She did not need this right now. Not when everything she thought she had known about Ash and the girls and possibly her future with them all had been tossed up in the air. But if she did not see to calming her parents, there was no telling how much worse this situation would become.
Drawing upon every ounce of patience she possessed, she said in as calm a voice as she could manage, “I am sorry for keeping you all waiting. Why are you upset, Mother?”
Her mother resembled nothing more than a performer in a dramatic play as she clutched her hands to her bosom and leveled an outraged stare on Bronwyn. “As if you did not know. Your father and I thought you had finally done your duty by us in marrying, and marrying well. Now we learn that not only has Buckley, your new husband, left you behind so he might return to London, but you have no intention of joining him? Oh, Mr. Pickering,” she wailed into her handkerchief. “Once more we are made a laughingstock by our ungrateful daughter.”
Bronwyn sighed. It had only been a matter of time. But she had hoped—nay, even prayed—that her parents might remain blissfully unaware for months, perhaps years to come, that their daughter’s husband had for all intents and purposes abandoned her. It had been an impossibility, of course. But she had not expected them to learn the truth less than a sennight after Ash’s departure.
“Well?” her father demanded. “What do you have to say for yourself, young lady?”
“What do you wish me to say?” she asked wearily, painfully aware of their rapt audience.
“That it is not at all true, of course,” her mother exclaimed, glaring at Bronwyn from eyes that were curiously devoid of tears despite her wailing. “You shall quiet these rumors, and travel to London to join Buckley.”
Bronwyn gaped at them. “You cannot be serious.”
“We are,” her father growled. “And to make certain you do not embarrass us, your mother and I shall accompany you. We shall stay with you both in Buckley’s London town house, and will assist you in hosting a ball to show all of thetonthat you and your husband are not estranged. It is no matter that it is not the season; he is a duke, and anyone who is worth their salt will attend. These rumors will be put to rest immediately. We shall not allow gossip to be made about you and your marriage.”
At the thought of being forced to drag her parents to London to prove to society that her marriage to Ash was not over, all while throwing herself on the mercy of a man who had never wanted a true marriage with her, something in Bronwyn snapped.
“You mean you do not want anyone talking aboutyou, don’t you? I know you do not care about the state of my marriage.”
Her mother gasped. “Bronwyn!”
But Bronwyn was done placating her parents at the expense of her own happiness. “Tell me you have ever had a true consideration as to what I might want,” she demanded. “Up until now, your only hope was that I should marry a title, preferably one of a higher status than that of Lady Brindle, so you might prove that you are not the imposters that she thinks you are. You were so desperate that I do so, you stole all of my research, all of my equipment, then lied and told me you destroyed it so I would focus more on finding a husband. And whenthatfailed, you threatened to remove me from my friends and my research and the only place I have ever been happy.”
They all gaped at her in silence. She should probably stop, but her hurt and her fury were too great to take heed.
“Is it any wonder,” she continued wildly, “that I was willing to marry a stranger, one who wanted nothing more than a marriage of convenience? I jumped at the chance of a loveless union to escape a horrible future. Only now—” Her voice broke, and she tried again, needing to get this out, as if she were lancing an infection. “Only now I am more unhappy than ever. And all you care about, all you ever cared about, is howyoulook to society.” A sob ripped free from her chest, and she covered her mouth with her hands.
“Oh, my dear,” Katrina rasped mournfully.
The tears in her mother’s eyes were real now. Though they were not for her daughter. No, Mrs. Pickering was too wrapped up in herself and her own cares. She gazed at Bronwyn, looking for all the world like a wounded puppy. “Is this what you truly think of us? Do you believe us to be these monsters?”
Four and twenty years of habit had Bronwyn wanting to soothe her mother and give in to what she wanted.
But now that she had finally stood up for herself, she refused to back down.
“I do not believe you are monsters, no,” she replied. “You are my parents, and I love you both. However,” she continued sternly, “I am a person in my own right, not a puppet for you to use at will. And now that I am a married woman, you have no right to dictate what I do with my life. You need to respect me, and my choices, and trust that I am making the best decisions for me.”
She waited with bated breath, not certain how her parents would respond. They simply stared at her for a long moment, equal parts confusion and outrage and hurt on their faces. Finally her mother spoke, her voice forlorn.
“I never understood you. All these years, and you still remain an enigma to me.”
“You don’t have to understand me, Mama,” Bronwyn replied quietly. “You just have to love me and trust me.”
Her mother searched her face before, with a tight-lipped nod, she turned and walked out of the room. Her father, with a hurt glance her way, followed his wife. Bronwyn stared after them, sad, yet lighter than she had been in years. She did not know what the future might hold for her and her parents. It would no doubt take them time to get over their hurt, if they ever managed to do so. But she had finally drawn a necessary line in the sand, and she would never regret that.
But in her upset, she had forgotten she was not alone. Until Lady Tesh spoke up.
“I must say, Your Grace,” she murmured thoughtfully. “That was an impressive sight indeed.”
Bronwyn blanched, realizing in horror that she had just reprimanded her parents in front of the woman they had been trying for years to impress. “I’m sorry you had to witness such a display, my lady,” she choked out.
“I’m not,” Lady Tesh declared bluntly.
“My lady,” Katrina tried, casting a concerned glance at Bronwyn and the girls, “perhaps it would be best if we were to leave—”
“Your Grace,” the dowager viscountess said in a carrying voice, cutting off her companion, “is it true then that this entire thing between you and Buckley was a mere farce?”