about in that lesser Society? Entertain graceless rustics and creaky-kneed gentry who have settled there for the healing waters?"

"It is second only to London in our social circles and more popular than London in the summers," she replied, wondering why her mother appeared more agitated than usual.

"You are just like your father. Always hoping to get rid of me. But I am a countess and will not be demeaned. I will not give up the privileges of my rank."

Syd reached over to take her mother's hand in comfort, but her mother drew it away and cast her an icy look. "I only married him because he was an earl. What good has it done me? I should be living in style instead of always scrounging for pin money. And you certainly gave us a worry."

Warmth spread through Syd. "You were worried about me? I'm sorry I ran away, but you and Papa left me with no choice. I did not want to marry Sir Henry."

Now, she felt badly about not telling her parents about her elopement plans. But how could she let on when the information would have quickly fallen into Sir Henry's hands and he would have stopped them? Nor could her father simply agree to let her marry Octavian, for Sir Henry had a stranglehold on him because of his gambling debts. The villain would have killed her father had he given his consent to a union between her and anyone other than himself. "Truly, Mama. I am so sorry I gave you cause to worry for my safety."

She laughed bitterly. "It wasn't about you, Syd. It has never been about you. Are you so blind to what you are to us?"

What was her mother going on about? Syd hated these cryptic comments designed to be vague and cruel. Why could she not simply get to the point? "What do you mean?"

She stared at her mother, noting the age lines across her brow and at the corners of her eyes. Her mouth had a downward dip to it, so that she never looked happy even when her face was relaxed. Her dark brown hair was threaded with gray, and she sat with a slight stoop, as though bowed by the weight of her age. She was only in her mid-forties, but the dark orbs staring back at Syd looked aged beyond their years.

"Have you not guessed the truth by now, stupid girl?"

Another knot formed in Syd's belly. She no longer saw her mother's face but waves of darkness swirling around her. "You've had your cruel fun. Just tell me what this is about."

"Harcourt and I are not–"

"Lady Harcourt, shut up!" her father commanded, striding in at just that moment and looking angrier than she had ever seen him.

Syd had been too caught up studying her mother to realize he had been standing in the doorway. Had he been there all the while? How much had he overheard? She and her mother had said nothing outrageous. Although her mother's words were not complimentary to him, this was nothing new.

When had her mother ever had a kind word for him?

Never.

Nor had she ever expressed a kindness for her.

But this hatred she had always harbored for her father was in full blossom now. In truth, her father was no less critical of his wife. This is why they always addressed each other as though strangers. He was always Harcourt to her. She was always Lady Harcourt to him.

The complaints had always been the same.

She hated his gambling.

He disliked her constantly berating him.

Syd rose and hesitantly smiled at her father. "Good to see you, Papa."

She was uncertain whether his present anger extended to her as well. But why should it? He had come out of his scrape with Sir Henry smelling like a rose. His debt was paid. Sir Henry was dead and could never threaten him again. And his daughter was happily married to Octavian, the very man who had paid that debt.

"Good afternoon, Syd." He had a glorious smile for her that felt genuine, but one could never be certain with her father. He was awfully smooth. "You are a sight for sore eyes, child. Why did you not tell us you were stopping by? I'll have Stanford bring in refreshments."

Her mother shot to her feet. "What are you doing home at this hour, Harcourt? What happened? Are the odds-makers refusing to accept your bets?"

Dear heaven.

Syd did not miss this constant bickering.

She was going to hug Octavian and kiss every inch of his face when she saw him next. "Papa, did you not know I was coming over?" She glanced at her mother, curious as to why she would hide the news from him. It wasn't as though they were going to have a loving mother-daughter exchange.

Had her mother said a single kind word yet?

She had never been a loving mother.

If not for Syd's genuinely compassionate nanny and later her equally caring governess, she would never have known a gentle, female touch. Her mother had never tucked her into bed or nursed her when she was ill. Nor had she ever cheered any of her accomplishments.

Was this not odd?

Syd had never given it much thought until seeing the mothering instincts come out in her married friends, Adela and Marigold.

Only then did she realize how wholly devoid of feeling this woman standing before her was.

Her father made up for some of the lack, for he had a genial nature. He was always joking, and always had a pretty compliment for her. But he was never as protective or responsible as Octavian. In truth, he never rolled up his sleeves and worked hard at anything. It galled her to admit that her mother had been right about that.

