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“Here’s something about my father. He wrote to me for years before his death. One letter per week. I have them all in a box in my room. Most of them unopened.”
“You never read his letters?”
“I read the first month’s worth. They were all the same. A long list of my brother Bertram’s accomplishments, how perfect he was, how much my father loved him. Each one of those letters was a dagger delivered straight to my heart.”
“How did your father die?”
“His heart gave out after Bertram’s horse riding accident. He didn’t want to go on living without his beloved, golden son. The last letter came one week before his death.”
“He didn’t love you as well as Bertram?”
“He hated me from birth.”
“But why?”
“As you said, it’s complicated. He hated me and told me that I was wicked... and so I became what he branded me. And after Bertram died I did nothing to take up the yoke of familial responsibilities. I’ve recently met with my man of business and learned that Westbury Abbey has fallen into terrible disrepair and the tenants are being displaced. My actions, my sins, have had far-reaching consequences for my sisters, my tenants, for those people who relied on me as head of this family. I’ve begun to take responsibility, but I have so much more to do.”
Part of his responsibility to the family was to marry the perfect duchess.
Lady Winifred Woolfrey would restore hisfortune and she’d been prepared from birth for the vast duties and responsibilities of a duchess.
Unlike Viola who had received no formal education, never made her debut, and had resigned herself to becoming a spinster.
They were on opposite ends of a wide societal gulf.
So why were they sitting together in this secluded bower like lovers?
She had to be stronger and more sensible than this. She backed away from him.
“My father and I will be leaving as soon as he finishes the symphony,” she said stiffly.
“Where will you go?”
“My friend Isobel has found another house for us. It’s not right in London but I think the healthful air of the countryside will do my father good. The musicale is over and your sisters have shown themselves to be sensible and trustworthy. They don’t need me as teacher, or companion.”
“Don’t you like it here? Is it because I forced you to perform?”
“My work here is finished. The girls are doing wonderfully. And you’ve reformed so thoroughly that you have duchess hopefuls lining up. There’s only one item left on your reform campaign.”
“I’m not truly reformed.” His eyes darkened. “Don’t delude yourself.” His gaze brushed her lips, and then his thumb followed. “You make me want to be wicked, Viola.”
She longed to be wicked. She wanted to throw herself into his arms instead of leaving. But if she did, the carefully constructed reasons for whythey could never be together would burn in the blaze of this attraction between them.
She had to keep her head in order to protect her heart. “I think you should read the letters your father wrote.”
The seductive light in his eyes faded. “Why would I do that? I know exactly what they say.”
“It might help you relinquish your hatred. Your father is dead. He has no power over you. And you believing that you’re doomed to be bad until you die an early death only gives him power from beyond the grave. You don’t know what he wrote. Maybe he had a change of heart. Maybe he was begging you for forgiveness.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Read the letters,” she urged gently. “Make a ritual out of it. Maybe burn them after reading.”
“Even thinking about those letters sends ice water through my veins.”
“I think it would help release you from this hurt and resentment.”
“I think it would make me even more angry. Why are you even trying to help me, Viola? I told you that I was a lost cause from the beginning. Though I’ll make you a bargain. I’ll read the letters if you reveal your identity as Mr. Beam.” He watched her face. “Ah, not so eager to ask me to change my life now, are you?”
