that he has a mistress nicely tucked away to see to his needs. She will never
intrude on our life. He swore that he would never hurt me or humiliate me in any
way.”
Peter looked at me for one long moment and whistled to himself. “I’ve often
wondered how much you knew of your illustrious sire’s, ah, amorous exploits. I
had hoped that your mother would have had the good sense and intelligence to
keep her bitterness and disappointment to herself. But I see that she did not.”
“If you would know the truth of it, at the age of ten, I believe I knew more
about men’s dishonor than any female child alive.” I looked at him and then
added, no fury at all because I meant it, and it was clear and cold in my mind,
“Had I been my mother, I would have killed him.”
“Perhaps you would,” he said slowly. “Still, you were only ten years old when
she died. So young and yet you knew?”
“Yes, I knew. I can still hear my mother’s sobs, still see her white face when
he told her of his other women.”
“That dratted woman,” Peter said, frowning down at the carpet. “I have always
pitied her until this moment. After all, she took me in after my parents died,
treated me quite well. But now, now I see that she was a selfish woman without
an ounce of sense. She poured her misery into your ears, a little girl, not a
wise or clever thing to do.”
“Don’t you dare talk about my mother like that. You don’t know, you cannot know
what she suffered. You were away at school most of the time. Well, I was there,
all of the time. I saw what she suffered. My bastard of a father killed her. Don’t
you know? She could bear no more humiliation, and?”
“And,” Peter finished for me, “she caught a chill and died only a week after
reaching Grandfather. Ancient history, my dear, it has nothing to do with you or
me. We can curse your father, even feel sorry for your mother, but they have
been out of your life for more than ten years now. I repeat, their mistakes,
their selfishness, all the tragedies, none of it has anything to do with you.”
“I really mean it, Peter, had I been my mother, I would not have run away. I
would have taken up a pistol and I would have shot him, and I would have
rejoiced when he lay dead at my feet.”
He didn’t leap on that, and I suppose I was grateful, until he said, “So you are
marrying a man you won’t have to murder?”
“That is not bloody funny. My father deserved to die for what he did, for what
he was, which was a philandering dishonorable bastard. And if you think I would
ever take a chance of that happening to me, well, I would rather die first or
die trying to take my vengeance on him.”
“Jesus,” Peter said very quietly. He walked to me and pulled me against him. He
didn’t say anything for the longest time, just held me. Finally, he said quietly,
right next to my ear, “You cannot let your parents’ blunders ruin your life. You
think to escape your mother’s humiliation by marrying a man too old to have
desires, or unable. Yes, he has told you he has a mistress. Perhaps it is true.
Perhaps he doesn’t even want you in his bed. I find that very hard to believe,
however. What makes you think you can trust him? You are young enough to be his
daughter. Why, my dear, why the hell does he want to marry you? Do you know? Has
he told you why?”
“I believe,” I said, “that the earl much admires me, as our grandfather’s child.
He is very fond of me. He enjoys my company. I amuse him. He enjoys pleasing me.
He is lonely. He knows I will run his household to perfection. He knows he can
count on me. He knows I will not interfere with his private comings and goings.
He knows he can trust me. He knows I would never betray him, since I want none