Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
Heath had to sprint to cut her off before the crowd could. One moment she was walking away from him, toward her father, and the next, his hand was at her back—light, steady, guiding. She didn’t resist, but her eyes never left the man standing in the garden.
“Come,” he said quietly—firm, but not unkind.
He caught Blanche by the wrist and drew her away from the lawn, past the gilded glow of lanterns and the murmurs blooming behind them.
He had not planned for this—not tonight. But fate, it seemed, had little regard for timing.
Blanche followed without question. Her steps were light, swift, her breath catching more from emotion than exertion. She hadn’t yet asked where they were going, which told him she was still somewhere between memory and disbelief.
“What’s he doing here? Did you plan this?” Her voice was dreamlike, dazed.
As they crossed the threshold of the west corridor, the noise dulled behind them. The music faltered. Or perhaps he only imagined that.
From the terrace, Lady Gooldwer’s voice rose in clipped horror:
“I will not have that man near my family—not tonight, not ever!” Then, somewhat muffled. “Fanny, do not look at him. We are leaving. Fetch your coat.”
Fanny’s voice was softer but resistant. “But Mama, Father is still…”
“Now, Fanny.”
Heath didn’t glance back. The doors closed behind them.
They reached the crimson hallway outside the conservatory. Blanche stopped, her eyes glass-bright.
“You brought me inside,” she said breathlessly. “Heath, that was my father.”
“I know.”
“He’s here. He… he found us. He found me.”
“He arrived,” Heath said calmly. “There’s a difference.”
She blinked at him, confused. “Why do you sound so…” She broke off, visibly trying to steady herself. “Where is he?”
Heath turned toward the study doors. “Come. Wait in here. I will bring him to you.”
As he ushered his wife into the room and closed the door behind her, he turned, and Gooldwer was standing right in front of him.
“You can’t keep her from me.”
“Why have you interrupted the evening as such?”
“I was just sitting there, and saw her pass by. Figured it would be a good time.”
Self-serving. Obnoxious. Clueless. Piece of—
“Papa?” he heard as the door pushed open.
The man stood with false pretense and pride. His figure shadowed, and while his expression was carefully composed, Heath saw the tremor in his hands. The way the man’s eyes darted past his daughter to the room beyond—as if already calculating his next move.
Blanche sidestepped Heath and flew into her father’s arms with the force of months unlived. Her embrace was raw, unfiltered, foolish in its purity.
Heath remained at the door, silent. Watching as the scene unfolded. The exact opposite of what he had planned to happen.
Gooldwer clutched her tightly, but his eyes flicked toward Heath. “I didn’t know if you’d let me see her,” he said, voice low, almost reverent.
“I didn’t bring you here for me,” Heath replied. “She deserves the choice. Let’s move inside the study. Now.”
Blanche pulled back slightly, her hands still on her father’s arms. “Why now?” she asked. “Why tonight?”
Gooldwer hesitated, his eyes flicking up to meet Heath’s before he nodded and guided them both inside the room as he answered her. “Because I couldn’t stay away any longer. I’ve made mistakes, Blanche. But I never stopped thinking of you.”
Heath said nothing. He didn’t need to. The room was thick with the weight of what was about to unfold. He shut the door to the study behind him and stood patiently, waiting for his wife’s fury.
Blanche’s gaze flicked to Heath, searching. “You knew?”
He inclined his head once. “Of course, I knew. I invited him.”
Her breath hitched. “How long?”
“A few days.”
She turned fully toward him now, her father’s hands falling away. “And you didn’t tell me.”
“No,” Heath said. “I didn’t.”
There was no apology in his voice. Only truth.
Blanche’s brows drew together. “Why?”
He met her gaze evenly, but refused to respond.
She stared at him, her expression fraught with anger, betrayal, and sadness. Then, slowly, she turned back to her father.
Gooldwer stepped forward, voice soft. “I’ve changed, Blanche. I know I failed you. But I want to make amends. I want to be part of your life again.”
Heath watched her shoulders tense. She wanted to believe him. That much was clear.
But belief, he knew, was a fragile thing. And Gooldwer had never been careful with fragile things.
Heath remained still, distant. He had done what he came to do. What would happen next was hers to decide.
Her father smelled faintly of woodsmoke and old paper.
As he held her, Blanche buried her face against his coat, anchoring herself to the warmth of him—real, tangible, no longer some ghost she argued with in dreams. She thought of every letter she never wrote. Every night she spent watching doorways. Every time she told herself she had moved on.
