Chapter 29
It was as Marcus sat over Lucy’s sleeping body, as he prayed for her to recover, as he pictured in his head all the awful things that he had done to her since they married, that he came to realize his true feelings.
No… he had always known them. Rather, what he decided during those long days was that he was ready to accept them.
For too long, he had run from himself, denying who he wanted to be and what he wished for from this life.
He used his past to justify it, he leaned into his own trauma as if it was a shield to protect himself with.
That time was finished now. The old Marcus was a thing of the past. He looked forward to a future with James, where he might see his adopted son grow into a man.
He looked forward to a life he would spend with Lucy, his wife, she who he was falling in love with.
And most of all, he looked forward to what might just be a happy ending.
Not something he thought he ever deserved, but something he now wanted more than anything.
Not yet… just because I am ready for it, does not mean that Lucy is. She is yet to trust me again, for which I cannot blame her. What I must do is give her a reason…
This mantra was repeated by Marcus as he set his sights on Lord and Lady Whitcombe’s townhouse, positioned at the end of the street on a small cul-de-sac.
He rode his horse steadily down the street, he repeated again and again why he was doing this and who he was doing it for, and he used that to give him strength.
Lucy wanted proof of his feelings for her. And not just his feelings, but that he was willing to do anything he must to make them so. That he was in this relationship one hundred percent, and that from it there would be no going back.
Today is the day, the final task, and my final chance to prove not just to Lucy what I want, but to myself. I can do this… for me, for Lucy, for James.
So it was that when he reached the townhouse, he tied his horse out the front, strode up the steps, and knocked loudly on the door.
A second later and it swung open.
“I am here to see Lord Wembley and Lady and Lord Whitcombe,” he announced to the footman.
“I…” He blinked as he took Marcus in. “I am afraid that Lord and Lady Whitcombe are busy, my lord. Might I take a message?”
“I know that they are busy,” he said. “Why do you think that I am here? And it is not my lord…” He looked sternly at the footman. “It is Your Grace.”
The footman’s face paled with realization. “Yo – Your Grace, forgive me, place.” He bowed deeply. “I did not know –”
“I am sure you did not,” he cut the footman off. “Now that you do, I expect to be shown inside at once.”
The footman swallowed. “I would love to, Your Grace, truly, nothing would please me more. Only, Lord and Lady Whitcombe are –”
“Busy, yes, I know,” he cut the man off. “With Lord Wembley. As luck has it, I also wish to speak with him. Hence, why I am here.” He looked down at the footman, his expression severe, giving the server nowhere to hide or to run.
“Might I…” He shook violently. “Might I check first, Your Grace?”
“Very well,” Marcus said. “However, if you are not back in two minutes exactly, I will be coming inside. Is that understood?”
The footman’s face paled further and he closed the door. Once it was closed, Marcus began to count down. He meant what he said, that if pushed, he would knock this door down and stride inside. Not that this was something he wished to do, as he had planned for a softer approach in this instance.
However, if I sense that Lord Wembley is trying to avoid me… there is nowhere he might run that can save him.
Luckily, it never came to that. One minute after the door closed and it opened again, this time wider, with the footman stepping to the side so that Marcus could walk through.
“They are in the morning room, Your Grace,” he said. “Please, allow me to show you.”
“Thank you.” Marcus stepped inside.
The footman hurried forward, and Marcus followed him through the home.
It was nowhere near as large as his own townhouse, but it was well decorated, rich, and surprisingly warm.
Knowing the type of childhood that Lucy had suffered through, he half expected the home to have a coldness about it, as if warning him that he was not welcome.
A moment later and Marcus was led into the morning room.
Lord and Lady Whitcombe were there, as expected. They sat together on a couch under the window. Across from them sat their daughter, Lady Amelia, while beside her was Lord Wembley.
Upon Marcus’ arrival, they each looked up, the expressions on their faces a mixture of curiosity, surprise, and outright fear… mostly Amelia’s, of course, as she must have understood immediately why Marcus was here. Indeed, her face paled and she looked away.
“Your Grace!” Lord Whitcombe jumped to his feet and crossed the room. “This is a most unexpected surprise.” He reached Marcus and extended an arm to shake. “Albeit a pleasant one.”
“Thank you for agreeing to see me,” Marcus said as he took the man’s arm. “I might have sent ahead, but sadly this could not wait. And I thought a surprise would suit the occasion.”
