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Pain pressed against his heart. Aunt Pen had come because of him. Not Horace. And he’d treated her with the same cold contempt her brother had.
“Horace was in love with his own superiority. Lording over everyone the fact that he was a bloody duke. Treating his servants as if they were trained dogs, put on earth to cater to his whims; except, he knew the names of his dogs.”
“What of it?” David croaked. He remembered clearly helping a maid carry a bucket of water to mop the floor shortly after his mother had fled The Barrow. The maid had been struggling, the bucket far too heavy for her. Horace had beaten David with a horsewhip, intentionally leaving scars which would serve as a reminder not to transgress in such a way again. “I don’t know the names of every one of my servants.” In fact, David had stopped looking at the people who served him all together.
“Horace liked to rebuke Emelia for the slightest infractions, mocking her low birth, deriding her manners, always when he had an audience. I’m sure it was worse in private. When she finally had the courage to leave him, no one was surprised. The scandal was enormous, even so. Made worse by the stories your father spread of her.”
A weight settled over his chest. “Go away, Aunt Pen, or I will have”—he struggled to remember the name of his butler—“someoneremove you.”
“You don’t even know the poor man’s name.” Her chin shook as if she struggled with something horrible. “You’ve become just like him. I thought when you went abroad—I’d hoped...” Her voice trailed off into another sniff.
The choking sensation increased around his neck.
“My mother broke his heart,” David insisted stubbornly, knowing the words Horace had spoken to explain away his excessive drinking, always done in private, were false.
“My brother didn’t have a heart. Let us talk about the elephant in the room, David.”
Jesus.Could they just stop talking altogether? Every inch of his body was bruised and aching, emotions, so long buried, having broken free.
“Horace meant to remarry. When you escaped to Italy, free from him for the first time in your life, my brother planned to marry a girl barely out of the schoolroom. He meant to sireanotherheir. Surely you knew.”
David tugged hard at his cravat, finally tearing at the silk and tossing it aside. He struggled for air, thinking of his father’s shriveled body lying against the coverlet of his bed in The Barrow, his face twisted into dislike at the sight of David. Screaming for his physician.
Once he’d grown tired of ranting, Horace had reached for David’s hand. It pained him, he'd told David, to know Emelia’s blood flowed in David’s veins. He’d been intentionally hard on David, cruel, some might say, but all out of affection.
“I suspected.”
She tentatively laid her hand over his. “Can you not see what a monster he was?”
David forced his eyes back to the painting, struggling to contain the absolute horror of what he’d become. He’d seen the hatred in his father’s eyes. Overheard him sending for his London solicitor. He had not been deaf to his father’s last words.
No, I’ve only chosen to not listen.
Aunt Pen leaned forward and bravely placed a hand on his arm. “If you continue down your current path, David, you will lose Andromedaforever.”
Forever. A lifetime without her.
His hand slid into his pocket, touching the butterfly clip.
“I don’t think that is what you wish.”
“No.” The word stumbled out of his mouth, thick and heavy.
“Do not let Horace define who you are. You can choose to be different.”
David took in a lungful of air. “What if I cannot?”
“It is not too late.” Aunt Pen pulled a letter from her pocket and placed it on the table between them. “Start here. You must purge the bitterness from your heart, but it will not be easy. It would be much less complicated to simply retreat to The Barrow.”
The handwriting was unfamiliar. The simple wax seal told David it was from no one of great import. He broke the wax and unfolded the paper.
My beloved son.
David slammed the vellum onto the table. “You cannot expect this of me.” Bitterness soured his stomach.
“If you would be the man Andromeda would have, you must start here. Read it.” She stood and walked to the door. “I’ll be in the back parlor working on my correspondence, should you need me.”
David stared at the letter, feeling betrayed by his aunt for forcing him to accept something he could not. The clarity with which he now viewed Horace was bad enough.
