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“Your Grace?” Wallace looked confused.
“My father’s portrait, take it down. Then have it burned,” I ordered.
“Your Grace—”
“Do it!”
“Yes, Your Grace. I will see to it,” he said before excusing himself.
I would have all of his paintings burned. His whole legacy, I would see it forgotten, for he did not deserve to be remembered. This misery he wrought should never be passed to another generation. Let the curse end here, with Fitzwilliam’s death and my sorrow.
“Evander?”
Verity stood in the doorway, exhaustion on her face. I was sure the events of the past few days would cause more nightmares.
“You have not gone to bed?” I asked. She shook her head.
“I am going to now, but I wish to tell you…I am sorry I could not go to the funeral with you.” Verity hung her head. “Part of me wanted to. A great part of me did not.”
“I felt the same. Had Aphrodite not spoken to me this morning I very well would not have either,” I confessed.
“Are we…cruel, brother?” she asked with a deep frown upon her face. “Despite his actions he was kin to us. And his life, the earlier half at least, was inequitable. He did not choose the circumstances of his birth. He did not choose to be born illegitimate.”
I did not know how to answer her, as I had just been reflecting on the same injustice.
“Society must have order and even if we dislike it or find it cumbersome we must adhere to it and do our best to be honorable nevertheless. That is where Fitzwilliam failed, not in his birth.”
After all, the world was filled with bastards but they did not all cause chaos and misery in their wake.
“I understand,” she said but did not look satisfied with my response.
But what else could I say? We were not cruel, society was?
“Will you be all right, or will you remain here, drinking?” she questioned.
“If my wife is not complaining, I do not see why you should,” I said. “You need not worry about me so, Verity. I am well. Truly. You may focus on your own happiness now. Do you still think ill of marriage?”
“No,” she replied. “But I shall leave before you start on this. Good night.”
She hurried from the room as if she feared the topic. Did she not plan on marrying? Then again, I’d rather not have her rush, either. I glanced once more at the portrait before leaving the room. I would not fault myself for this. As tragic as this whole ordeal was, I was finally free of the shackles of my father and brother. There was no point lamenting now.
I was not sure where to go, but found myself wandering, and upon doing so, I found Aphrodite with Emeline in her arms as she sat out upon the patio, fanning the little girl now asleep.
“It seems no one can sleep but her,” I whispered as I stepped out.
She glanced at me and smiled slightly. “Yes, but that is a good thing, is it not?”
It was, for it meant none of this had affected her, that she was still ignorant to the truth. “I hope this is always kept from her so she may be innocent of it.”
“I fear I have ruined that,” she whispered as I sat down opposite them. “I fear the talk of the town has become even more twisted and some question—”
“As long as I treat her as my daughter, she is my daughter,” I said, placing my hand upon Emeline’s head. “And I shall do so all my life. No matter what anyone says, she has me, and now you, I see. I doubt you shall allow such attacks upon her person. You went so far for a girl you barely knew. I fear you will be worse than your mother.”
“I will not be worse.” She huffed but did not declare she would be better. It was amusing. Leaning in to her, I rested my head against hers. “You were drinking.”
“I was.”
“Are you all right?”
