Chapter 34
“Noah,” Jonathan said sharply, “pick up all these books from the floor, please. You know that isn’t where books belong.”
Noah was sitting in the middle of the library, surrounded by piles of books.
Some of them were his own, but others were books he seemed to have pulled down from the shelves at random.
There were texts on historical figures, facts and figures, philosophy, and even some novels that Jonathan suspected had been private indulgences of the dowager viscountess.
Of course, Noah didn’t yet have the skill to read those books, so they were of no harm to him.
Still, he glared up at Jonathan from the center of the pile, and the ugly look on his face reminded Jonathan of the boy he had met when he had first moved into this house. Angry. Hostile.
“You can’t tell me what to do,” Noah announced. “You’re not my father.”
Jonathan flinched, though he tried not to let it show. “No,” he agreed. “I’m not your father. But those are my books, and you can’t mistreat other people’s property. Don’t you remember what we talked about concerning your pranks?”
“I don’t care,” Noah said. “You told me I couldn’t do those things, so I stopped doing them, and then Violet left us. She left me. It didn’t matter what I did. I couldn’t make her stay. I can’t make anybody stay. So why shouldn’t I just do whatever I want from now on?”
The question tore at Jonathan’s heart.
It had been three days since Violet’s departure, and the whole household had felt the impact of it.
Jonathan had spent the majority of the intervening time sequestered in his study, unwilling and unable to speak to anyone.
Even the thought of carrying on a conversation had made him feel ill, especially when he thought back to the last time he had talked to Violet.
He should have fought harder for her, tried to get her to stay…
but what could he have done? The solicitor had come at the worst possible time, when the two of them were in the middle of an argument.
If the truth about the house’s proper ownership had emerged at any other time, they might have been able to sort things out.
But in that moment, it had been impossible.
And that is my fault. I can see that now.
He had told himself she was being ridiculous, unreasonable…
but she hadn’t been, of course. When he had thought back over their conversation at breakfast that day, it had been easy to see what had made her upset.
His comment about letting her stay in the house once he had presumed all kinds of things.
He could have handled that so much better.
Even saying, "If it becomes mine," would have mitigated things.
He could have asked her, too, whether she would be open to him staying if the house were to become hers…
He could see now that he had never taken that possibility very seriously.
She was completely right. He had always assumed, in the back of his mind, that once things were sorted out legally, the house would come to him.
An unmarried woman couldn’t inherit, and besides, he had paid for this place. Of course, it was his by rights.
And of course, saying that aloud had hurt her.
He lowered himself to sit beside Noah on the floor. “You know, Noah,” he said quietly, “what happened with Violet is not your fault.”
“I know that,” Noah spat at him. “It’s your fault.”
Jonathan raised his eyebrows. He had just been thinking the very same thing, of course, but… “What did you say?”
“You heard what I said.”
“And do you think you ought to be speaking to me that way?”
“I don’t care.”
“You had better care. I am a duke.”
Noah stared at him.
Jonathan immediately felt foolish. What did the boy care for titles? It was quite possibly the worst thing he could have said.
But he didn’t know what else to do. What he had told Violet was true. As a disciplinarian, he was very good. He could correct bad behavior. But he couldn’t be tender. It wasn’t something he knew how to do with a child.
How could you have left, Violet, knowing that he needed you?
But how could she have stayed? He had made it impossible for her to do that without swallowing so much pride that she would have surely choked on it.
He rose to his feet. He wasn’t doing Noah any good sitting here and trying to connect with him. The boy was too angry. “I’m going to have your governess start spending extra time with you,” he said. “Now that you don’t have Violet in your life, you have more time to devote to your studies.”
Noah picked up a book and threw it. Not hard. Not in a way that would cause damage. But it was an aggressive move, and Jonathan was shocked by it and deeply shaken.
He walked over, grabbed Noah by both arms, and lifted him to his feet.
“Hey!” Noah yelled.
Jonathan loosened his grip at once—he didn’t want to hurt Noah—but he didn’t let him go. “You need to get yourself under control,” he said sharply. “I will not allow you to throw my possessions.”
“These things aren’t even yours. They belong to Madam Margaret. You shouldn’t even be here!” Noah cried. “I don’t want you here. Leave.”
“Noah, the house belongs to me whether you like it or not,” Jonathan said firmly. “You must find a way to accept it and to move forward.”
“I don’t have to do anything. Let me go.” Noah aimed a kick at Jonathan’s shins, which Jonathan just barely managed to step out of the way of.
He held Noah at arm’s length. “This house will always be your home,” he told Noah firmly.
