Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Have you seen the garden at Ashmere? It’s extraordinary this time of year.”
Cressida looked up from her tea.
Mary had been describing the glasshouse construction for twenty minutes while Peter provided sardonic commentary about the expense. The parlor felt warm with their presence.
The door crashed open, and Lady Bardwell swept in, with Lord Bardwell close behind. Her face carried fury disguised as maternal concern.
“I heard you yesterday.” Her voice trembled with rage. “With Lady Whitebrook. We heard every word.”
The teacup slipped from Cressida’s grip. She set it down carefully, buying herself a moment.
“What did you hear, Mama?”
“Don’t feign innocence with me.” Lady Bardwell’s hands clenched at her sides. “Complaining about the Duke. About your marriage. Do you have any idea what you’ve jeopardized? What you’ve put at risk?”
Peter stood abruptly, his chair scraping across the floor. “Mother, this is hardly—”
“Sit down, Peter.” Lord Bardwell’s tone brooked no argument. “This concerns the entire family.”
“Then perhaps the entire family should have a say in it.” Mary’s chin lifted in defiance. “Whatever Cressida said was in private to her closest friend.”
“Private?” Lady Bardwell’s laugh held no humor.
“Lady Whitebrook is a marchioness now. Nothing said to her is private. Every confidence becomes currency in the marriage mart, every complaint a potential scandal. Did you think of that, Cressida? Did you consider what your selfish indulgence might cost us?”
The accusation was a backhanded blow to her face.
Selfish.
How many times had she heard that word? When she’d argued against Lord Emerton. When she’d questioned the engagement her parents had arranged without her knowledge. When she’d dared to want anything beyond what they’d decided for her.
“I wasn’t aware that confiding in a friend constituted a crime against the family.” Cressida kept her voice level despite the fury building in her chest.
Her father moved beside her mother. “Your marriage has opened doors for this family. Lord Thornbury’s investment. The Hartwells’ invitation. Lady Pembroke acknowledged your mother at the opera.”
“How fortunate for you, Papa, that my marriage has been so useful.”
“Watch your tone.” Lord Bardwell’s face flushed crimson. “We saved you from ruin. Married you to a duke despite your ruined reputation. And this is the gratitude we receive? Complaints and sulking?”
“Gratitude?” The word escaped before Cressida could stop it. “For selling me to quell a scandal? For marrying me to a man you’d never met because it suited your purposes?”
“We took advantage of the most advantageous match possible!” Her mother’s voice rose. “You became a duchess. We regained our standing. Everyone benefited.”
“You did indeed take advantage. And you clearly do not care that everyone has benefited except me,” Cressida retorted.
The silence that followed felt brittle enough to shatter.
“How dare you?” Lady Bardwell’s hands trembled. “After everything we’ve sacrificed for you—”
“What have you sacrificed?” Cressida stood, the words tumbling out after years of careful restraint. “What exactly have you given up? Because from where I stand, you’ve gained everything you wanted while I’ve been nothing more than a convenient solution to your problems.”
“Cressida.” Peter’s voice carried a warning, but she couldn’t stop now.
“You sent me to Aunt Agatha for two years as little more than a servant. And when I came home, you engaged me to Lord Emerton without my knowledge. You locked me in my room when I protested.”
“That was for your own good!” Lady Bardwell’s face had gone pale. “You had no prospects, no sense. We were trying to help you.”
“Help me?” Cressida’s laugh held no amusement.
“You’ve never helped me. You’ve managed me, controlled me, used me to further your own interests.
And I believed—” Her voice cracked despite her best efforts.
“I believed things had changed. When you came to Ashmere, when we spoke in the morning room, when Papa actually asked about my opinions at dinner. I thought you’d finally seen me as something more than a disappointment or a commodity. ”
“Now you’re being dramatic.” Lord Bardwell’s tone dismissed her pain with casual efficiency. “Every parent arranges their children’s marriages. Every daughter serves her family’s interests through advantageous matches. This is how society functions.”
“Then perhaps society is wrong.”
Her father’s expression hardened. “You ungrateful child. We’ve given you everything—”
“You’ve given me nothing!” The words exploded from her with years of accumulated hurt. “Nothing except criticism and disappointment and the constant message that I’m never quite good enough. That I’m too opinionated, too stubborn, too much trouble to be worth the effort of loving.”
