Page 90 of If the Duke Dares
By the time he reached her house, he was tense with the need to talk to her again. He found her in her sitting room, which was slightly unnerving because of the portrait of him hanging on the wall.
Seated at her writing desk, she turned to face him. “I heard Somerton and Droxford called earlier. Will they be attending the party? I hope you invited them.”
“I did invite them, and yes, they will be here. Why are you really having this party tonight?” That wasn’t the question he’d thought he’d ask, but it had just fallen out of his mouth.
She smiled. “Because I love hosting soirees, and I wanted to help Miss Pandora. But mostly because you suggested it.”
He had, and she’d eagerly agreed. “I don’t understand.” He shook his head and went to sit in a chair near the hearth.
She got up and followed him, standing nearby. “What don’t you understand?”
He looked up at her. Though her brow was creased, her mouth was turned up in a caring smile. She was, he suddenly realized, the perfect example of motherhood. And how would he know that? It wasn’t as if he’d had a mother.
But he had. For five years that he mostly couldn’t remember.
Mostly.
Now, sitting here, looking up at her as if he were a small boy, several things came back to him: the way she would read and sing to him at night before he went to sleep, the way she played storm the castle with him, and the way she cuddled him when he was hurt. He recalled a specific occasion when he’d fallen from his pony on only his second ride. She hadn’t been present because Cecily was only a few weeks old, but he’d run to her in the house as soon as he’d been able.
He suddenly remembered what had happened next. His father yelling at her, telling her to stop, to leave Acton alone, that he wasn’t to be coddled.
“Acton?” she asked, using his name for the first time since he was a boy. He now also remembered that his father didn’t like her calling him that. He had a title—Loxley—and she needed to use it.
Acton realized he was shaking. “I don’t understand how a woman who seems to care so much about me could leave me.” God, now hesoundedlike a little boy. His gaze met hers, and he felt the sting of unshed tears. “Why?” Dammit, his voice cracked.
She sank down in front of him and put her hands on his cheeks. “My dearest boy, I never wanted to.”
“He made you?” There was no need for Acton to say who “he” was.
Nodding, she swept one hand over his brow and back down the side of his face. “It broke my heart to leave you.”
“Then why did you?”
“Because your father commanded it.” She said this simply and without heat, as if there could be no other explanation—or argument for it.
“Why would he do that?” Before she could answer, he said, “I know the two of you fought. I just remembered,” he mumbled.
“He thought I was too soft with you, that you would grow up to be weak.”
“Why didn’t you fight him?” Acton’s voice climbed as anger raged through him. “Why didn’t you fight forme?”
She dropped her hands from his face. “I did try. I refused to leave, but he said I could either go and take the girls with me, or he’d say I was unstable and send me to a hospital where I wouldn’t see any of my children.”
Acton couldn’t imagine his father being that cruel. He’d been demanding, even hard sometimes, but he’d been proud of Acton and encouraged him to do and be his best. Even so, the man hadn’t been emotionally connected to his son. Or to anyone as far as Acton could tell.
The reality of what Acton had endured after she left hit him like a stone to the head. “I was devastated when you went away,” he said softly. “Father wouldn’t allow me to cry or speak of you. He said sadness was for lesser people, that those in our station didn’t succumb to such emotion. He beat that so steadily into my head that I believed it.”
She grasped his hand between hers, her eyes growing huge. “He didn’t beat you, did he? I was never told about that!”
“No, not physically. I mean that he hammered it into me verbally—over and over.” Acton cocked his head. “What were you told and by whom?”
Releasing him, her gaze turned sheepish. “Your nurse wrote to me secretly. After she was dismissed, the cook took over.”
Acton had barely known the cook except that she baked him his favorite biscuits on his birthday and when he came home from school. She would send an entire plate to his chamber. He knew now that his father had never known about those kindnesses. Of course he hadn’t. He would not have approved of such…warmth.
“That was brave of them,” Acton said. “I can’t think Father would have approved.”
“No, he would not have.”
