Page 9 of Absolution
“At least she has some influence over you,” Dad sneers. “I suppose you’ll want her to come live at the house with us. You might be easier to handle if she’s around. I’ll arrange her visa today.”
“We’re not going back to the manor.” I drop the words like a bomb. “I have one condition to retract my statement: you will give up your title and retire to the villa in Spain.”
Dad’s mouth opens, then closes. His lips seal shut, as though he’s holding in a tirade, and his face turns beet red.
“Daniel!” my mother squawks. “How dare you even suggest such a thing.”
I lift a brow at her. “I dare. It’s your choice. Face ruin or flee the country. Surrender your precious place in society, and you can at least keep your dignity intact. Whatever dignity you possess.”
“Preposterous!” Dad thunders. “You have no right to ask such a thing.”
“I’m not asking.” The words are icy daggers. “Let me be clear: this is a threat. I’ll give the press a full interview with my explicit confession about how I murdered Stephen Lansing with my bare hands, or you will pass on the title to your rightful heir.”
“You… You think…” Mum splutters. “If you expect us to make you the heir again after this…”
“Not me. I’m going back to America with Abigail. James is the Earl of Ripley now. He’s more than earned the right.” I look at my younger brother. “The better man will get the title.”
He blinks, and his jaw goes slack with shock.
I suppose it’s the nicest thing I’ve ever said to him.
Possibly the only kind words I’ve ever spoken about him.
Abigail was right. It’s not his fault that my parents replaced Katie with James. He had no control over their actions. I should’ve realized that years ago, but I was too wrapped up in my own loathing for my family name to see that he’s innocent in all this.
“You can’t do this,” Dad blusters. “You want to go to jail? I hope they bring back the death penalty for you. You can hang for all I care.”
A slow, cruel smile spreads over my face. “The only thing that will die is your reputation. I’ll happily rot in a cell if it means your ruin.”
“You’re bluffing,” Mum says shrilly. “Always these sick games, Daniel. We’re not falling for it.”
I fix her with a steady stare and allow her to see the depth of my vindictive loathing in my eyes. “It will be my greatest pleasure to see you brought low. I will relish your downfall. If I’m going away for life, guaranteeing your demise will be my sole purpose. Or…” I draw out several beats of tense silence, watching my parents squirm. “You can be content with my quietreturn to America. You can disappear from high society, and James will do you proud. Only we will know your shame.”
“You are my greatest shame,” Dad seethes.
“Your greatest shame should be the fact that you killed your own daughter. But if I have to take up that mantle, I will. Gladly.”
No one says anything for a full minute. I spend the first several seconds relishing my parents’ anguish. But, as always, my attention is drawn to Abigail like a magnet. The cold satisfaction that pulsed through my veins warms to a gentle heat as I thaw in her rapt gaze. She looks at me like she’s…proud of me. Those perfect lips are curved in a small smile, and her lovely eyes glow with pale blue fire.
I should’ve known she would never ask me to compromise myself. She wouldn’t beg me to succumb to my family’s control and place myself in their cruel hands.
My clever Abigail devised this plan to punish my parents for all the pain they’ve caused me. After decades evading justice, they will finally pay penance for what they did to Katie. What they did to me. And James.
At least he’ll be free of them now too. He can live his own life as Lord Graham, and he will answer to no one.
He’s almost a stranger to me, but maybe that’s been to my detriment. I’ve always spurned my family, but I might not have to be entirely alone anymore.
I have a brother.
And I have Abigail.
“Give up the title, or your murderous son will be the first thing the British public sees on the morning news.” I twist the knife, compelling my father’s compliance.
He’s almost purple now, but my mother’s complexion has gone chalk white. Even her lips are pale; they’re pressed togetherso hard that I wonder if she’ll ever be able to unlock her jaw to speak a cruel word again.
“Damn you,” Dad hisses. “Fine. James will have the title. We will go to Spain. Return to your American exile. I never want to see your face again.”
“The feeling is mutual,” I assure him. “I anticipate our renewed estrangement.”
