Chapter 26 #2
“Emmeline—”
“For how long, hmm?” She crept toward him. “Since when have you been engaged to her? Longer than a week? From before our outing at the museum? Or did you decide afterward that I wasn’t good enough, not when you could have an earl’s daughter—”
“It’s not like—”
“Since when?” She enunciated each word in fury.
“Since I was six years old.” His voice rose almost to match hers.
Dumbfounded, she stared at him.
“Now, will you let me explain?” he said, calming down.
She wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. “All this time? How?”
“Please.” Tentatively, he reached out for her; when she didn’t shake him away, he took her hand and led her to the sofa. “It’s not how you think.”
“W-well, joke’s on you, because I’ve no idea what to think.” At least she didn’t sound angry anymore.
“Lord Wescott is my uncle,” he said.
“That’s why he said you were his heir?”
“My uncle through marriage, only. His wife is my mother’s sister.”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“Lord Wescott has no sons. I’m not sure of the details, but an accident happened when he was young. Cass was already born at that point, but afterward, he couldn’t—well, you know what I mean.”
She nodded.
“There are two things that mean the world to my uncle: his daughter and his title. So when he realized he would not be able to procure himself an heir through traditional means, he found another way. Cass would inherit everything after his death, but if she married—and of course, she would—a great deal of that inheritance would fall under her husband’s control. ”
“Why wouldn’t he marry her to someone he approved of, then?”
“Because any man my uncle would approve of would already have his own title, and Wescott’s title would pass out of existence.
But there’s an old hereditary law allowing a peer’s son-in-law to take over his title, should the said peer have only a single daughter and no other suitable candidates.
It would be a complex case, but Wescott has enough pull and power to make it happen. ”
“You’re saying he picked you, so he could make you into the next earl?”
Theo looked down at her hands. “He wanted someone that shared at least some blood with the family, even if it was on his wife’s side.
He wasn’t impressed with my father’s pedigree, but my mother came from a good, English family—good enough for him, clearly, if he married Aunt Augusta.
And me being a no one helped.” He slowly traced her fingers; she didn’t seem to mind.
“I was his blank canvas. He could make me into anything he wished. His perfect heir.”
But no matter how perfect he was, Wescott would never care for him. He was only a means to an end. The best he could do, in Uncle’s eyes, was to not embarrass him as his heir.
“Everything you told me about your family … your uncle in France, your cousin, the farm—”
“It’s all still true. My uncle—Uncle Gustave, that is—wouldn’t allow for me to be taken to England. He might be poor, but he’s as stubborn as a mule.”
Theo had few memories of his younger years, but the one of Wescott’s arrival was still as clear as on the day it was formed.
A stranger with an unusual accent and fancy clothes, arguing with Uncle Gustave.
For hours, they sat behind the uneven dining table, the level of liquid in Uncle’s bottle lowering each time Theo sneaked a peek through the door.
Voices rose and fell, and finally, they shook hands.
Theo was called in, and the stranger loomed above him as he said to Uncle Gustave on the side, “He doesn’t look anything like her.”
“No, sir. He takes after his father,” Uncle responded.
The stranger huffed. “We can amend that.”
“So I stayed on the farm,” Theo said to Emmeline. “Wescott sent money and tutors and anything we needed for my education. What he considered my education should be.”
“Fencing?” A tiny smile passed her lips.
“An appropriate hobby for a gentleman.”
She reached a hand to her forehead. “I can’t believe it. It’s outlandish, to go to such lengths …”
“That’s Wescott.”
“You don’t like him?”
“He took care of me. Uncle Gustave’s family, too, through me. He made me who I am. I don’t need to like him, but I still owe him.”
“And Lady Cassiopeia?”
“She’s my cousin, and I’m glad to have more family and know someone on my mother’s side. She might appear cold, but she’s really rather pleasant.”
“I see.” Emmeline looked to the side. “And when would you have told me she’s also your bride-to-be?”
He swallowed. “I know what I did—the kiss in the museum—everything else—it was wrong—”
“Uh-huh.”
“Not because of you.” He gently turned her face to his.
“Because of me. It was unfair to you, but I didn’t know how to tell you.
You have to know, back in Dorset …” He gently rubbed her cheek.
“You made my life a fantasy. You made me think, even for a short while, that I could be someone else. Not Wescott’s puppet, not a man he bought to use as he wishes.
It was a fool’s dream, but it was a lovely dream, nonetheless.
I didn’t want it to end until it was too late. ”
Her lips trembled, and her eyelashes glistened from the tears caught on them. But then she shook off his hand and stood. “I’ve heard enough. I believe I might want to lie down for the evening. Enjoy your engagement dinner, Theo, or Leon, or whoever you are.”
“Leon Theodore Royer,” he said. “Mother wanted me to have my father’s name. Uncle Gustave found it … too painful, perhaps, so my nickname stuck instead.”
She shrugged. “Good, I guess.” And she left the conservatory, disappearing like a shadow into the night.
Theo remained sitting, staring into nothingness, until he finally remembered to check his pocket watch—only to realize he didn’t know what time it had been when he’d left Wescott. Either way, he’d surely overstepped his allotted ten minutes.
And he was nothing if not his uncle’s obedient servant.
So he stood up, squared his shoulders, and went to play his role.