He hadn’t wanted to be a father, so he’d abandoned Henrietta to her disturbed mother’s whims. If he could find her, maybe he’d finally be able to forgive himself.
He understood all those issues, and he possessed an inexplicable affection for Libby, so he had to tread cautiously. She had a peculiar, powerful effect on him, as well as on most men, but it wasn’t passionate emotion plaguing him. No, it was paternal and fatherly. He’d like to shield her from the slings and arrows the world would shoot at her.
“Before you go,” he said, “I have to address one other topic.”
“You mentioned there were two things, didn’t you? What is it? Might I hope it won’t be as awkward as what we just discussed?”
He chuckled miserably. “It’s worse.”
He was about to accuse her of nefarious scheming, of being in league with her cousin in order to tantalize him about Henrietta, but if there was a plot hatching, he was convinced her cousin would have initiated it. He couldn’t blame her for Mr. Falcon’s mischief.
“Please don’t keep me in suspense,” she said.
He exhaled a heavy breath. “A rumor is circulating, and Millicent demanded I question you about it. It’s why she was so angry a bit ago.”
“I can’t imagine how I might have irritated her. Since I arrived, she and I have hardly spoken. She’s not exactly the warmest person.”
“It’s not what you did to her specifically. She’s very protective of me, and she never likes to see me hurt or upset.”
“I haven’t hurt or upset you, have I? If I have, I might simply curl up in a ball and die of shame.”
“A housemaid eavesdropped on you and your cousin when you were talking in your bedchamber. Evidently, your cousin has persuaded you to approach me and claim you’re my lost daughter, Henrietta.” He forced a laugh. “I defended you to Millicent. I told her you would never play such a terrible trick on me. I told her that we’d become friends, and you would recognize how deeply such a flagrant lie would wound me. I told her you’d never behave so reprehensibly.”
“A housemaid overheard us?” was her only reply.
He noticed she didn’t deny the charge. “Tell me you weren’t considering such a regrettable ruse. I’m sure your cousin is responsible, and it would devastate me to learn that you’d agreed to be involved. You haven’t, have you?”
She peered into his eyes, and it was the strangest thing, but Time seemed to stand still. His heart seemed to quit beating. The wind in the trees stopped blowing, the birds stopped chirping.
Her mind was whirring, as she debated whether to share an important remark. It would change his life forever, would rock his world to its very foundation. But ultimately, she drew in on herself, as if tucking away whatever it had been.
“I have no idea why a housemaid would spread such a tale,” she said. “My cousin never suggested it, and I hold you in the very highest regard. I realize how badly such a lie would distress you. Believe me when I insist that I would never disseminate it.”
Millicent had urged him to threaten Libby, that he scare her into silence, but he wasn’t such a bully that he’d frighten her. He struggled to formulate a final comment, but he couldn’t determine what would be appropriate, and apparently, they’d chatted to the bitter end.
She rose from her chair, curtsied low and perfectly, then said, “Thank you for being kind—and goodbye.”
She swept out, regal as any queen, and he was left all alone, feeling like a fool and an ass.
Libby swept into her bedroom suite, praying it was empty. She’d never been more embarrassed in her life, and she couldn’t bear to speak with anyone.
Lord Roland, Charles Pendleton, the man who was actually her father, had kicked her out of his home. She’d disgraced herself with Lord Barrett, so he thought she was too disreputable to remain and socialize with his real daughter.
Then he’d killed her a bit more by mentioning Libby’s quarrel with Simon. A duplicitous housemaid had reported their conversation, and Lord Roland had felt compelled to state that he’d heard about the lie and was certain she’d never spread it.
She’d gazed at him, practically in a stupor, and she’d wanted to shout, Look at me! Can’t you tell I’m your daughter too? Will you send me away?
But she hadn’t uttered a word.
Ever since she’d stumbled on that stupid box of letters, she’d been on pins and needles, yearning to share the shocking news she’d uncovered, but she’d been afraid she wouldn’t be believed. It was galling to realize how right she’d been.
Lord Roland was willing to allow her to depart in the morning, but she wouldn’t inflict herself on him another minute. Not when he was convinced she was a harlot who was too notorious to tarry under his roof. She would pack a satchel, have her carriage harnessed, and be off within the hour. Fish could bring the rest of her belongings whenever she deigned to haul herself away.
Fish and Simon could pursue their ridiculous affairs. Libby had tried to persuade them not to debase themselves, not to stir trouble, but why worry about them?
When Libby had needed their support the most, they’d scoffed and had refused to supply it, so they could dawdle at Roland until they choked. Fish could trifle with her precious earl, and Simon could flirt to exhaustion with Lady Penny. But Libby was heading for London. Immediately. Then she would vanish for several months.
By the time she resurfaced, the disloyal, tattling Lord Barrett would either be a happily married man, with Lady Penny as his bride, or he’d have gotten over Libby to the point that he barely remembered who she was.
She wouldn’t accept any other ending. She was Libby Carstairs, one
