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28
“Ithought I might find you here.”
David looked up to see Aunt Pen waltzing into the drawing room. He wanted to study the seascape and drink scotch, not listen to her riddles. He’d had the seascape brought to London, discarding the painting which had formerly graced the wall. “I’d prefer to be alone.”
“A pity.” She came around and took in the chair across from him. “You look in dire need of companionship.”
He picked up the decanter from the table and poured another glass of scotch. He’d been doing quite a bit of that since leaving The Barrow. Drinking scotch. Rambling about this house instead of meeting Blythe at their club. Haven had come to dine once or twice, but other than that, David had kept to himself. He hadn’t even gone riding in the park.
Only Aunt Pen intruded on his self-induced solitude.
His aunt, upon their return to London, had declined to open her own London home, stating she would prefer to take up residence with David. He hadn’t cared enough to tell her to leave.
“Out paying calls, Aunt Pen?”
“I had tea with the Duchess of Averell today. Lady Andromeda’s sister-in-law. Lovely young woman. She’s a pianist. Did you know the duke plays as well?”
David turned back to his study of the painting. “I believe that was part of the scandal, the fact that he compromised herona piano. There’s even a nasty rumor he had her in his rooms at Elysium before they wed. She’s the product of a tin miner, if I’m not mistaken, and the duke is a notorious libertine.” He shrugged. “At least before their marriage.”
“He fell in love. Just as you have.”
Is that what this horrible emptiness was? The sensation he was bleeding from wounds no one else could see? David’s fingers curled around the glass he held. “I don’t think I’m capable of that emotion, Aunt Pen.” If this was love, he wanted no part of it.
“You think you aren’t worthy of it, which is quite different.”
“Are we having one of our mysterious conversations in which you speak but actually say little because I am supposed to come to my own conclusions?” He waved her away. “I’m not in the mood for this exercise. I’d rather look at my painting.”
“She does love you.”
“Not to belabor the point, Aunt Pen, but Andromeda would rather be compromised, unwed, her reputation in tatters, than marry me.” He lifted his glass, staring at his aunt through a haze of scotch. What a tragedy he hadn’t indulged sooner in the benefits of a glass or two on a regular basis. “Even though I was willing to overlook certainaspectswhich came with Andromeda—all the unwantedbaggage.”
“Is that why she left? Because you were stupid enough to voice those opinions to her?”
David clamped his lips firmly shut.
“You did.” Aunt Pen’s mouth popped open, aghast. “No wonder she fled The Barrow before the sun had even risen. There is nothing quite like having been compromised by the man you love only to be told you don’t meet his expectations. No one likes to be told they are flawed and disappointing,” she said sharply.
The very last thing David wanted to do was sit in his own home and be chastised by Aunt Pen as if he were a lad. “I’m well aware I did not assess the situation correctly.” His finger tugged at his collar. “You may leave.”
Aunt Pen snorted, watching the movement of his fingers. “I’ll do nothing of the kind. It is time we have a very frank discussion.”
“Must we? As you can see, I’m busy.” He held up his glass.
Aunt Pen untied the ribbons of her bonnet and tossed it on the sofa behind her. “I’m curious. What did your father tell you to explain my absence after your mother left? That I found the scandal so horrifying, I could not even look at my own nephew? That your mother abandoned you in a second, running off with her lover without care or regard for you?”
Horace had indeed said all those things and a great deal more. “I don’t wish to discuss ancient history.” Nor did he want to debate the motivations of his father. David was certain, with further examination, he would not like what he saw.
“Leave,” he snapped at his aunt.
I’ve no idea who I am anymore.
“What a cruel, cold man Horace was. You know Ibeggedmy brother to allow you to come to me, or for me to stay at The Barrow after Emelia left? Ibegged,David. And I was refused. Repeatedly. When you went away to school, away from his influence, I wrote you. Sent you gifts.”
David tried to swallow. “I wasn’t aware.” He’d never received even a note.
“When Horace became ill,” she continued, “I took the opportunity to become part of your life again.”
Aunt Pen had been at The Barrow when David had returned from Italy and had never really left, becoming a fixture in his life. What had it cost her, to help nurse the brother she despised?
