“ ‘My sons, I thought I could escape the curse, I thought I had been prudent. I could proudly say that I had carried on the line and beaten the witch at her game. I was wrong! What I had really done was build a prison around myself. I even withheld my caring concern from you, my children. I tried to cheat Fate, but can any man escape his life?
“ ‘My children, forgive me for betraying you, for leading you astray. Don’t follow my path. Live fully and completely. Withhold nothing from life. Find someone and love her. Life holds so much more than what I led you to believe.
“ ‘The curse may have claimed another victim, but I am unrepentant. I loved! What sweet words! May God have mercy on my soul. Your father, Lyon.’ ”
Neal looked at his brother as he finished reading. Harry still sat on the floor, an arm resting on one bent knee, his head lowered. Neal turned toThea. She watched him closely, her expression anxious.
In truth, Neal didn’t know what to think. He believed the letter did truly come from their father... but the thought gave him no comfort. He needed time to digest this. He needed time to understand.
He needed time to come to terms with his own turbulent thoughts.
“I’ve done my part,” Cass said, breaking the silence. “It was a pleasure seeing you all again.” On that irony, she turned to leave.
Thea immediately said, “Wait, I shall see you to the door.” She left the room with Cass.
For a long moment, Neal and his siblings were quiet. Margaret spoke first. “He didn’t mention me.”
“What?” Neal said, caught off guard by her comment.
“Father addressed the letter to you and Harry. It is as if I don’t exist.”
“That isn’t true,” Neal said.
“It isn’t?” she challenged. “Was there one word directed at me?” She didn’t wait for a response but ran from the room.
Harry released his breath. “Father still had a lot to learn about love.”
“He cared for Margaret,” Neal said in his father’s defense.
“Yes, of course,” Harry answered dully. “Just like he cared for us. Here, help me up. My game leg won’t let me rise without crawling like an old man.”
Neal put the letter on his desk and offered a hand to Harry, pulling him up in one smooth movement. “Hedidcare,” Neal had to insist one more time.
Harry’s gaze met Neal’s. “No, he didn’t. And that is the difference between you and me, brother. You want to pretend it is all better. You are pragmatic in your business dealings and in your duties to the title, yet you ignore what is happening to you in your personal endeavors. I’m a realist. Life is hell. Death is definitely preferable.” He started for the door, favoring his leg.
“Where are you going?” Neal challenged, afraid of the answer.
His brother paused and gave a mirthless laugh. “To find my own piece of heaven.”
“God, Harry, the stuff will kill you.”
Harry nodded to the letter Neal held in his hand. “Does it matter?” He left the room.
Neal stood, stunned by the transformation of his family. Less than an hour ago they had been laughing together. Now, they were further apart than ever before. He moved toward a leatherchair, and his boot hit a marble Christopher had missed when he’d picked them up. Neal reached down and held the glass ball in his hand.
“We have the refreshments,” Christopher said proudly, marching through the door. He happily stepped back for Jonathan, who carefully entered the room carrying a tray loaded with a pitcher of orangeade, cakes and sandwiches.
A maid hovered behind the boy, anxious lest he make a misstep. She held a tray of glasses. Looking to Neal, she said, “He wanted to carry it in, your lordship. I didn’t think there would be a problem.”
“There isn’t,” Neal said, watching as Jonathan placed the tray on the library’s desk. “Thank you,” he said to the maid, dismissing her. The girl bobbed a curtsey and left the room.
“Where is Mother?” Christopher asked. “And Harry?”
Neal sat in the chair. “I found a marble.” He handed it to Chris, then placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. He looked to Jonathan. “Thank you for bringing in the tray. It is a good thing to desire to serve others.”
Jonathan nodded, pleased with his accomplishment, and Neal reached out. He pulled them both close, hugging them. They were honest in theiremotions, without doubts or fears. “I’m proud to be your stepfather,” he said fiercely. “Don’t ever forget that.”
“We’re proud to be your sons,” Jonathan answered, and Neal thought he would lose the fragile hold he had on his emotions. There was a strong chance that the Chattan name would end with his generation.
