Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
Hugo stared at the dueling pistol laid out on his desk, its polished surface gleaming in the morning light. The weight felt familiar in his hands—he’d been an excellent shot at university, had even fought one duel in his youth over a matter that now seemed trivial.
This is necessary. Pemberton needs to understand there are consequences for taking liberties with my daughter.
The past three days had been torture. The house felt empty without Sybil’s presence, without her laughter from the morning room, without the soft rustle of her skirts as she moved through the halls.
It’s better this way. I allowed myself to become too distracted, too invested.
He’d barely seen his daughters since the night of the ball. Rosalie had taken to her room, emerging only for meals where she sat in stony silence. Leah and Melanie sensed the tension but seemed afraid to ask questions.
They’ll understand eventually. When they’re older, when they have daughters of their own to protect.
A soft knock interrupted his brooding. “Come,” he called, expecting his valet.
Instead, Rosalie stepped into the room, her face pale but determined. She wore a simple morning dress of blue muslin, her dark hair pulled back severely—so different from the radiant young woman who’d danced at the Pemberton ball.
“Papa, I need to speak with you.”
“Rosalie, this is not the time—”
“When will be the time? After you’ve killed the man I love? After you’ve destroyed any chance I might have had for happiness?”
Hugo set down the pistol, studying his daughter’s face.
“He should never have put you in a position where such behavior seemed acceptable.”
“He didn’t put me anywhere. I chose to kiss him because I love him, and he loves me.” Rosalie’s voice was steady, without the tears he’d expected. “Papa, will you listen to me? Really listen, not just wait for me to finish so you can tell me why I’m wrong?”
The request caught him off guard. When was the last time he’d simply listened to one of his daughters?
When Sybil suggested I actually talk to them instead of commanding them.
“Very well. Speak.”
Rosalie took a deep breath. “Thomas didn’t plan to propose that night. He’d been trying to find the courage for weeks, actually. He was terrified you’d refuse him.”
“Refuse him? I barely know the boy.”
“Exactly. You’ve barely spoken to him beyond pleasantries, but every time he’s called, you’ve watched him like you expected him to seduce me in the drawing room.”
I was being cautious. Protective.
“A father has the right to evaluate his daughter’s suitors.”
“Evaluate, yes. Intimidate, no.” Rosalie moved closer. “Papa, do you know what Thomas told me the first time we really spoke? At Lady Pemberton’s garden party last month?”
Hugo remained silent.
“He said he’d noticed me at several events but was too intimidated to approach because he was afraid of upsetting you. He spent weeks asking his friends about your interests, trying to figure out how to win your approval.”
All that nervousness… because he cared what I thought?
“When he finally did work up the courage to call, you barely gave him five minutes of conversation before dismissing him.”
“I had estate business—”
“You always have estate business when my suitors call. Even the ones you might actually approve of if you gave them a chance.”
The accusation stung because it held truth.
“Thomas spent the entire ride home convinced he’d ruined his chances because he’d mentioned his interest in botany, and you’d looked bored.”
“Botany is a perfectly respectable interest—”
“But you didn’t notice that, did you? Because you’d already decided he was too young, too eager, too interested in your daughter.”
Hugo found himself with no ready response.
“Papa, he loves me. Not my dowry, not my connections—me. He knows I have terrible handwriting and that I can’t play the pianoforte to save my life. He knows I’d rather read about exotic plants than embroider cushions. And he thinks all of that makes me more wonderful, not less.”
There was something in her voice—a warmth, a certainty—that Hugo recognized with uncomfortable clarity.
“He makes me laugh, Papa. He listens when I talk about books or ideas, even the ones that are probably too radical for a proper young lady. He doesn’t try to change me or manage me—he just loves me as I am.”
As she is. When was the last time I told Rosalie I loved her exactly as she was?
“The night he proposed, we were walking in the garden, talking about his father’s greenhouse plans. He was so animated, so passionate about this project he wants to undertake. And suddenly, he stopped talking and just looked at me.”
Hugo found himself leaning forward, caught despite himself.
“He said, ‘Rosalie, I can’t imagine sharing this with anyone else. I can’t imagine sharing anything with anyone else.’ And then he got down on one knee right there among the roses and asked me to marry him.”
“I was so shocked, so happy, that I said yes before I could think. And then I was so excited that I kissed him.” Rosalie’s cheeks flushed. “It wasn’t planned or improper or compromising. It was just joy.”