“But you must learn how to behave yourself if you are to get along in society. If you can’t do that here, with the help of the governess I’ve hired for you, then I may have to consider boarding school as the best option. ”
The words sickened him even as he spoke them.
He couldn’t believe what he was saying. How could boarding school be a choice?
How could he really be thinking of sending Noah away?
He knew for certain that Violet would be appalled if she were to find out about this.
And Noah himself was staring up at Jonathan with a look of undisguised horror.
Then his face hardened into disgust.
“I knew you would do that,” he spat. “I knew you would try to get rid of me as soon as you could. You should have let me go away with Violet. At least she wanted me with her. You made her leave, and now you’re going to make me leave. I hate you.”
This time, when Noah tried to pull away, Jonathan let him go.
The boy ran from the room. Jonathan was alone. He looked around at the mess Noah had left behind. Then, with a sigh, he got to work cleaning it up.
This was awful. I just can’t believe how badly this went.
He didn’t want to send Noah to boarding school. What had possessed him to say such a thing? Now, Noah was going to lose whatever trust in Jonathan the two of them had managed to build. It was the worst thing that could have happened.
He walked over to a chair and collapsed into it with a sigh.
He needed to start picking up the books on the floor, but he had no energy for the attempt.
All he wanted to do was sit here and brood over everything that had gone wrong, everything that seemed to have slipped out of his control in the blink of an eye.
Everything had been fine just a couple of days ago…
well, if not fine, then at least on a good track.
His relationship with Noah had been good.
He had been able to talk to Violet. And more than talk.
That kiss…he didn’t know if he would ever forget the way that moment had felt.
But I have to forget it. I’ll lose my mind if I allow myself to keep thinking about that. If I let myself imagine all the possibilities, everything that might have happened if only the two of us had been able to explore that connection more deeply.
It had never been a possibility. Their circumstances would never have allowed it.
More than anything, Jonathan did not want to become the kind of man his father had been—seeing people only for what they had to offer him.
That made it too impossible for him to ask anyone for anything, lest they feel trapped by him.
It was best—safest—to rely only on himself.
And yet, for a few glorious moments, he had believed. He had told himself that if he could only spend enough time with her, the rough edges would smooth over, and they would find a way to build something resembling a life together.
That was all I wanted when I told her she could stay here. I wanted to figure out a way for the two of us to turn this into a life. I wanted us to share our love of Noah, and to both get to live in this house…I wanted to find a way everyone could have what they wanted.
Instead, it seemed, nobody was going to have what they wanted.
There was a knock at the library door, and he went to open it. Williams was standing there, a piece of paper in his hand. “A letter for you, Your Grace,” he said, passing it over.
Jonathan’s spirits lifted. He couldn’t help it. A letter…could it be from Violet? Perhaps she was ready to forgive him.
He knew the moment he saw the handwriting, though, that that had been wrong.
He recognized that penmanship as belonging to Gabriel.
Even in that moment, though, his thoughts were all for Violet.
Perhaps she had gone to Gabriel’s home. That would make sense, since Agnes was one of her closest friends.
Maybe Gabriel was writing to let Jonathan know that he could find Violet there.
After all, Gabriel understood how much Jonathan cared for Violet—despite himself, he had let that secret out.
But as he skimmed the letter, he began to realize that the letter was not about Violet at all.
The letter was about Noah.
And perhaps he should have expected this, given the last conversation he’d had with Gabriel.
But the truth was that in the wake of that conversation, in light of everything that had happened since, Jonathan had simply forgotten about the request he had made to his friends that they try to find out about Noah’s parents.
And then, of course, there was the fact that he had never dreamed they would have an answer for him this soon. He would have said that wasn’t possible. The parents must not have hidden themselves away nearly as well as they’d have liked.
He read the letter a second time, this time focusing on the details.
Noah’s parents had been found. Gabriel wasn’t able to provide the full story of what had happened in Noah’s past, but he had come up with several identifying details that would help in reaching out to them—including their names and what they had been doing since Noah had come to live here.
The father was dead. He had been dead for some time. That was both a sadness and a relief, Jonathan realized. He had never let go of the worry that Noah’s father would be abusive to him. Now they wouldn’t have to worry about that.
The mother…
He found himself reading the same section of the letter over and over, hardly able to credit what he was seeing. Could he really be understanding this correctly?
Because if he was…then he knew exactly who Noah’s mother was. And he knew exactly where to find her.
The only question that remained, he thought to himself as he folded the letter with grim determination and tucked it into the pocket of his shirt, was this: What was he going to say to her?