Page 120 of Oddity of the Ton
He smiled. “Then I can rest assured that my daughter is in safer hands than her family ever provided.”
“And you don’t mind?” Eleanor asked.
“OfcourseI mind,” he said. “I’ll miss having my Eleanor about the place with her thoughtful quietness and sharp insight. But you’re no longer a child. I may be your father, but a parent’s role is not to cage their children forever—his role is to free her from her cage and give her wings so she can fly to her destiny.”
She reached for his hand. “Thank you.”
He smiled, then patted her hand. “I envy you. You’re setting out in the world just as I did when I was a young man, carving out a life for myself and committing to an occupation that I loved. My only wish is that you don’t make the same mistakes that I once did.”
For a brief moment, his eyes glistened with moisture. Then he blinked and it was gone. She dipped her head and kissed the back of his hand, where paper-thin skin stretched over the tendons and knuckles. And, for a moment, she caught a glimpse of what he once was—a young man with a zest for life and a determination to work hard, who had entered into marriage and thereby sacrificed his freedom.
And, in letting her go, Papa was ensuring thatshenever need make such a sacrifice. She had caught a glimpse of bliss, in the arms of a man—but now was the time to return to the real world and shape her own future.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Monty climbed outof the carriage, then walked past the row of servants who, at a sharp word from Jenkins, bowed and curtseyed in unison. The butler creaked into a bow, his body bearing a greater resemblance to a devil’s coach horse beetle than it had when…
…whenshehad visited.
With Eleanor beside him, he’d struggled to suppress the urge to giggle at the butler’s absurdities—but faced with Jenkins’s impassive expression, the urge to laugh receded.
“Welcome home, Your Grace.”
“Thank you, Jenkins.” Monty brushed past the butler and entered the hallway.
The main house, which he’d always thought overly large, now seemed cavernous, desolate, and empty. As if a chasm existed that had not been there before. A chasm in the shape of…
“Your Grace!”
Monty startled at the butler’s voice. “What is it?”
“I’ve been asking what time you’ll be wanting dinner?”
“Do I look like I care?” Monty snapped.
Save a slight widening of the eyes, Jenkins showed no reaction.
Monty softened his voice. “Forgive me—I’m rather tired.”
This time, the butler’s eyebrows shot up almost through his hairline, and Monty suppressed a laugh at the fact that incivilitywas met with stoicism, but an apology for said incivility was met with surprise.
But there was nobody to share his observation with—nobody to appreciate the irony.
“I’ll take dinner whenever the dowager wishes it.”
“Her Grace is not joining you tonight.”
Wellthat, if nothing else, was something to be thankful for.
Monty shed his coat and hat and tossed them to a nearby footman while he pulled off his gloves.
“Would you like tea, sir?”
“No. I’ll take an early supper then retire. I’ll dine at seven.”
“Very good.” Jenkins bowed, then gestured to the rest of the servants, who moved back like a receding tide before disappearing to go about their lives. Monty found himself envying them and their days filled with occupation, giving them little time to sit idly and wonder what might have been.
Devil’s toes—since when had he grown so melancholy?
