Discovering the Devil

T h i r t y - t h r e e

"She'll come around, Pen," Polly said suddenly, reading her thoughts. "The countess loves you."

"She loves me too much to see the truth."

"She will find it," Polly insisted. "I promise."

Tears began to swell in Penelope's eyes. She hurriedly blinked them back. "How do you know?"

"How did I know you were in lust with Harry?"

Penelope rolled her eyes. "I wasn't then, though."

"You were. I think you were the moment you set eyes on him, whenever that was." Polly set down her teacup and laid down on their blanket. "I was never told that story, by the way."

"Story?"

"How the two of you first met."

Penelope turned from the water to her friend. "It was at this very lake, actually."

"Oh." There was a pause as Polly considered her friend's proclivities with water. "Oh!"

"No, no. It wasn't like that, not at first." Penelope followed Polly's suit, and reclined into the grass. "It was like this."

***

HARRY sat rooted in his carriage, unable to move. He hadn't expected the idea of seeing his childhood home to be so difficult. He'd assumed that the terrible part would be sitting in front of his father but it turned out that a mere glance at his childhood home drove him into stupor. On the lawn, he saw him and his mother strolling hand in hand. He could smell her perfume and hear the tinkle of her laugh. Harry could also see Arthur beating him at one tree or around a bush until he got tired and left his half-brother pulsing with pain. Harry realized that he had merely left his home without looking back but he had never recovered. Was he really strong enough to look his pain in the face?

After a few minutes, or maybe an hour, Harry finally found the strength to exit the carriage and knock on the door. The butler winced when he saw Harry, but he did not turn him away. As he entered, a conversation above him hushed. Against his better judgment, Harry looked up. The Duchess of Fordham and his step-sister stared down at him contemptuously; one smiling and one frowning. Harry tore away his gaze and looked again at the butler. "Is my father in?"

"He is."

Harry was surprised he had been delivered with the truth so readily. "Take me to him, please."

In another breath, Harry was seated directly from the man he despised the most. The Duke of Fordham had the gall to smile. "It's a pleasure to see you. I take it you wanted to say thank you for the portrait in person."

"I've done no such thing, Father." Harry paused and took the opportunity to stare his father in the eye. He took in all the hard lines and creases, the weathered brawn, and the growing gray. He was likely to assume a resemblance to this one day. One of the things Harry had hated most was that he had none of his mother, he'd always been a spitting image of the duke. Their only difference in physicality was his heart, on that count Harry had inherited his mother's, though he wished he hadn't. The duke had broken his as cruelly and cleanly as he had his wife's. "I came here to say that we are finished."

"Excuse me?"

"I am going to marry Miss Redwood, Father."

The duke's eyes gleamed. "That's wonderful news!" he boomed. He rose from his seat to his decanter. "This calls for celebration. Do you like brandy? I obtained mine at a heavy price. My brandy tastes like dreams."

"I'm certain to celebrate, but it won't be with you," Harry said coldly. "I'm sure you're very happy."

"I am!" The duke poured two glasses and set one in front of his son. "I'll wait until the banns are read, but afterwards, you get half of everything your mother had. You can have the rest as a wedding present."

Harry pushed the glass side. "No, Father. We are done. I don't want anything from you."

"I don't understand."

"When I marry my wife it won't be tainted with any of your sick games. I'm saying, you can have all of it. Keep every last trinket you have of Mama. I don't want it."

The duke sipped his brandy. "You came here all the way to say you don't want any of your mother's things?"

"Yes."

"You don't mean it." His father sighed. "I didn't do any of this to be cruel, Harry. I just wanted to help you make the right decision."

"Whatever you tell yourself so you can sleep is none of my concern." Harry pointed to his chest. "My mother is in my heart. Not in her rings, or paintings, or gowns. If she is looking down on me now, and I believe she is, she would not want me to be controlled by you."

The duke blinked slowly. "You can have all of it once the banns are read. Is that better? Will that quiet your tantrum?"

Harry took a deep breath. "And I also came here to say, you can keep your name. I suggest you bequeath the duchy to Sylvie in your will, or maybe a nephew. I don't want that either."

"Don't be ridiculous!" His father sputtered. "Sylvie isn't blood, you are!"

"She's more your daughter than I am your son."

"Your mother toiled to have you, you know. It took seven miscarriages, three stillbirths. And then we finally had you." The duke leaned closer. "I kept her dowry too, by the way. That's what you would be giving up—your mother."

"You've already given me the earldom, thank you for that, by the way. I have a thriving business. I don't need the duchy or the estates that come with it."

"You'll get it all the same."

"If you do decide to give me the duchy," Harry continued, "I'll sell the title."

A silence ensued. "You wouldn't."

"I would. I'd sell the estates too. I'd give all your wealth to the needy." Harry smiled. "You shouldn't have let me go off and make my own name. I have all I need and then some and I don't need a drop more."

"You're being childish."

Harry rose. "No, Father. I am going to marry the woman I love and you will have nothing to do with it. For the first time in a long time, I have finally seen sense."