Chapter 33
Alfred
Iam still kissing Annabelle when the butler comes into the room.
“I am sorry, ma’am,” he says, as we break apart. “You have another visitor.”
“Who is it, Montgomery?”
Montgomery gives a little cough.
“It is Mr. Saintsbury, ma’am. Mr. Alfred Saintsbury, Senior, that is. And…”
“What is it, Montgomery?”
“The man does seem to be…” the butler says. “Well, rather in a lather.”
I flush cold.
My father is here.
And, of course, he is furious.
“Do you want to see him alone?” Annabelle asks.
“Yes,” I say. “It will be easier.”
In truth, I am worried at what vitriol he might spit at Annabelle.
She nods, her face masked.
“Montgomery, tell Mr. Saintsbury that his son will receive him in here.”
She turns to me.
“I will be just outside. If you need anything.”
I nod, my stomach churning. I watch the proud, straight line of her back as she exits the room.
The idea that I am about to meet my father after he has heard of my infamous conduct, in a room in which I was just passionately kissing a woman, and this women in particular, feels completely absurd.
But after a moment, I do not have to think of what will be any longer.
Because my father has entered.
He looks the same as always. Handsome, dour, with graying dark hair.
His eyes, however, burn.
“Alfred,” he barks. “I am glad you have extended me the courtesy of a private audience. Although perhaps I should thank your new keeper.”
I flinch at his tone.
“I have not done anything,” I manage, “with the intention of disappointing you.”
Patches of crimson flame on my sire’s cheeks.
“You have ruined yourself, Alfred. All that I have put into you—wasted.”
I swallow.
Those words which used to occur to me all the time but have been irrelevant recently come back to me.
We may confidently assert that no man is entitled to the character of being chaste who by any unnatural means causes expulsion of semen.
That was the stricture he wanted me to live by.
“I am sorry to have upset you, father. I know that you would not have me live this way. That you would have me live very differently. I would have liked to obey your wishes. But I found that I could not.”
No, it was more than that, I realize.
“I don’t want to, in fact,” I clarify. “It is not a way of living that makes me happy.”
“You will be completely lost to me, boy. In almost every way. I can hardly own you—not with my position in the church.”
His eyes are round and shining. I realize that he is angry—but that he is also afraid.
“It is too late,” he continues, “for you to take back what you have done. I thought, perhaps, you could. But it has spread everywhere. Even if you left this place and came back to Hampshire with me, your reputation could not be salvaged. You will never receive another post in the church.”
“Have you come to say goodbye then?”
“You are my son, Alfred. I will never say goodbye to you.”
The words surprise me. It is a devotion that I did not necessarily expect. I have never before defied him.
“Then why have you come?”
“To make sure you are well, boy.”
“I am not a boy.”
“No. I suppose not.” He sighs, his anger seemingly ebbing. “I wanted what was best for you. The best position. The best marriage. I always wanted to protect you.”
“I know. But those weren’t your decisions to make. They were mine. I should have never let you interfere with my affairs to such a degree. I wanted to marry. I told you so.”
“Then you should have married!” he spits out. “An imprudent marriage would be leagues better than this.”
“I have fallen in love.”
“Love? That is what you call it. You were always tender-hearted—this is what I feared.”
“What do you mean?”
“You have a sweet nature and I always worried you would fall prey to designing women. And in the end I was right.”
“Then why not encourage me to marry, if you had such concerns?”
“Now I wish I had. But there was your career to think of. And you seemed capable, at least, of self-denial.”
Anger burns in my chest.
“Yes, I was capable of that. For a long time. But not forever.”
“Come back with me. To Hampshire. Leave this place. Your career in the church is done. But we could get you into a line of trade, perhaps.”
“Father,” I say. “It is too late for that. Far too late.”
“May I speak with her? Miss de Lacey?”
I am startled by this request. But before I can negative it, I hear a door swing open.
“I am not hiding from you, Mr. Saintsbury,” Annabelle says, her soft blue eyes blazing. “I will speak with you, if you wish it.”
“You have ruined my son,” my father says, his tone calm, his voice deep and earnest. “What will become of him now? Once you are done with him?”
“I will provide for him,” Annabelle says. “Similar arrangements are made for young women with rich men every day in England—you are too much of a man of the world not to know it, Mr. Saintsbury. And this arrangement is no different. He will be taken care of, even if our association ends.”
He scoffs.
“Do you think that is what my boy cares for? He has been raised to be the best of men. Worldly possessions are nothing to him. He cares for his soul. He cares for his family. With your vile seductions, you have wasted one of the best young men in Britain. He was meant for so much more.”
“You have kept him in a cage,” Annabelle says, her voice rising. “And you have asked him to torture himself. How can you speak of his wellbeing?”
“If you care for him,” my father snaps, “then you will marry him.”
Annabelle recoils slightly at this proclamation.
“It is the only thing that can protect him now,” he continues, “and it is what I have come here to beg you to do, Miss de Lacey, if he would not leave you. You are a woman of business. A rich and powerful woman. The richest and most powerful woman in all of England. If you marry him, he will not be wholly redeemed. He will still be infamous. But I may see him privately without disgrace.”
“I will not obey you,” Annabelle spits out. “And neither will your son.”
“Father,” I say, unable to bear their fighting. “I have made my choice.”
“Yes, you have. Because you love this woman. You were made for love. Perhaps I was too strict with you. But I wanted what was best for you. I wanted to avoid this.”
I shake my head. “You should have trusted me. You should have listened to me.”
“Yes,” he says. “Yes. I should have. But I love you. I am your father. You should not suffer your whole life for my mistake.”
“It is not your mistake,” I say. “It is not a mistake at all.”
“You will see it is,” he says. “When you see how the world treats you.”
He turns to Annabelle.
“Please,” he says. “Do the right thing. Marry him. Not for me. But for him. You know just as well as I do what he is. He is good. Truly good. He does not deserve to suffer.”
“We are done here, Mr. Saintsbury,” Annabelle snaps.
He sighs.
“I have intruded on you long enough. If you ever need me, Alfred, please write. I will always do what I can for you.”
Then my father gives me one last look and sweeps from the room.