And now he was here. Papa came back.
Her father exhaled shakily against her hair and stepped back. He looked older than she remembered. Sharper around the eyes. And yet—still him.
“I know,” he said softly. “I owe you an explanation.”
Heath stood silently behind her, a shadow of heat and tension.
Lord Gooldwer cleared his throat. “I… made mistakes,” he began. “You are too young to see it, but everything was unraveling. I was in debt. Deep. Not from vice, not truly. I thought I could win it back. Cards, wagers, investments. I was wrong. So, shamefully wrong.”
Blanche felt her hands tremble. “But why did you leave? Why didn’t you come home?” she asked.
“I couldn’t,” he said. “I had nothing. No honor left. I thought… I thought that if I could rebuild—if I could scrape together enough—I might return as a man again, instead of a beggar.”
A pause. “And what of Clara?” Heath asked, his voice perfectly even.
Blanche turned slightly at the name. Her father tensed.
“She helped me when I had nowhere else to go,” Lord Gooldwer replied after a beat. “It wasn’t love. It wasn’t meant to last. But I was tired. Tired of pretending I could fix a life I’d already broken.”
Blanche stared at him. His words were shaping a version of the truth she could barely hold.
“You should have written,” she whispered.
“I didn’t know how,” he said, looking down. “What was I to say? I’ve squandered your future, but I do hope you’re keeping warm?”
Heath stepped forward.
“There’s a difference between shame and selfishness.”
Lord Gooldwer’s eyes snapped up.
“I visited him,” Heath said, his gaze fixed on Blanche now. “In Richmond Park. Clara was still there. And the brandy was still flowing. He wasn’t preparing to come back. He was comfortable.”
Lord Gooldwer’s face twitched. “That’s not fair.”
“It’s true.”
Blanche drew a sharp breath. “Is that why you’re here? Because the money finally ran out?”
Silence. Her father didn’t answer.
And in that stillness, something inside her fractured—not completely, not yet. But enough.
No. Not like this. Not when I’ve waited for something better than this…
She felt her vision prickle—not with tears, but with the aching pressure of unshed expectation.
Heath’s hand hovered near hers. Not reaching. Just… there.
And Lord Gooldwer, her father, stood before her with nothing but apologies he hadn’t earned, and a voice far too practiced to be trusted entirely.
“I didn’t come to hurt you,” Lord Gooldwer said quietly.
Blanche looked at him, not with fury, but with a sadness that felt heavier than rage ever could.
“I know,” she said. And for the first time that night, she wasn’t sure if that was true either.
Even now, as Lord Gooldwer spoke in that hushed, halting voice—so familiar it unraveled a hundred memories with each syllable—she couldn’t seem to stop touching his sleeve.
Blanche’s fingers remained at his elbow, as though anchoring him would keep the truth intact.
He looked worn, remorseful, human, and she so desperately wanted that to mean something.
“I didn’t come for charity,” Lord Gooldwer said. “I came because I remembered what mattered. Because I realized what I’d left behind.”
Heath shifted slightly behind her. There was no sound, no protest, but yet, Blanche felt it, that quiet, impossible weight.
Her father continued. “I know what I did. I know what it costs. But I want to earn my way back. I want to fix what I broke.”
Let it be true… Her pulse was hammering. Let something good come of this.
Then Heath’s voice came low—steady, quiet as frost. “Then tell her everything.”
Lord Gooldwer faltered. “I already—”
“No,” Heath cut in, and Blanche turned sharply at the tone. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. “Tell her where the money went. Tell her how long you stayed with Clara. Tell her how many letters you didn’t write.”
“Heath—” she began.
But he stepped forward, his eyes never leaving Lord Gooldwer’s. “You want to rebuild? Then, begin with the truth.”
Lord Gooldwer opened his mouth. Closed it, and in that fragile hesitation, a sliver of clarity wedged itself into Blanche’s chest.
She glanced between them—father and husband, loyalty and disillusion, both of them looking at her like the answer was hers to give. A thousand thoughts tumbled against her ribs.
Heath had visited him. He’d known. All this time, while she grieved, while she stitched together scraps of memory to keep from falling apart—he had known.
Her voice was quiet, barely more than a breath.
“You knew where he was all this time…” Her voice trembled, but she didn’t look away. “You knew how much pain I was in. Then why did you say nothing?”