“He was going to ask your permission after the ball. He had it all planned—a formal request, references from his father, even a list of his financial prospects—but I was so obviously happy that he couldn’t bear to wait.”
Hugo stared at his daughter, seeing her with new eyes. This wasn’t the child he’d been trying to protect—this was a young woman who’d found love and been brave enough to embrace it.
“Papa, do you want to know who helped me understand all this? Who taught me that love requires courage and trust?”
Hugo had a sinking feeling he already knew.
“Sybil. She’s the one who helped me see that fighting with you about every restriction only made you more suspicious of my judgment. She suggested I try talking to you instead of arguing, try showing you that I could be trusted with important decisions.”
“She also warned me about men who would take advantage of young women’s inexperience. She taught me how to recognize genuine interest versus flattery designed to compromise me.”
Every word felt like a dagger to Hugo’s conscience.
She was protecting Rosalie. Everything I asked her to do.
“Papa, Sybil loves you. Anyone with eyes can see it. But she also loves me, Leah, and Melanie. She wants what’s best for all of us, even when what’s best might not be what’s easiest.”
Does she still? After the things I said to her…
“She tried to tell you that I was mature enough to make my own choices about Thomas. She tried to explain that forbidding something outright would only make me more determined to pursue it. But you wouldn’t listen because you were so afraid of losing control.”
Afraid. Yes, that’s exactly what I was.
“And now she’s gone, and you’re about to fight a duel that will destroy everything she tried to help us build.”
Hugo sank into his chair, the weight of his mistakes settling on his shoulders.
What have I done? What have I thrown away out of pride and fear?
“Papa?” Rosalie’s voice was gentler now. “Are you all right?”
“No,” he said quietly. “I don’t believe I am.”
For the first time in years, Hugo felt his careful control beginning to crack.
I’ve been so focused on protecting my family that I’ve driven away the one person who actually understood how to help them flourish.
“Rosalie, do you truly love him? Not the excitement of being courted—do you love Thomas Pemberton himself?”
“More than anything in the world.”
The simple certainty reminded him painfully of how Sybil used to look at him.
“And you believe he loves you the same way?”
“I know he does. Papa, he was willing to face you in a duel rather than abandon me. He could have withdrawn his proposal, could have claimed it was all a misunderstanding, but he chose to stand by me, even knowing it might cost him his life.”
Willing to die for her.
“That suggests either remarkable courage or remarkable stupidity.”
“Courage, I think. The same kind of courage Sybil showed when she married you despite knowing you might never love her back.”
The observation hit him like a physical blow.
But I do love her. I love her so much it terrifies me.
“Rosalie, your stepmother and I… Our situation was complicated.”
“Was it? Because from where I stood, it looked like two people who were perfect for each other but too stubborn to admit it.”
Hugo rose from his chair, moving to the window. Somewhere out there, Pemberton was probably preparing for their meeting, perhaps writing final letters to his family.
Final letters. Because I’m willing to kill a boy over a kiss.
“Papa, what if you’re wrong about Thomas? What if he really would make me happy?”
“Then I would have destroyed your chance at happiness for the sake of my own pride.”
“It’s not too late,” Rosalie said urgently. “You could call off the duel. You could give Thomas a chance to prove himself worthy.”
“And what of the insult to our family’s honor?”
“What insult? A man proposing marriage to the woman he loves? A woman accepting because she loves him back? Where’s the insult in that?”
Hugo turned back to face his daughter, seeing in her face hope and desperation that broke his heart.
“Rosalie, if I were to reconsider my position on Lord Pemberton, what assurance would you give me that you understand the seriousness of marriage?”
Hope flared in her eyes. “I’d give you my word that Thomas and I will have a proper courtship with your supervision and approval. That we won’t marry until you’re satisfied that we’re truly suited.”
But as Hugo looked at his daughter’s hopeful face, thought of Pemberton preparing to die for love, and remembered Sybil’s tears when she’d begged him to trust his daughter’s judgment, he realized that pride was cold comfort compared to family.
“Rosalie, I need you to send word to Lord Pemberton immediately. Tell him the duel is canceled.”
“Truly?”
“Truly. And then I need you to help me figure out how to win back your stepmother’s forgiveness.”
If it’s not already too late.
As Rosalie threw her arms around him, as he felt her tears of relief against his shoulder, Hugo allowed himself to hope that perhaps it might not be too late after all.