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She wondered what her father would be like, whether, perhaps, she had misinterpreted the urgency of his messages in some way and he was actually a kind man fallen on hard times, maybe made desperate by situation. She still maintained a small flare of hope that perhaps he would be delighted to see her, humble and pleading towards her and asking for her forgiveness for his abandonment. Perhaps, just perhaps, he was a man looking to reach out to his daughter.
“Marion.”
She turned towards the voice behind her. A man stood nearby. He was shabbily dressed, but not sloppily. His clothes merely looked worn and a little cheap. He was the right age to be her father, that much was sure, and as she looked at his face she felt a flicker of recognition deep in her memories. Those dark eyes, that familiar, strong jawline. The confident swagger of his step. All of it felt familiar. This was Ted Laurie. The man who had abandoned her mother. She swallowed hard.
“Mr Laurie,” she said, inclining her head gently.
“Is that any way to address your father?” Ted asked, tilting his head to one side. Marion immediately felt uncomfortable under his perusing gaze. She disliked the way his eyes slid down over her body. Surely a father should not look at his child in this way.
“It is the way a child might speak to a man who abandoned her years ago,” Marion said sharply. “And you must not address me by my name—I am the Countess of Reading, or My Lady, if you prefer.”
“Ah yes,” Ted nodded, smiling slowly as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. He didn’t seem at all disturbed by being reminded he had abandoned his child. Marion felt a surge of dislike for him. She felt that he surely did not care that how his absence would have hurt her.She did not think he had thought about her at all in the last twenty years.“How could I forget about your grand marriage.”
“My husband has nothing to do with this,” Marion said coldly.
“Does he not?” Ted asked, chuckling softly. “It seems to me like he would have everything to do with it.”
Marion steeled her shoulders, trying not to be unnerved. Simon was always at the forefront of her mind and it distressed her to have this man, this reckless man who claimed to be her father, speaking of him. Marion’s hopes for their reunion were quickly being extinguished.
“You demanded this meeting with me,” Marion began, taking a seat on the bench, wanting to hurry things along, “and you claim to be my father. But you provide no evidence of it—”
“I am the evidence,” Ted interrupted. “I am your father, I am here.”
“If you are my father then you must be able to explain what happened between my mother and you,” Marion countered. “You must be able to explain your absence in my life. Especially after the death of my mother.”
“I did not realize she was dead,” Ted said. Marion watched his face closely for any flicker of sadness or distress at the news and saw none. Her heart lurched with sadness for her mother, but also with fear for herself. What kind of man was he that he showed no kindness, no generosity towards his daughter on hearing that her mother—his own wife—was dead? Did she want to be related to that kind of person? What would it mean for her, that such unkindness flowed in her blood?
“You do not seem hurt by the news,” Marion said sharply, narrowing her eyes and trying not to show her distress on her face. “You seem completely uninterested in the fact that your wife is dead.”
“She was my wife in name only, especially these last twenty years.” Ted sighed and sat at the other end of the bench. He stretched out his legs luxuriously, as if he were sitting in his own home. Marion disliked his easy manner, as if he had not been sending her blackmail and making her lose hours of sleep for the last week. She hated to hear him talk about her mother and her death with the same ease and candour as if they were speaking about the weather.
“But she was your wife,” Marion insisted, “and my mother. The least you could do is give the impression that we meant something to you.”
“Oh, sweet girl.” Ted reached forward and grabbed her hand. Marion flinched. They were clammy and sticky and she hated his touch. She hadn’t been touched by another man since she married Simon. She instantly missed his firm, warm, comforting hands.
“Of course you meant something to me. But your mother was a cruel woman, controlling and hard. She wanted to keep me in a box and I am a free man. When I could not have my freedom, I left to find it. When I left, she took you away from me. She kept us apart, sweet girl.”
Marion didn’t believe him. Not for one moment.How could she, when he sat there and disparaged her mother? It was unconscionable, his behaviour, and did nothing to endear him to her. All she could think of was her preciousMaman,in her last moments of life, looking up at Marion with infinite love and tenderness. If her mother had truly kept this man away from her then Marion could only feel gratitude, not resentment.
“Do not touch me,” she said sharply, withdrawing her hand from his and standing up. “And I am not your sweet girl. I am the Countess of Reading, and I never want to see you again.”
“Well then let us talk about how you can get rid of me,” Ted said, standing up and blocking her path. “A hundred pounds should do it…for now.”
He grinned nastily, and Marion resisted the urge to strike him for his insolence. She knew that bowing to his desires would be the worst thing in the world she could do, that he would have no qualms in continuing to exploit her over and over again in the coming years. Eventually Simon or Hughes would discover the drain on the finances and it would all come to light, and not only would she have the humiliation of having a father who was a bounder, but also the humiliation of having lied about it.
She could not carry this burden further. Especially now, when meeting her father made her realise that there was no chance he was a kind man fallen on hard times. This man was a person driven by only one thing—greed. It made her sick to her stomach to realize that a man like this was her father.
“You shall have no such thing,” she said darkly.
“Oh?” Ted’s dark eyebrows rose. She saw a glimmer of anger in his eyes and tried not to show fear in her own. “Careful, girl. I don’t write meaningless notes. I meant what I said about your man, your reputation—”
“And I mean what I say,” Marion interrupted, keeping her voice level despite her own anxiety. “So listen to me carefully. I want nothing to do with you and I shall never give you an ounce of my husband’s fortune.”
“Rash words about such a fortune,” Ted said quietly. “Are you sure you’re acting wisely, dear daughter?”
“Oh, I’ve been wise.” Marion ignored his threatening tone, trying her best to keep a low level of strength in her own voice. “If you try to move against my family, against my husband, I shall turn you over to the constable for blackmail. I have kept every note you sent. I have more than enough proof. If you try to hurt the Earl of Reading, you shall regret it.”
“Oh really?” Ted grabbed her arm tightly, squeezing painfully. “Do you not think you shall regret it, threatening me here, where you are undefended?”
