Page 104 of The Make-Believe Marriage
“Harcourt and I are not–”
“Lady Harcourt, shut up!” her father commanded, striding in at just that moment and looking angrier than she had ever seen him.
Syd had been too caught up studying her mother to realize he had been standing in the doorway. Had he been there all the while? How much had he overheard? She and her mother had said nothing outrageous. Although her mother’s words were not complimentary to him, this was nothing new.
When had her mother ever had a kind word for him?
Never.
Nor had she ever expressed a kindness for her.
But this hatred she had always harbored for her father was in full blossom now. In truth, her father was no less critical of his wife. This is why they always addressed each other as though strangers. He was always Harcourt to her. She was always Lady Harcourt to him.
The complaints had always been the same.
She hated his gambling.
He disliked her constantly berating him.
Syd rose and hesitantly smiled at her father. “Good to see you, Papa.”
She was uncertain whether his present anger extended to her as well. But why should it? He had come out of his scrape with Sir Henry smelling like a rose. His debt was paid. Sir Henry was dead and could never threaten him again. And his daughter was happily married to Octavian, the very man who had paid that debt.
“Good afternoon, Syd.” He had a glorious smile for her that felt genuine, but one could never be certain with her father. He was awfully smooth. “You are a sight for sore eyes, child. Why did you not tell us you were stopping by? I’ll have Stanford bring in refreshments.”
Her mother shot to her feet. “What are you doing home at this hour, Harcourt? What happened? Are the odds-makers refusing to accept your bets?”
Dear heaven.
Syd did not miss this constant bickering.
She was going to hug Octavian and kiss every inch of his face when she saw him next. “Papa, did you not know I was coming over?” She glanced at her mother, curious as to why she would hide the news from him. It wasn’t as though they were going to have a loving mother-daughter exchange.
Had her mother said a single kind word yet?
She had never been a loving mother.
If not for Syd’s genuinely compassionate nanny and later her equally caring governess, she would never have known a gentle, female touch. Her mother had never tucked her into bed or nursed her when she was ill. Nor had she ever cheered any of her accomplishments.
Was this not odd?
Syd had never given it much thought until seeing the mothering instincts come out in her married friends, Adela and Marigold.
Only then did she realize how wholly devoid of feeling this woman standing before her was.
Her father made up for some of the lack, for he had a genial nature. He was always joking, and always had a pretty compliment for her. But he was never as protective or responsible as Octavian. In truth, he never rolled up his sleeves and worked hard at anything. It galled her to admit that her mother had been right about that.
But for a child starved for affection, his smiles and pats on the head were everything. Despite his inept ways, Syd had always felt he loved her. “Mama, why did you not tell him?”
“I’ll answer that,” her father said. “She means to spread her poison. Have you not noticed how we are suddenly the topic of interest in the gossip rags?”
Syd nodded. “Yes, what is that about?”
Her mother laughed with unmasked bitterness.
Her father frowned. “Do not believe anything she tells you, Syd. She only means to hurt you.”
Syd’s stomach now ached so badly, she could feel the pain radiating throughout her body. “How can she hurt me? I already know she does not love me. Nor does she love you. Mama, is it just us? Or do you hate everyone?”
