Page 41 of This Marquess of Mine

He shrugged. “The responsibilities of the marquessate keep me busy.”

“Surely there are people you can hire to take care of things for a month or two.”

“And then there’s Emmy and my mother, of course.”

Olivia gave him a wry look. “Both of whom would miss you terribly but would undoubtedly survive without you.”

“Perhaps. But ever since my father died…” His brow creased. “It never felt right, leaving them. I can’t explain it.”

Olivia fell silent as she considered his words, his responsibilities as not only the marquess, but also as a brother and son, the head of the family. He was so young when his father died. He’d taken on so much. It was strange how she’d never considered that before, the responsibility, the burden he carried with him.

“Were you close with your father?” she asked.

Griffin’s thumb stilled on her knuckles, and she held her breath, waiting to see if he would pull his hand from hers.

“Yes,” he said finally. “We were very close. I wish I’d had more time with him.”

Olivia nodded, the motion stilted against the sofa cushion. Emmy was barely three years old when she and Griffin lost their father, and she had no memories of the man, but Griffin must have many.

“What was he like?” she asked, already picturing the attentive, loving father she’d always heard him to be.

“He was tall. Broad-shouldered. Kind.” He paused, as if lost in a memory. “I remember he always seemed to be laughing. We all did.”

She could hear the smile in his voice, the affection, and it made her smile in turn, even as envy snaked around her heart.

“He sounds wonderful,” she said softly, turning her head to look at him. “I’m sorry you lost him so young. It isn’t fair.”

“No. It isn’t.” His gaze met hers. “But neither is having a father who doesn’t love you as he should.”

Longing, keen and poignant, pulled at her heart and she shook her head at her own foolishness. “I wish I didn’t care what he thinks of me. I wish I could let go of this need to please him, but…” Her words trailed off on a sigh.

“But he’s your father,” he said, squeezing her hand, and the understanding in his voice eased the ache in her chest.

“But he’s my father.”

And for better or worse, she would never stop wanting him to be proud of her.

She tipped her head back and gazed up at the ceiling, watching the candlelight flicker and play. “My stepmother is going to have a baby,” she said, the words tumbling from her lips, still strange in their newness. Her brows drew together. “I used to dream of having a sibling when I was a little girl, a little brother or sister to play with and talk to. But now that it is finally happening, I don’t know how I feel about it. I’m happy for Caroline, of course. She has yearned for a baby for many years, and I know she will be a wonderful mother, but—” She broke off and pressed her lips together, trapping the loathsome words inside.

Griffin turned to look at her. “But?”

“But I’m jealous, too,” she whispered.

“Of Caroline?”

She shook her head. “Of the baby.”

Her eyes fell closed, guilt and shame sitting on her chest like scorching hot bricks, and she swallowed. The admission had left a sour taste on her tongue. “I’m jealous of a child—my own sibling—who hasn’t even been born yet,” she muttered. “What is the matter with me?”

“Nothing.”

“But—”

“There is nothing the matter with you, Olivia,” he said firmly, brooking no argument. “Your feelings for your father are complicated. It stands to reason that your feelings for this child would be complicated, too.”

Her eyes met his and she saw in them the sincere belief in his words. She gave him a small, grateful smile. “Thank you.”

She’d never shared these feelings with anyone before, and it probably should have felt strange, sharing them now, here in the dark with Griffin. Instead, it felt…right.