Chapter Fifteen
Neal stared at the letter as if it had been some live thing.
Harry denied her claim, shaking his head vigorously. “That can’t be from Father. Sir James had all of his papers.”
“If you are so certain, why be afraid to read it?” Cass answered. She gave the envelope a little shake as if to tease them. “Can you not see the wax is sealed with the same signet design as the ring you wear on your finger, Lyon? The one your father handed to you?”
“We are not afraid,” Margaret informed her. “But Father let us know directly what his wishes were. If he’d had a letter, he would have handed it to us. Now will you please leave?”
Cass glanced at Thea. “And that attitude, that certainty that they all knew their father better than I, his wife, did is the reason I haven’t shared this with them sooner.
I thought things had changed. I’d heard that Lyon was happy in his marriage—as I had been in mine.
I felt the time had come for this letter.
And in truth, Lyon, I’m not giving this letter to you for your benefit.
I promised your father I would do it, and so I have. ”
Jonathan and Christopher stood silent. They had picked up the emotions of the adults in the room. Their allegiance was clearly with the Chattans.
Thea spoke. “Jonathan, Christopher, please tell Dawson we would like refreshments served in the library.”
Her sons did not want to leave. For a second they hovered protectively around the Chattans. But another word from Thea sent them on their mission.
Neal was glad they were gone. The conversation could turn ugly.
Still, he made no move toward the letter.
There was a moment of silence, and Thea made an impatient sound. She took the letter from Cass’s gloved hand and carried it to her husband. “Look at it. If it is false, then you may call her a liar and send her on her way. If it is from your father, don’t you want to know what he had to say?”
Did he?
Neal could feel his siblings waiting for his decision. They wanted to toss Cass out of the house.
But then he thought of his walk with Jonathan, of imparting advice to him. What did his father have to say?
Neal took the letter from Thea. The seal was still good, but the wax was brittle with age, giving credence to Cass’s story.
Breaking the seal, Neal unfolded the letter. Margaret made a small sound as she recognized their father’s distinctive handwriting. Cass could not have created a forgery this good. He began reading aloud.
“ ‘Neal, Harry, my sons—’ ”
Neal had to pause. He could almost hear his father’s voice.
“ ‘—if you are reading this, then you know we are still bound by this terrible curse. I sought to break it. However, continuing as I did with my father’s cautious ways, I have denied you, my children, the only thing of importance in life—love.
“ ‘I want you to understand that I have no regrets in my decision to marry Cass, and I expect her to be given all that is due her as my widow. Don’t let the biddies peck her to death, and let her be who she is.’ ”
Who she is. An opera dancer, a light skirt. Neal could see that Margaret struggled with this directive as much as he did, although as a family they gave Cass all she was entitled to as the dowager Countess Lyon.
“ ‘This curse has robbed our lives of happiness and joy. I want you to know that the six months I’ve spent with Cassandra have revealed to me a great truth—Love is the only true measure of a well-lived life. It is all that matters. I don’t know how I existed before falling in love.
No, I didn’t exist. I was hollow, a martinet of a man.
“ ‘My sons, I thought I could escape the curse, I thought I had been prudent.
I could proudly say that I had carried on the line and beaten the witch at her game.
I was wrong! What I had really done was build a prison around myself.
I even withheld my caring concern from you, my children.
I tried to cheat Fate, but can any man escape his life?
“ ‘My children, forgive me for betraying you, for leading you astray. Don’t follow my path. Live fully and completely. Withhold nothing from life. Find someone and love her. Life holds so much more than what I led you to believe.
“ ‘The curse may have claimed another victim, but I am unrepentant. I loved! What sweet words! May God have mercy on my soul. Your father, Lyon.’ ”
Neal looked at his brother as he finished reading. Harry still sat on the floor, an arm resting on one bent knee, his head lowered. Neal turned to Thea. She watched him closely, her expression anxious.
In truth, Neal didn’t know what to think. He believed the letter did truly come from their father . . . but the thought gave him no comfort. He needed time to digest this. He needed time to understand.
He needed time to come to terms with his own turbulent thoughts.
“I’ve done my part,” Cass said, breaking the silence. “It was a pleasure seeing you all again.” On that irony, she turned to leave.
Thea immediately said, “Wait, I shall see you to the door.” She left the room with Cass.