But for a child starved for affection, his smiles and pats on the head were everything. Despite his inept ways, Syd had always felt he loved her. "Mama, why did you not tell him?"

"I'll answer that," her father said. "She means to spread her poison. Have you not noticed how we are suddenly the topic of interest in the gossip rags?"

Syd nodded. "Yes, what is that about?"

Her mother laughed with unmasked bitterness.

Her father frowned. "Do not believe anything she tells you, Syd. She only means to hurt you."

Syd's stomach now ached so badly, she could feel the pain radiating throughout her body. "How can she hurt me? I already know she does not love me. Nor does she love you. Mama, is it just us? Or do you hate everyone?"

She gave another bitter laugh. "Oh, it is just you and your father. I've kept quiet all these years, but no more."

Her father looked upon his wife, still enraged. "There is no reason for your cruelty, Lady Harcourt. Why can you not let any of the past go? Captain Thorne has saved us from ruin. Your status is secure. Is this not all you care about? Is this not all you have ever cared about? You certainly never gave me a thought."

Her mother made a snide sound of dismissal.

Her father pressed on. "You and I shall never be reconciled. It is far too late for us now. But is this how you are to show your gratitude to our daughter? By filling her good heart with your poison?"

Her mother's expression turned chilling. "Our daughter? Our daughter? Oh, that is amusing. But you were always a great jester. How easily you charm everyone and make them laugh."

"Dear heaven." Her father now turned to her. "Go home, Syd. Go home to your husband, my precious girl," he said in all seriousness.

"Papa?" Syd wanted to run, but before she could move, her mother grabbed her by the wrist and held on so tight that Syd yelped. "Mama, let me go!"

"Know this before you run away like a scared, little rabbit. This man is hardly worthy to claim himself as your father. Who knows if he really is your father? He's always told me that he is not. Is that not a wonderfully dirty, little secret? But who can tell if it is true or not when he never tells the truth? More important, I was never your mother. Do you hear me? You are not my daughter. You are nothing to us. We've used you all these years. To us, you are just a foolish nobody."

Her father hurriedly shut the door and turned to her mother…this woman…this unrecognizable, mad person holding onto her wrist with enough force that Syd feared she might actually snap a bone. "You have gone too far," her father growled, turning on her mother. "Do not utter another word or I shall have you locked away forever. Did I not assure you that I would take care of you? Have I not kept to my word all these years? There is no question of divorce, as you well know. Your status is secure. Why are you causing trouble now?"

"My status secure? Ha! You have taken every last shred of dignity from me. It was the only thing I had left because you stripped away everything else. And now you think to bring a mistress into this house? My home? I will not have it!"

Syd gasped. "Papa? Is this true?"

"No, sweetheart. But I do intend to move out and get some joy in my life now that I know you are happily settled and safely away from this woman."

Her mother's laughter was more of a witch's cackle. "See how he continues to lie? How sweetly he does it, too. Joy in his life? He's found himself a rich widow and she is to be his next victim. He'll abandon her as soon as he's lost all her money, too."

"Syd, please. Do not believe her." Her father looked pained as he turned pleading eyes on her. "Yes, I am a gambler. I readily admit I am a lowly hound. I know I have not been the best father to you, but I have given you whatever I could. Everything possible within my means."

Her mother gasped. "You've stolen whatever you could! This is what you do best. Steal. Lie. Take. Take. Take. You never give." She squeezed Syd's wrist hard again. "Who are you going to believe? Him or me?"

She had no wish to take sides. "I love both of you."

This turned out to be the wrong thing to say to her mother, apparently an incendiary statement that put her in a rage. She finally released Syd, but only did so in order to raise a hand to slap her.

Syd had been fearless when fending off those Armstrong reivers and drunken MacGregors. But she watched in horror as her mother's bony fingers whipped closer, and she was too stunned to defend herself.

Her father stepped between them in time to prevent the blow from striking her. "Enough, Lady Harcourt! Calm down and apologize to our daughter immediately, or I shall have you declared mad and put away."

"Mad, am I? If so, then you have driven me to it. You and this thing you picked up off the streets." She glowered at Syd. "You think you are so high and mighty. You think you are an earl's daughter. Well, you are not. You are nothing . Just some lowly by-blow acquired as a useful tool to gain an inheritance."