“That’s enough.” Her mother moved forward, hands raised as if to physically silence her. “You will not speak to your father this way. You will apologize immediately and remember your place in this family.”
“My place?” Cressida’s vision blurred with tears she refused to let fall. “What place is that, Mama? The daughter you send away when inconvenient? The one you parade at social events when my marriage serves your purposes? The one you criticize and control but never actually see?”
“We’re done with this conversation.” Lord Bardwell’s voice turned cold. “You’ll return to your husband, repair whatever damage you’ve caused with your complaints, and remember that your duty to this family supersedes your personal feelings.”
“My duty to this family,” Cressida repeated the words slowly. “What about your duty to me? As parents? As the people who were supposed to love me and protect me and care about my happiness?”
“Don’t be naive.” Her father waved a hand dismissively. “Love is a luxury afforded to people without responsibilities. You have a duty to your position now, to your husband and his standing. That’s all that matters.”
“No.” The word emerged quietly but with absolute conviction. “That’s not all that matters.”
“Cressida—”
“Mary, Peter.” Cressida turned to her siblings. “Would you excuse us, please? I need to speak with Mama and Papa alone.”
Peter’s jaw tightened. “I don’t think that’s wise.”
“Please.” Her voice carried a note of steel that surprised even herself. “I’ll be fine.”
Mary looked between her and their parents, indecision plain on her young face. “Are you certain?”
“I am.”
They left reluctantly, Peter pausing at the door to throw one last warning look at their parents before disappearing into the corridor.
Cressida waited until their footsteps faded before turning back to face Lord and Lady Bardwell. They stood together near the mantelpiece, her father’s hand on her mother’s shoulder in a gesture of united parental authority. The same way they’d stood when they’d sent her to Aunt Agatha.
“I loved you.” The words came out softer than she had intended. “I believed that if I was good enough, smart enough, obedient enough, you’d finally see me the way I needed to be seen.”
“We do love you.” Lady Bardwell was adamant, but Cressida knew better. Maybe they did, but they definitely did not know how to show that love. “Everything we’ve done has been for your benefit.”
“No, Mama. Everything you’ve done has been for your own benefit.” Cressida drew a breath, steadying herself. “And I’ve let you. I’ve accepted your criticism, taken in your disappointment, blamed myself for not being the daughter you wanted. But I’m done with that now.”
“Done?” Her father’s eyebrows rose. “What exactly does that mean?”
“It means I won’t be your convenient solution anymore. I won’t pretend your neglect was guidance or your manipulation was love. I won’t accept being treated like a problem to be managed instead of a person to be cherished.”
“How dare you speak to us this way!” Lord Bardwell’s face flushed darker. “After everything we’ve provided for you—”
“You’ve provided nothing except proof that your children are assets, not family.
” The tears finally came, hot against her cheeks.
“You were supposed to protect me. To support me. To care about my well-being instead of your social standing. And when I came home needing comfort after the worst experience of my life, you heard only how it affected you.”
“You’re being hysterical.” Her mother moved toward her, hands outstretched in placation. “Cressida, darling, you’re not thinking clearly—”
“I’m thinking more clearly than I have in years.” Cressida stepped back, refusing to be touched or comforted by people who’d never truly offered either. “And I’m tired, Mama. Tired of hoping you’ll change. Tired of waiting for you to see me. Tired of pretending your cold indifference doesn’t hurt.”
“Now listen here, young lady—” Her father’s voice rose with anger.
“No.” The word emerged with surprising calm.
“I’m done listening. I’ve listened to you my entire life, followed your dictates, accepted your judgments.
And where has it gotten me? Married to a man who can’t trust me because I’ve never learned to trust myself.
Isolated from the only people who’ve ever truly cared about me.
Constantly questioning my worth because you’ve spent twenty-four years making it clear that I have none. ”
“That’s not fair.” Lady Bardwell’s voice trembled. “We’ve done our best—”
“Your best was not good enough.”
The pronouncement fell into weighted quiet.
Her mother’s face went white. Her father’s hands clenched at his sides, fury and something that might have been shame warring in his expression.
“How dare you!” Lord Bardwell’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “After everything this family has done for you—”
“Lord Bardwell.” The voice cut through the parlor like a blade through silk.