For a long moment, Neal and his siblings were quiet. Margaret spoke first. “He didn’t mention me.”
“What?” Neal said, caught off guard by her comment.
“Father addressed the letter to you and Harry. It is as if I don’t exist.”
“That isn’t true,” Neal said.
“It isn’t?” she challenged. “Was there one word directed at me?” She didn’t wait for a response but ran from the room.
Harry released his breath. “Father still had a lot to learn about love.”
“He cared for Margaret,” Neal said in his father’s defense.
“Yes, of course,” Harry answered dully. “Just like he cared for us. Here, help me up. My game leg won’t let me rise without crawling like an old man.”
Neal put the letter on his desk and offered a hand to Harry, pulling him up in one smooth movement. “He did care,” Neal had to insist one more time.
Harry’s gaze met Neal’s. “No, he didn’t.
And that is the difference between you and me, brother.
You want to pretend it is all better. You are pragmatic in your business dealings and in your duties to the title, yet you ignore what is happening to you in your personal endeavors.
I’m a realist. Life is hell. Death is definitely preferable.
” He started for the door, favoring his leg.
“Where are you going?” Neal challenged, afraid of the answer.
His brother paused and gave a mirthless laugh. “To find my own piece of heaven.”
“God, Harry, the stuff will kill you.”
Harry nodded to the letter Neal held in his hand. “Does it matter?” He left the room.
Neal stood, stunned by the transformation of his family.
Less than an hour ago they had been laughing together.
Now, they were further apart than ever before.
He moved toward a leather chair, and his boot hit a marble Christopher had missed when he’d picked them up.
Neal reached down and held the glass ball in his hand.
“We have the refreshments,” Christopher said proudly, marching through the door. He happily stepped back for Jonathan, who carefully entered the room carrying a tray loaded with a pitcher of orangeade, cakes and sandwiches.
A maid hovered behind the boy, anxious lest he make a misstep. She held a tray of glasses. Looking to Neal, she said, “He wanted to carry it in, your lordship. I didn’t think there would be a problem.”
“There isn’t,” Neal said, watching as Jonathan placed the tray on the library’s desk. “Thank you,” he said to the maid, dismissing her. The girl bobbed a curtsey and left the room.
“Where is Mother?” Christopher asked. “And Harry?”
Neal sat in the chair. “I found a marble.” He handed it to Chris, then placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. He looked to Jonathan. “Thank you for bringing in the tray. It is a good thing to desire to serve others.”
Jonathan nodded, pleased with his accomplishment, and Neal reached out. He pulled them both close, hugging them. They were honest in their emotions, without doubts or fears. “I’m proud to be your stepfather,” he said fiercely. “Don’t ever forget that.”
“We’re proud to be your sons,” Jonathan answered, and Neal thought he would lose the fragile hold he had on his emotions. There was a strong chance that the Chattan name would end with his generation.
And yet here was something good. He loved these boys. He could freely love them as a father without fear of their futures.
But for how much longer?
His father’s words in the letter haunted him—“I loved! What sweet words! May God have mercy on my soul.”
Thea and Cass were quiet as they walked through the halls to the front door. Dawson opened the door, his expression grave. He, too, apparently waited for Cass Sweetling to leave.
Cass turned to Thea. “Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, albeit a short visit. I wish you good luck in your future, Lady Lyon.” Cass walked out the door. Dawson started to shut it, but Thea found her voice.
“Wait,” she said. She slipped out the door, catching Cass on the front step. The day was overcast, the air heavy with the threat of rain. “One moment of your time, please.”
“Of course,” Cass said. A sedan chair waited to carry her away. She nodded to her servants, and they set the chair down.
“Go ahead and close the door,” Thea told Dawson. “I shall be fine here.”
“Are you certain, my lady?”
“I am.” What did he imagine the petite dancer would do to her? Thea took Cass’s arm and walked her toward the corner of the house, where they were away from prying ears. Thea said, “I’m sorry for what happened in there. My husband and his family have—”
Thea stopped, needing to search for the right words while debating whether or not she should even say anything. “There is this curse they believe in—”
“You should believe in it as well,” Cass cut in.
Startled, Thea said, “Why do you say that?”
Cass leaned close to her. “Have you had the dream?”
A coldness settled over Thea. “What dream?”
The other woman smirked, pulled back. “Pretending, are you?”
“Pretending about what?”
“You know.”