Chapter 28 #2
“I will be nearby,” he said, escorting her out of the room and following her downstairs.
He did not speak again, but his presence was nothing but reassuring.
He turned the corner before they reached the morning room, but he gave her a warm smile.
She returned it with a weak one of her own, then headed into the morning room.
Gideon Bellamy was staring at the doorway as she entered.
He looked older than the last time she had seen him, though perhaps it was only that she now understood what she was seeing in his expression and demeanor.
His shoulders seemed heavier, and his face looked more tired than she remembered.
He rose the moment she entered, and Honora stopped several feet inside the door without moving any closer.
For a moment, neither of them spoke at all.
“You look well,” Gideon said, sounding more unsure of himself than Honora had ever heard him.
“You look as though you have not slept,” Honora said, finding little patience for formal small talk.
He chuckled softly.
“You always were rather blunt and forthcoming with your thoughts.”
“Which is more than I can say for you, Father.” Honora was surprised at the abrasiveness in her voice. But she did not regret it.
The baron lowered his head.
“You have every right to be angry with me.”
“And I intend to exhaust that right.”
Her father sighed.
“I know I have made terrible mistakes,” he said. “I have come seeking a way to right my wrongs.”
The same anger Honora had felt when speaking to the dowager overwhelmed her then.
“You sent Cecily away,” she said, folding her arms across her chest.
“I believed Belgrave would be better for her than anything I could offer.”
“You could have told me all of this instead.”
“I know that now. But at the time, I was simply thinking of the promise I made to never speak a word about taking Celestine in as my own.”
Honora sighed. She was too angry to lead a productive conversation, and her father’s self-pity added to her frustration.
“Much of what has happened recently would not have happened if you had told me the truth instead of taking Cecily away from me.”
“I know,” Gideon said, wincing.
“She is your granddaughter.”
“I know.”
Gideon’s repetition hurt and irritated her more than any excuse would have, because an excuse was at least something she could have argued against.
“You know…” she repeated bitterly. “And yet you left her in the cold on the doorstep of a man you had never met.”
“The duke’s father was a respectable man and a good friend. I was sure he had raised his son to be the same.”
“You were counting on assumptions?”
“I was counting on the shawl,” Gideon said, looking at her directly for the first time since she had entered the room.
“Someone was certain to recognize it on sight, and that recognition would raise questions no one there could easily ignore. Those questions, I believed, would keep her close enough, long enough, for somebody in that house to grow fond of her.”
Honora shook her head in disbelief.
“Her Grace was trying to send her to an orphanage,” she hissed. “Did you ever consider that possibility?”
Her father’s face crumpled with guilt.
“No.”
Honora scoffed.
“No,” she echoed. “All you considered is how best to continue keeping your secrets.”
“I truly believed that I was protecting both of you,” he said, his voice rising not in anger, but in angst. As with the dowager, the raw emotion was enough to allow Honora to calm herself, albeit just a little.
“Even when I sent Cecily away, I thought it was best if she was with her mother’s and her true family.
I know now that I was wrong, but I could not have foreseen any of what has happened. ”
For the first time, she saw some of her own grief mirrored in her father’s face. Honora shook her head. She did not pity her father, but she was trying to truly understand. Her father was not a cruel or deceptive man by nature.
She could see the toll the secrets and lies had taken on him, but she struggled to sympathize.
She could not imagine keeping such secrets from the people she supposedly loved most in the world.
He had broken her trust, and Celestine’s, even if she would never know it.
And Honora wondered if there would be anything that could repair the broken trust.
“We were her true family,” she said, her voice and anger softening. “And we are Cecily’s, as well. And if Celestine had lived to learn all this, she would have felt the same way.”
“I know,” he said, the grief at last evident in his cracking voice.
“I know, and I would live penniless in the gutter if I could go back and undo every poor choice I made. But I cannot. I can only express how terribly sorry I am, and pray that one day, I earn both your forgiveness and Celestine’s, God rest her soul. ”
Honora’s eyes filled with tears. She had the urge to hug her father. But she was not ready. She might be understanding of why he felt he needed to do what he did. But she could not so quickly forget that he sent Cecily away.
“Perhaps one day, you shall,” she said.
Silence settled between them for a while, and neither of them tried to fill it for some time.
“Is Cecily safe?” Gideon finally asked.
“Yes.”
“And you?”