Chapter 18 #2
“Both of you sent me away to get married or I’d lose my inheritance.
I thought I had found someone that would finally make you feel proud of me.
” My lip quivers. “When mother heard, she was elated. She treated me better. I felt like…if I told you, you’d be disappointed. That you’d think I was weak.”
He leans in, taking my hands, his eyes blazing.
I’ve rarely ever seen my father this affectionate, this caring. But all the times he has been, my mother was never around. As I look at my reflection in his eyes, I wonder if he’s one of her victims too.
“You listen to me, Eden,” he says, every syllable ground out like stone. “There is nothing weak about surviving someone like him. Nothing shameful about ending a relationship that’s killing you.” He huffs. “This is my fault. I should have been more involved in this whole situation. If I had known…”
Tears spill again, hot and sudden.
He pulls me into a hug—tight, steady and protective in a way I didn’t know I still needed.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “For every time I stood beside Evelyn and let you think you had to be perfect. For letting all of this happen to you. For raising you to believe you had to endure something like this to get my approval.” And then he whispers into my hair.
“I didn’t want to send you away, but I didn’t have much of a choice. ”
I don’t understand most of what he’s said, but the hug and his tone of voice is so soothing that I cry into his shoulder. An ugly cry. The kind my mother hates. The kind that wrecks your face, your lungs and your dignity.
My father lets me cry.
He doesn’t scold me or reprimand me.
He doesn’t tell me I’m ruining the family name by having emotions.
“That weak fool will never touch you again,” he says fiercely. “I’ll make sure of it.”
I nod into his shoulder, breath catching.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “For finding me tonight.”
He pulls back, brushing my hair from my face. “You were never lost, sweetheart,” he says. “You were just buried. But you dug yourself out.”
And for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel like I can trust myself.
Hours have passed and I’m still standing in the same place.
The bathroom is still, so quiet that I can hear my own heart.
I’m back at the Lockhart Estate, sequestered in the Lavender Room, for now. Who knows if my mother will have me ousted and relegated to one of the helpers’ quarters after tonight.
The gilded mirror doesn’t soften me—it shows every flaw in brutal clarity.
My mascara is smeared, my mouth trembling and bruised.
I’ve sweat through some of the makeup they used to cover my bruises.
I’m gaunt, shaking and bruised down to the soles of my feet.
To add insult to injury, there’s a tear in my gown, the very one my mother said made me look like a Duchess in bloom during the party.
Now, I’m a Duchess in ruin.
I brace my hands on the marble sink, trying to breathe.
In.
Out.
But the chaos from the party is still roaring inside.
Lucian’s words echo like church bells in a haunted chapel.
He turned my entire world upside down in the most humiliating way possible.
Did he know all along? If he knew I was marrying Silas for money, why didn’t he tell me that he was fucking broke, even after all the conversations we had about him?
My head starts spinning so fast that I retch into the bathroom sink.
And Silas.
Fucking Silas.
The bruises I’ve hidden.
The lies I’ve told.
The promises I whispered to myself at night, hoping if I said them softly enough they’d become true.
I placed all my faith in the possibility of our future, even though the reality of our relationship was far from it.
He lied to me. Though we both had our own ulterior motives for getting married, I feel especially betrayed by him because he hurt me in every imaginable way.
Mentally.
Physically.
Emotionally.
I was a fool and I—
The doorknob rattles. I jump.
Then the door crashes open.
My mother storms in, a tempest in pearls.
Her heels click against the marble. Her perfume chokes the room—sharp gardenia, thick and suffocating. Her eyes are wild, her mouth twisted into a furious frown.
“How dare you,” she hisses. “You selfish, ungrateful little girl.”
I step back, heart punching my ribs. “Mum, I—”
She slaps me across the face, but I’m numb to it. “You humiliated me,” she seethes. “In front of everyone. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You’ve ruined our family name.”
“I couldn’t—he—Silas hurt me.”
“Oh, spare me the dramatics.” She waves a perfectly manicured hand like she’s swatting a fly. “You were fine earlier today.”
“You have no idea how I felt—”
“Don’t raise your voice at me,” she snaps. “Don’t you dare.”
She lunges for me suddenly—grabbing my arms. Her nails dig in.
I flinch. “You’re going to fix this,” she says, low and venomous.
“The Lockharts and the Peregrine-Ashfords are going to make a joint statement that the allegations are false. You’re going to smile, and you’re going to make Silas feel like the bloody duke he is.
” Just then, her voice reaches a high pitch.
“You probably orchestrated this whole thing, but you will not renege on your responsibility to this family.”
“No,” I say. “I’m not making a statement and I’m not marrying him.” I don’t even bother to address her claim of orchestrating Lucian’s speech. The terror that washed over me, the pain I felt—she thought that was all an act?
“You are.”
“You can’t make me.”
“Then I’ll send you back to Augustine,” she hisses. “You want ruin? You want pain? You haven’t seen anything yet. Go back. Let him break you into pieces so small no one can recognize what’s left. I’ll send you back with just the clothes on your back. Let’s see how well you fare then.”
I yank my arm free from hers.
She glares at me, chest heaving. “You’re not my daughter,” she spits. “Not the one I raised. Not the one I groomed. You’re nothing more than a nuisance and I’ll make sure you’re reminded of that every single day.”
She turns sharply and storms out.
The door slams so hard everything rattles.
Silence swells again.
But it’s a different kind—it’s not the hollow, cold silence from before. This silence? It’s hot, crackling, burning through me from the inside out. Something just broke inside me, like levee. Hot lava rushing after being calcified for over a decade.
I sink to the floor and my legs give out.
No tears. They’re ash—I have no more tears left to cry.
That’s when I see my handbag in the corner closest to me. Hastily thrown down after my mother swept me into hair and makeup earlier today.
Earlier today.
It feels like a lifetime ago.
But it’s not the limited edition Goyard print that catches my eye. It’s the book peeking out of it. The one Agnes Pembroke gave me in the library. What did she say about it? It asked for me? It still sends a shiver down my spine, but I still crawl to it.
I don’t even know why I brought it with me.
But now, the comfort of a book feels like exactly what I need. My plan is stupid but simple—sequester myself in this room until further notice. With the book in hand, I turn off my phone and prop a chair under the handle so it can’t be opened from the outside.
Then, I slip out of the stupid dress I’m wearing and open the book.
Surprisingly, it’s not a novel.
It’s some kind of journal.
A handwritten journal belonging to someone by the name of Magnolia Thompson.
It’s a strange thing to give to someone, especially saying it asked for me.
Not to mention that the whole concept of reading someone’s journal feels oddly invasive.
I don’t know who this woman is, other than the fact that Augustine Diocesan Academy crest on the very first page.
But I decide to read it anyway. I need to lose myself in something and even though it’s a long shot, maybe Magnolia’s life is shittier than mine and I’ll feel better about my own.