Heavy brows rose off her father’s forehead. “Taking away the chance at this estate isn’t enough?”
“No,” Drystan said.
Face turning dark, her father stood. “His life then! So be it.”
Elizabeth rushed forward. “No, Father, Drystan’s being Drystan. He’s merely protective. He’s used to coming to my aid when things go awry.”
“That wasn’t awry,” Drystan said. “It was wrong, and—”
“Protective?” Her father tilted his head to study them both. “What about the pantler getting sick, swearing he ate a slug? I thought it couldn’t be true, but now…”
“Me,” Elizabeth said.
Her father’s eyes narrowed. “And the ink on your mother’s rug in the parlor?”
“Elizabeth don’t,” Drystan pleaded, but she wouldn’t do anymore. Drystan didn’t deserve her silence. She had spilled it when they were young, and it was an accident that was true, but she should never have allowed him to take the blame.
“That was also me,” she said.
A pained expression crossed her father’s face. “Iwhippedyou for that.”
“Two lashes, sir,” Drystan replied “They hardly marked.”
“You took that.” Then his gaze turned calculating, more so than ever. “And you’ve mentioned changes on the estate, and perhaps if I had listened, we wouldn’t be this vulnerable now.”
Bowing his head, her father stared at his desk, and she hardly dared look anywhere else.
“No more games. How deep does this go? You’re telling me since you were young, but is it a joke?”
“Sir?” Drystan said.
Her father raised his head and pointed at her. “How long have you been protecting her?”
Drystan stepped forward. “I’ll always protect her, but she doesn’t need protection from her games or mischief. Those I cherish because they’re simply her.”
“How could I have been so blind to you both, to what was happening under my very roof? All those mistakes and accidents,” Galoncryf said. “Drove my staff mad, and I believed they stopped!”
“Laughter and smiles could never be mistakes,” Drystan said. “We simply got better at covering them up.”
Drystan had defended her all her life, but he never thought of what she did as anything other than…what she did.
“So, you love her then,” her father said. “All this time when I simply thought you were children. What a fool am I?” He shook his head. “You’re an honorable man. And this is beyond those coins and bauble, John, and that ink. What else…”
Her father snapped his fingers. “The frogs in the maid’s bed…”
“Susan’s sister’s bed,” Elizabeth said. There was no umbrage in her father’s complexion nor ire in his eyes, but there was something in his expression she couldn’t understand. Some sort of wonder or camaraderie, but that couldn’t be right.
“The housekeepers!” Galoncryf turned to Drystan. “You knew what she was about. You’ve always known her and never stopped her.”
“The frogs aren’t bad, sir,” Drystan said. “Think of it this way. Housekeeper still talks of those frogs to this day, though it was nine years ago. She loves the telling of the tale…and now has a warning to give to little Thomas if he doesn’t do his chores—that he’ll get frogs in his bed, too.”
Galoncryf chuckled. “Housekeeper screamed so loudly, your mother pricked her fingers doing her needlepoint, but also…told the story for years afterward.”
“Stories can’t ever be accidents,” Drystan said.
“And it can’t be an accident that you’ve pushed me on changing up the estate either,” he said. “Had your eye on this property for some time, haven’t you?”
“The property is important,” Drystan said. “I’ve tended this land because it was one way to care for her—your family.”