The question split the room like a blade.
Heath stilled. His mouth parted, then closed again. His expression didn’t change, but something behind his eyes did.
“I had a plan,” he said at last.
Blanche’s breath caught. “The plan should have included me!”
“It was my plan. If I needed your help, I would have shared it with you sooner. He’s not trustworthy, and you know it. Don’t stand there pretending he isn’t.”
“You wanted control,” she said, her voice low. “Even now, that’s what you want.”
Heath didn’t argue. He didn’t deny it. And that, somehow, made it worse—not because it confirmed her fears, but because it confirmed his restraint.
Her gaze dropped to the floor, then lifted again, searching his face.
“Do you remember that night in the dining room? When I cried about him? When I told you I didn’t know if I hated him or missed him more?
” Her voice cracked, soft and aching. “You held me. You didn’t flinch. You said I wasn’t alone.”
“I meant what I said,” Heath said quietly.
“Then why didn’t you tell me?” she asked. “Why let me fall apart in your arms if you already knew?”
He didn’t answer right away. His silence wasn’t cruel—it was careful. Measured. “How you manage to compare that to me sharing this knowledge with you is almost comical. You’re clearly not in your right mind.”
Across the room, Lord Gooldwer stood silent, watching. Waiting.
“Then tell me why you didn’t tell me! Stop beating around the bush, Heath,” she exclaimed, voice nearing hysterics.
Heath’s voice came at last, low and steady.
“Because you still had hope. You hoped your father didn’t abandon you, but he did.
You were blind to it all. Blind to his vices.
Blind to everything because you love him.
It’s not a bad thing. But it was clear you wouldn’t be able to stomach this information before I had it all in hand. ”
Blanche’s breath caught. Her eyes shimmered, but she didn’t look away.
“He is not the man you remember him to be or think he is,” Heath continued.
“He is a man who left and didn’t look back.
Who gambled your future and drank the rest. Who’s gambled away what charity I afforded him as well, even now—he’s already said as much—that he’s here hoping to leave with more funds. ”
Blanche didn’t deny it. Her eyes didn’t leave her father’s. “He’s still my father,” she said. Her voice was quiet. Steady. But not unshaken.
Heath nodded once. “And I never took that from you. He did.”
She looked at him then—not with anger, but with something far more fragile: disappointment. Not in who he was, but in what he hadn’t shared.
She had trusted him with her grief. And he had held it for safekeeping. But her anger wasn’t misplaced.
And now, she didn’t know what to do with the space that had opened between them. Not a chasm. Not yet. But a crack, a hairline, was growing quickly out of his control. He needed to get a hold of this situation. He needed to set it all right… as planned.
Heath stepped forward then, his jaw clenched. “And you defend him like he’s done you no harm.”
“That’s not fair—”
“It’s true.” It stung. Because she knew Heath didn’t speak to wound her. He spoke to hold the ground that was slipping out from under all of them.
Lord Gooldwer touched her shoulder gently, with a hand that once used to cradle storybooks and braid ribbons. “You don’t have to decide anything now,” he said softly. “Come home with me, just for a few days. We’ll talk to Fanny. To your mother. Set things right.”
Home. It didn’t feel like the word it once was.
But the part of her that still remembered warm bread and garden walks and sitting too long by the parlor fire nodded before her reason could intervene.
She heard Heath’s breath catch. “Blanche.” His voice was low. “You’re going with him?”
She turned too quickly. “I just… I need time. I need to be with my family.”
The silence that followed felt unnatural, and only then did she realize what she’d said.
She met Heath’s eyes—his expression unreadable—but she saw it there, beneath the calm: the wound her words had drawn.
“That isn’t what I meant…” she said, quietly. But the ache had already taken root.
He said nothing, and she had no salve for silence.
Heath reached for her hand—just barely—and she pulled it back, not out of malice, but because she didn’t know what was hers anymore.
“I have to go,” she said. Her throat closed around the words. “Please understand.”
She turned, took three steps… Stopped.
And when she faced him again, her voice trembled—not with tears, but with something colder.
“You’re angry with him for keeping the truth from me.” She met his gaze. “But you did, too… How would you feel, Your Grace, if someone had known something vital about your parents—something that could’ve changed how you remembered them, how you grieved them—and chose to keep it from you?”
The words hung in the air like smoke—less an accusation than a wound she hadn’t meant to expose, but couldn’t ignore.
And she walked away before she could watch them take hold.