Page 142 of Oddity of the Ton
“Shouldn’tshebe the one to decide that?”
Sir Leonard let out a bitter laugh. “Arrogant to the last! Haven’t you done enough to her? Forcing her into an engagement only to be discarded at the end—but taking what you wanted anyway. Not to mention”—he wrinkled his nose—“strutting about like a prize bull, posing like a dandy for your own gratification, with no thought to the consequences for my daughter!”
“I didn’t think—”
“No,” Sir Leonard snarled. “Youdidn’tthink. Men like you never do.”
“Please,” Monty said, “I only want to speak to her. You cannot imagine the guilt I suffer.”
“Even now you only think ofyoursuffering,” Sir Leonard scoffed.
“I suffer in the knowledge that I’ve caused her pain,” Monty said. “Please, sir, believe me—the last thing I want is for her to be unhappy.”
“Then you should have thought of that before you tricked my daughter into believing you loved her! I thought you realized she’s unlike other young ladies—she’s more easily duped by those who seek to deceive, and she suffers more than most when her trust is betrayed.”
The earlier flash of weariness in Sir Leonard’s eyes returned. Monty struggled to his feet and offered his hand.
“Please, sir, I only want to see if she’s all right.”
“What does it matter to you whether she’s all right or not?”
“It matters a great deal.”
“Oh, spare me!” Sir Leonard replied. “You never looked at her twice before you plotted your nefarious little scheme! Then you had the effrontery to look me in the eye while we discussed a marriage settlement—a marriage you never intended to take place. Tell me,Your Grace, why should I believe anything you say? And why can’t you have the decency to leave my daughter alone?”
“Because I love her!” Monty cried.
Sir Leonard’s eyes widened, then he swayed to one side, clutching his chest. Monty caught the older man and guided him toward the chair.
“Sir Leonard, you’re not well.”
The man gave a watery smile. “In that, at least you speaking the truth.”
“I’ve not said anything that’s untrue, sir,” Monty said. “And I’ll not shirk my responsibility for your troubles. If your business is suffering for it, I can give you—”
“Stop there,” Sir Leonard said. “I’ve needed to retrench, but I can weather it. Your little corner of the world may look down on me, but here, I’m back among my people.”
“And…Lady Howard?”
“My wife chose to return to her family until the scandal dies down. And my younger daughter…” He hesitated. “She’s taken avacation for her health. So you see, Your Grace, your scheme has scattered my family across the country.”
“For that, I’m truly sorry,” Monty said.
Sir Leonard smiled. “We’ll survive. I can live more simply here, and my wife is where she’s happiest. As for my daughters, they’re resourceful. Eleanor is doing what she always wanted—in a place she used to love, filled with dreams and memories. Even my youngest child—my poor, misguided Juliette—will survive her ordeal and emerge the better for it.”
“What can I do?” Monty asked.
Sir Leonard rose, the color returning to his cheeks. “You can leave.”
“But Eleanor—”
“Has endured enough at your hands—and the hands of others.”
“But—”
“Tell me, Whitcombe,” Sir Leonard interrupted. “Who, out of all of us, deserves most to be happy and at peace?”
“Eleanor, of course.”