“Oh…” Lord Whitcombe slowly lowered his hand. “Is something the matter? Lucy? Is she well? Nothing has happened to her?” The man sounded genuinely worried, which did not surprised Marcus as he did not doubt the man’s love for his daughter.
No, it was her stepmother who was the tyrant. A shame that she was not involved in any of this, so I will be curious to see how she reacts.
“She is fine,” Marcus said.
Also, no one, save for Amelia, knew of Lucy’s recent illness. That alone should have been proof of how little they truly cared.
“I do wish you had sent ahead, Your Grace.” Lady Whitcombe did not bother standing, nor did she bother hiding her disdain. “As you can see, we are rather busy, and surely whatever this is could have waited.”
No doubt she is still angry with me for how I treated her the last time that we spoke. Good, let her be angry, so long as she is just.
“I apologize for it, Lady Whitcombe,” Marcus said. “And while I thought to wait, as I said, this could not wait.” His eyes fell on Lord Wembley. “Lord Wembley, I had hoped to find you here.”
“Your Grace,” he said with a cold tone and a dismissive scoff. “It is good to see you.”
“And Lady Amelia,” Marcus finished as his eyes fell on the youngest daughter. “It is nice to see you again.”
She could not bring herself to look at him, and Marcus also noted how she shuffled slightly away from her betrothed.
“Let me guess…” Marcus approached the three as Lord Whitcombe took his seat again by his wife’s side. “Wedding preparations? When is the big day?”
“Wish that we knew,” Lord Whitcombe sighed. “I tell you, Your Grace, I had no idea the work that went into organizing a wedding! I cannot help but feel that we took your wedding to Lucy for granted.” He laughed and shook his head. “Wish that they were all so easy.”
“We plan on doing this right,” Lady Whitcombe said with an air of arrogance. “Amelia deserves the world, and I intend that she has it.”
“As I intend to give it to her.” Lord Wembley took Amelia’s hand. “Where you might have been willing to rush into things, Your Grace, and cut corners, I am not. My love for Amelia demands it.”
“You will be sent an invitation, of course,” Lord Whitcombe assured Marcus. “Once a date is set. Do not fear!”
Marcus eyed Lord Wembley, searching the man for some indication that he knew what was coming. Had Amelia told him? Likely, she had not done. No doubt, as young and naive as she was, she hoped that Lucy and Marcus might just let it all go.
Her youth is all that is saving her, and Lucy’s insistence that she is not to blame. Were it up to me, she would be punished equally, but Lucy… she does not want to ruin Amelia’s life. Such is the kind soul that she is.
Also, Marcus knew now too that Lord Wembley had sent that letter.
It did not surprise him. In fact, when Lucy told Marcus the reason for all of this, he was annoyed that he had not put it all together himself.
Lord Wembley had tricked Amelia into thinking his actions were for their sake, to keep Lucy out of their affairs.
Really, it was done out of spite and malice and hate.
It was time that Marcus returned the favor.
“Sadly, Lord Whitcombe, I sense that an invitation will not be forthcoming,” Marcus said, still watching Lord Wembley.
“What?” Lord Whitcombe asked. “What does that mean? Lucy is still my daughter, Your Grace, and while we might have had our differences in the past, she must know how much I wish that we will remain a family. I love her, please, she must know this to be true.”
“Oh, she does,” he said. “As she loves you. As she loves Amelia, and even Lady Whitcombe, although why she does…” He exhaled sharply. “That is a mystery and speaks to Lucy’s kind heart.”
“What did you say?” Lady Whitcombe sat up. “How dare –"
“The problem, as it stands, is that I doubt there will be a wedding to send invitations for. Truly, it would not be worth the waste of parchment they were written on. Isn’t that right, Lord Wembley?”
Lord Wembley looked coldly at Marcus. “Ah, I see what this is.”
“As do I,” Lady Whitcombe added.
“What? What is going on?” Lord Whitcombe demanded with confusion.
“Have you not heard?” Lord Wembley chuckled coldly.
“Your daughter has already tried once to talk dear Amelia out of marrying me. She seems to think that I am a bad sort, and she was rather insistent that this marriage not go ahead.” He squeezed Amelia’s hand as he spoke, and she did not look at him once.
“The simple fact is that I love your daughter, she loves me, and Her Grace is overcome with jealousy.”
“Is that what you think?” Marcus said simply.