Chapter 27 #2
"I should have told her," Mr. Preston whispered.
The words sounded completely defeated. "I should have told her years ago.
About the duke, about the duchess, about all of it.
But I gave my word as a solicitor. I signed a legal contract binding me to absolute silence.
And as the years passed, the lie became a wall I could not figure out how to dismantle. "
He looked around the grand study, his eyes taking in the wealth and power of the Langley estate. "I thought keeping the secret was protecting both of you from the cruelty of this world. I was wrong. I was entirely wrong."
The room fell silent. The ticking of the mantel clock filled the space between them.
"Is the child safe?" Mr. Preston asked quietly.
"Her name is Liliana," Thelma corrected him firmly. "And yes, she is safe. She is sleeping in the nursery. She is recovering from the cold she caught in the prison tower your actions ultimately sent her to."
Mr. Preston flinched, absorbing the blow without complaint. He looked at Thelma's face, studying the new strength in her posture. "Are you safe, Thelma?"
Thelma thought about Roman standing outside the door. She thought about the way he had looked at her in the nursery, the absolute certainty in his gray eyes when he told her she belonged there. She thought about the birth record resting safely in the desk upstairs.
"Yes," Thelma answered. "I am safe."
As she spoke the words, she realized it was the very first time since she left Somerset that the statement was entirely true. She was not hiding behind Eliza Hartley's name. She was not terrified of the morning post. She was Thelma Preston, and she was exactly where she was meant to be.
Mr. Preston nodded slowly. "I am sorry."
He said the words simply. He did not fall to his knees.
He did not weep or beg for her to forgive him.
He did not try to justify his choices again.
He simply offered the apology with nothing behind it except the pure, unadorned weight of the word itself.
It sounded completely different from the dramatic reconciliations Thelma had imagined during her lonely nights in the nursery. It was quiet. It was final.
Thelma looked at his tired, aged face. "Sorry is late, Father," she said softly. "But I hear it."
Mr. Preston offered a small, broken smile.
He placed his hat on his head. He bowed his head slightly, accepting her boundary.
He did not ask to go upstairs to see Liliana.
He understood his presence in the house was a fragile, temporary thing.
He turned and walked out of the study, leaving the estate long before the dinner bell rang.
That evening, the nursery was bathed in the warm, golden light of the hearth fire.
Thelma sat in the rocking chair, humming a soft tune while Liliana played with a set of carved wooden blocks on the rug.
Roman sat nearby on a low stool, patiently rebuilding a small wooden tower every time Liliana aggressively knocked it down with her chubby fists.
A quiet knock sounded at the door.
Thelma stood up, smoothing her skirts. She walked over and opened the heavy oak door.
The dowager duchess stood in the corridor.
She wore a high-collared dress of dark gray silk.
A long, heavy necklace of large white pearls hung around her neck, resting against her chest. She looked nervous, a completely foreign expression on her normally severe features.
Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her.
"May I come in?" she asked. Her voice lacked its usual commanding authority. It was a simple, polite request.
"Yes," Thelma said, stepping aside to open the door fully.
The dowager walked into the nursery. She stopped a few feet away from the rug where Roman was sitting with the baby. She looked down at Liliana. The infant was sitting up straight, her dark curls messy, her gray eyes wide and curious as she inspected the newcomer.
Roman’s mother did not look at the child with the cold, assessing glare she had used a month prior.
She looked at her granddaughter with an expression of profound, aching reverence.
She knew exactly who this child was now.
She knew she was looking at the living legacy of the daughter she had thrown away.
"May I see her?" the dowager asked, directing the question to Thelma.
Thelma looked at Roman. He gave her a single, supportive nod. Thelma walked over to the rug. She picked Liliana up, supporting the baby's weight firmly against her hip, and carried her over.
"She is heavy," Thelma warned gently.
The dowager held out her arms. Her hands were shaking. The tremor was incredibly visible, causing the silk fabric of her sleeves to vibrate. Thelma carefully transferred Liliana into the older woman's arms.
She took the weight of the child, and pulled Liliana close to her chest. Staring down at the baby's face, she studied it; the shape of her eyes, the curve of her cheeks, seeming to search for the ghost of Yvette in the features of the infant.
Liliana babbled happily, completely unaffected by the emotional weight of the moment. The baby reached out with a sticky, chubby hand and grabbed a fistful of the heavy pearl necklace resting against the silk dress.
Liliana pulled hard. The silk thread of the necklace strained tightly against the clasp at the back of her grandmother’s neck.
In the past, Thelma knew the dowager would have immediately summoned a nursemaid to remove the offending, messy child from her presence. She would have scolded the infant for ruining her attire.
But she did not pull away. She did not scold the baby. She simply lowered her head, allowing the necklace to hang loose, giving Liliana the slack she needed to play with the shining pearls.
Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes, shining brightly in the firelight. She held her granddaughter tightly, letting the baby pull at her jewelry, standing in the middle of the nursery as if she were holding the most precious treasure in the world.
Roman stepped up behind Thelma. He placed his hand on the small of her back. The warmth of his palm seeped through the fabric of her dress. Thelma leaned back against him, feeling a deep, abiding sense of peace settle over the room.
The fractures in the Langley family were deep, but watching Roman’s mother hold the child she had once tried to banish to an orphanage, Thelma knew the healing had finally begun.