Her father looked thoroughly stricken. "Do not believe a word she says, Syd. She is only trying to hurt you."

"She'll hear the truth now, you lying scoundrel." This woman she had always considered a mother now turned the force of her anger on Syd. "You were brought here because I could not bear children, and there was all this money just lying untouched in a trust established by my family for any children of mine. Your father was on his way to gambling through his inheritance."

"They were business ventures gone bad. How was I to know?" he argued.

Her mother ignored him. "Then he began to gamble through my dowry. As our resources dwindled, he came up with the bright idea of claiming this children's trust. It is all gone now. Everything lost in a puff of smoke. So, now he intends to leave me because I am no longer of any use to him."

Syd was ready to toss up her accounts.

She felt nauseated.

Her father put an arm around her. "My dear girl, do not believe a word of the bile spewing from her lips. She is angry and trying to hurt us."

But Syd knew it was the truth.

This is exactly who her father was. Jovial. Amiable. But also lazy, selfish, and not above swindling anyone and everyone. Having used up all his resources, he was about to move on to more fertile ground and cheat an unsuspecting widow out of her life savings. He would do this rather than put any effort into restoring the Harcourt properties.

As for herself, had she not felt this iciness in her mother for all of her life? And if this embittered woman believed herself so righteous, then why did she not say a word when he began to dip into the children's trust? She was as much in on his lies and schemes, keeping silent as he used the funds that were not his. She did this in order to maintain her position in Society. She did this to live in stylish fashion. New gowns. Jewelry. A town carriage. The lavish parties they once held because appearance was everything to both of them.

Was it any surprise the money ran out?

He may have swindled. But she spent as much of those ill-gotten gains as he did.

Syd was going to toss up her accounts if she did not get out of here right away. But how could she leave with so many unanswered questions? What was true and what were lies? "Who am I, Papa?"

His pain seemed genuine, but he had gotten so good at weaving his stories, she could no longer tell. Perhaps he was so convincing that he had also convinced himself his lies were true. "You are my daughter."

"And yet, he was ready to sell you to Sir Henry Maxwell," her mother retorted. "Think of that, Syd. Would a true father do this to his daughter?"

No…but some did…but, no.

She hated to agree with her mother…or whoever this woman was to her. What loving father would ever sacrifice his true daughter? "I need to go. Octavian is expecting me. I dare not be late."

"Yes," her mother said with so much venom threaded through that one word. "Go home and tell him that you are not an earl's daughter. Let him know that you are a nobody the Earl of Harcourt picked up off the streets. Won't he be cheered? There's an end to your happy marriage. His family will be tainted and his career in ruins once the scandal breaks. And I assure you, I will see to it. What have I got to lose now?"

Her harsh laughter resounded through the parlor.

Syd blindly raced toward the front door.

She wanted to get away from these miserable people and rush home to Octavian.

Home.

In truth, she had no home to truly call her own.

The Huntsford townhouse belonged to Ambrose, not to her or Octavian. Still, it was somewhere away from her family. It was where should would find Octavian, although who was to say when he would get home this evening? He had been working late all week on his presentation to the Admiralty which he claimed was almost completed.

What would she say to him?

She had to tell him the truth.

But what was true and what were lies? She would repeat the conversation and let him decide what to believe.

Greeves took one look at her as she walked in and his eyes widened. "My lady," he said, noticeably alarmed, "you do not look well. Shall I summon a doctor?"

"No, please do not make a fuss. It is nothing serious. Have Mrs. Quinn bring me up a pot of tea. I'll be in my bedchamber. I need to rest."

"Right away." He cast her another worried look. "I shall send word to Captain Thorne."

"No, you mustn't disturb his important work. Just send him upstairs when he arrives home."

Her legs once again felt like granite blocks as she made her way up the stairs. This was it. This was the dread that had haunted her from the moment she opened her heart and accepted a true and forever marriage.

Why had she done this?

She ought to have waited the full nine months before committing to Octavian. Instead, she had held out less than two months.

If only she had waited.

She knew all along, did she not? She knew that her marriage could never be anything more than make-believe.

Her dreams of forever could never come true, for she had come to Octavian with nothing but her good name.

And now, she did not even have that.

Dread filled her.

She felt more ill than she had ever felt in her life.

Would Octavian demand that she move out this very night?