Page 83 of This Marquess of Mine

She nodded. “That would have been nice,” she said softly. “I always thought you resented me. That you blamed me for…” She trailed off, losing her nerve.

“That I blamed you for your mother’s death,” he finished for her. “You thought I hated you for being born.”

She nodded again, her throat too tight to speak.

“I am sorry for that,” he said, regret deepening the lines around his eyes. “I had no idea you thought such a thing. Not until—” He broke off with a shake of his head and leaned forward, reaching across the table before pulling his hands back. He sighed. “I don’t hate you, Olivia. I’ve never hated you.”

“Then why…?”

“Why did I treat you as I did?” He leaned back in his chair and stroked his mustache as he considered his reply. “The truth is, I did resent your birth at first. I loved your mother very much, believe it or not, and when she died…” He drew in a deep breath, his eyes flashing with pain. “When she died, I was devastated, and I didn’t know how to handle it, the pain, the grief. I suppose…I suppose it was easier to blame you.”

He frowned and shook his head again, as if his behavior was a puzzle even to him. “Then later, as you grew, you resembled your mother more and more every day and it hurt me to look at you. It was lunacy, allowing myself to give in to that feeling, but I did. And as time went on, the distance between us grew until it was so cavernous I had no idea how to bridge it. Or even how to talk to my own daughter.”

Olivia’s eyes welled with tears as she gazed across the table at her sire, a man who had caused her so much pain and frustration, a man she barely knew. She had never thought of him as human before, with human weaknesses, never considered he might be unsure of himself or uncertain of what to do. He made mistakes, the same as everybody. And apparently, he was trying to make up for the ones he’d made with her.

“I understand, Father,” she said, reaching across the table to take his hand in hers. Had she ever done such a thing? Had they ever done anything so simple as holding hands?

“I mean to do better,” he said gruffly. “By your future siblings, and by you, Olivia.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “That’s why I’m here. It was wrong of me to give you an ultimatum, to force you to choose a husband. I’m sorry for that. Truly I am.”

Her lips parted in surprise as her mind struggled to take it all in. “I don’t understand…”

He smiled. “I am withdrawing my order that you choose a husband by the end of the Season,” he said. “If you still wish to marry the duke, of course you may do so. But if you do not—if you wish to stay in London for the rest of the Season—I will support you. Or…” His smile widened. “You could return to Surrey with me and stay for a while. I would welcome the chance to get to know my daughter better.”

Olivia shook her head, baffled by the sudden change in the man seated across from her. Was he in earnest? Did he truly wish to know her better?

“But what about—” She broke off, confusion knitting her brow. “You told me you needed to economize…”

“I know I did,” he said, his mouth grim. “But my ultimatum was never about money. I just wanted you to marry well, so you would be taken care of. So I could stop worrying about you.” He blew out a breath. “The choice is yours, Olivia. I will remain in Town for a few days, to give you time to think it over. But whatever you choose, I will support your decision. And, either way, I sincerely hope we can repair our relationship.”

He looked at her for a long moment, his blue eyes—her eyes—steady and sincere as they held hers. Then he picked up his hat and left.

She watched his retreating form as he disappeared into the house, and in her bemused state she wondered if this was, in fact, all a dream.

“Olivia?” Aunt Augusta stood in the doorway, a look of concern on her face. “Are you unwell? What did your father want?”

Olivia shook her head and drew in a deep breath. The astonishing conversation had barely had time to sink into her brain.

“What is it, dearest?” Aunt Augusta settled into the chair Lord Blakely had just occupied. “Did your father upset you?”

“No. Not at all. I am...stunned, that’s all.”

She spent the next few minutes repeating what her father had said, her aunt’s shocked face mirroring her own feelings of befuddlement.

“I...am at a loss for words,” Aunt Augusta said, absentmindedly rubbing a knuckle along one wrinkled cheek. “What brought on this sudden change of heart?”

Olivia paused, considering her father’s words, and then let out a sheepish laugh. “He never said, and I was so stunned, I didn’t think to ask.”

“Strange...” Aunt Augusta shook her head, her brow clearing. “Still, I am glad to see the man has finally come to his senses.”

Olivia nodded, her gaze falling to the wrought-iron tabletop. Absently, she traced the swirls and loops with her fingertips, her father’s words looping through her mind.

“What will you do?” her aunt asked gently.

“I don’t know.” She frowned. “I am betrothed to a duke. Would it not be foolish to throw that away?”

She met her aunt’s gaze, seeking affirmation, but Aunt Augusta answered the question with one of her own. “Do you want to marry the duke?”

Olivia bobbed a shoulder. “Being a duchess is every girl’s dream.”