Page 27 of The Falconer

But Father never lived up to my daydreams. He always loved my mother more than me, and all his hugs and kisses and tender-hearted questions were for her alone. Those were the only times I ever saw him smile.

Now when he comes home, even those affectionate moments feel like a dream. What’s more, he won’t even look at me. The last time he truly did, I was covered in his wife’s blood, a stained ghost of the daughter he once had.

The worst thing is that I think he believes me a murderess. His expression when he found me that night . . . I’ll never forget the combination of grief and quiet accusation. Later, when we were alone, he grabbed me by the shoulders and asked me what the hell had happened. I kept silent, even when he shook me so hard that my head pounded and my neck ached.

I never shed tears for the woman he loved so much. I never gave my father the answer he wanted most: some insight into what happened. He just left me with my maid, who helped me scrub off all the blood. And when he told the chief constable that my mother had been killed by an animal, I suspect he did it to save his reputation, not mine.

Father stiffly removes his hat and smoothes his dark, ruffled hair.

‘Good morning, MacNab.’ MacNab takes Father’s hat and helps him remove his damp coat. ‘Aileana,’ he finally acknowledges me.

Father hesitates, then leans forward and presses a formal kiss to my cheek – so quick and brusque it feels more like a slap. I clench my skirts tighter and try to remain composed. It’s best that I pretend I never wanted his affection, that we have always been a family consisting of an absent father, a broken daughter and a dead mother.

When MacNab’s heavy footfalls disappear through the antechamber, my father and I stand in awkward silence.

Father clears his throat. ‘Are you well?’

I nod. ‘Indeed.’

Father removes his gloves and places them on the drum table. ‘I saw the Reverend Milroy on my way here.’

I try to keep my face neutral. ‘Oh?’

‘He says you haven’t attended services. Would you care to explain?’

I stopped attending services months ago, after the reverend preached about backward superstitions, faeries among them. He told us that such barbaric beliefs encumber progression and scientific advancement – because while knowledge makes men atheists, science brings them back to religion. Knowledge might have stolen my faith, but science will never bring me back to it.

‘I’ve been busy,’ I say, indicating the bouquets.

Father reaches for the cards tucked under each bouquet. ‘Hammersley, Felton, Linlithgow.’ He looks up. ‘When you respond, I expect you to do so with the utmost decorum.’

I unpocket the valve and fiddle with it again. ‘I shall, Father.’

‘I need not remind you that when you leave this house, you represent the family name.’

‘Aye, Father.’ I slide a metal piece into position.

‘Aileana. Put that contraptiondown.’

His voice is so cold and commanding, I can’t help but drop the valve onto the table. ‘Father—’

‘Why did I arrange to have an entirely new wardrobe made for your season?’ I open my mouth to answer, but he continues. ‘It certainly wasn’t so you could toil away on your inventions, miss services and neglect your responsibilities. So tell me – why did I do this?’

I lower my eyes, so he won’t see my glare. ‘You know why I invent.’ I try to keep my voice soft, gentle. ‘You know why it’s important to me.’

It was what my mother and I did together, every day, that he was never a part of. When I build, it reminds me of her. He may have removed all of her belongings from the house, but I still have my inventions.

Father stiffens. ‘I asked you a question, Aileana.’

I swallow. I hate this. ‘So I might make a suitable match,’ I whisper.

‘Indeed. Under Scottish law, you are my sole heir. That sets you apart from every debutante in the city.’

Aye. The one thing I have that gentlemen want is more wealth. As if I needed to be reminded yet again.

‘Indeed,’ I say.

‘A wedding would shift attention away from last year’s . . . unfortunate circumstance.’

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