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“Neither are Robinsworth, Lord Phineas, or Lady Anne.” Lady Anne, the Duke of Robinsworth’s daughter, poked her head out from behind Sophia.
“Hello,” she chirped.
Marcus’s mother’s brow furrowed. “You’ll be all right here by yourself, won’t you?” she asked.
“I suppose,” Marcus said quietly. They were all going to the land of the fae and leaving him behind?
“Excellent, darling. We’ll see you when we return. Do send word if you need anything.” She turned and motioned to a servant, who propped a floor-to-ceiling-sized painting against the wall. It was a painting of their manor house in the land of the fae. It was home. Claire went first, carrying one of the babies. Then she held her hand out and took the rest of them, one by one. They each called out salutations as they exited the world of the humans. The servants even bustled through with their trunks.
“I’m a little nervous,” Allen admitted when it was his turn. But Ainsley took his hand and smiled broadly at him. It appeared as though Allen would follow her anywhere, and then he did.
The room was quickly emptying of people, and Marcus felt nearly as empty as the room. They all were going home. They were going to the one place he dearly wanted to be.
Yet he had obligations here, didn’t he?
His dad looked at him and said, “The steward will be waiting for instructions from me and will take care of anything that comes up. But you can guide him if you feel the need to do so.”
Marcus nodded. “But…” he started.
Then it was his father’s turn. “I’ll see you when we return,” he said, and he clapped Marcus on the shoulder.
The room was empty. His entire family was gone. Even Ainsley and Allen were gone, along with his two younger sisters, who’d never been to the land of the fae. Good Lord, the fae didn’t know what they were up against. His family would wreak all sorts of havoc. Havoc of unmentionable proportions. Marcus scrubbed a hand down his face.
He turned in a circle, looking at the empty room. But that’s all this place was. An empty room. Suddenly, a hand appeared in the painting, reaching out. He knew it was Claire’s. Did she think they’d left someone behind? They hadn’t. They’d taken everyone. Except him.
Marcus steeled himself, adjusted his waistcoat, and reached for her hand. It was risky, he knew, but he dearly wanted to go. It was just for a short while, right? And they could come back as easily as they’d left. He clasped Claire’s hand in his and she gave it a gentle squeeze, and then he walked into the painting with his family. He left it all behind. He left this world, his obligations, and his destiny. And he went home.
When he stepped into the painting, he took a deep breath and came out on the other side. He looked up at the stately old mansion and took another, fuller breath. He could breathe again. He was home. He looked around. His mother laid a shocked hand upon her chest. “Marcus, what on earth are you doing here?” she asked.
“I thought I might join you,” he said.
His mother smiled broadly at him, took his face in her hands, and kissed his cheek. “I’m so glad. But won’t you be missed? All of your obligations?”
“It’s nothing that can’t keep,” he said. It was. Right?
***
Cecelia knew the moment the air shifted at the dinner table. Her father had gone beyond the point of abashedly tipsy. He was now obnoxiously foxed. It had started with a sherry before dinner. Then he moved on to whiskey, since sherry was a lad’s drink, he’d said. She’d tried to steer him toward something as innocuous as wine and had even asked the footman to make a pot of tea. But her father would have none of it.
“I can hold my spirits,” he slurred.
It had been the most trying of days. She’d battled with him at every turn and had to cajole even their most stalwart of servants to remain with the household. “This is the last time, miss,” they’d said. And it had been more than one. The butler met her eyes across the dining room. The pity she saw there shocked her. It was like a stab to the heart. This man they’d once revered, and her, their darling girl, the girl they’d all played a part in raising—the
y all pitied her now. And pity was something she simply could not tolerate.
“You should go to bed, Father,” she warned.
The butler stepped forward and raised his brows in question. She shook her head quickly in the negative. “Not yet,” she mouthed. He was one of the few people who could handle her father. But he was also much more likely to get punched than any of the others. Probably because he didn’t give up. If it took overpowering her father to get the job done, then that’s what he would do. He was a reed of an old man, but he was stalwart, and she had a feeling she would be in his debt before the night was out.
“I miss her,” her father said as he lifted his glass to his lips and tipped it back. It was empty, but that didn’t stop him from trying to drain the last drop.
He clunked the glass on the table, signaling for more in the rudest way possible. She shook her head at the butler.
“It’s time for bed, Father. Things will look brighter in the morning.” Cecelia pushed her uneaten food to the side and stood up.
“I’ll go to bed when I’m good and ready,” he said, getting to his feet. He nearly fell over, and the butler stepped forward to catch him. But her father was already belligerent, so he shoved the kind man to the side.
“Father,” she warned. She made her voice purposefully chipper. “Mother once told me a story about you taking her to the top of Mount Angel. Can you tell me the story while we walk?”
