“You actually want to spend time with me, but you won’t be able to for years. My father could spend all the time he wishes to with me, but he doesn’t want to.” She closed her eyes once more, breathing and reminding herself that this gentleman, thisremarkablegentleman, cared about her, valued her. “I suppose that is why I couldn’t help the tears. It all feels so unfair.”
“I know what it is to endure the neglect of a parent.” Scott held her ever closer. “I would not wish that on anyone, especially you.”
She rested against his chest, grieving their unavoidable separation. “I can’t bear the thought of not seeing you for years. I’ll spend every day with a father who won’t even offer me a ‘good morning,’ while you, who would hold me like this every day if I asked, are on the other side of the country.”
“You see your father every day?” he asked.
She’d not meant to reveal that bit of her life. Yet, she didn’t regret it. She trusted him, which was an unusual thing for her. “Every day I spend at Houghton Manor.”
“Does he live nearby?” His questions didn’t feel like an interrogation but more like an invitation to trust him further.
Held as she was in the comfort of his embrace, she felt safe. She felt reassured. After an eyes-closed calming breath, she looked at him once more. She’d not told anyone what she was about to tell him. She’d never trusted anyone enough. “Ourhouse wasn’t entailed, and when our financial woes reached their lowest point, my father sold it. But that covered only the debts. He was—is—determined to earn enough to live on. He found employment and is still, seven years later, working in that capacity.”
“Somewhere near Houghton Manor?”
She nodded.
“Does anyone at Houghton Manor know that he is your father?” Scott asked.
“Only Mrs. Brownlow. He has made certain of that.”
Scott was clearly still confused. “Is he ashamed to be earning his living?”
“He is good at his job, and I think he takes pride in it.”
Scott kept his arms wrapped fully around her. “Does he think you are ashamed of him?”
She shrugged. “I suppose he might, but mostly, he says he doesn’t want people thinking less of me because of his employment.”
“Society can be very particular about that sort of thing.”
The familiar scent of lavender and citrus enveloped her. It soothed her too-often battered spirits. “Even when only my father and I are present, even when there is no one else to be judgmental toward either of us, he won’t let me be his daughter. He won’t be my father. I’ve begged him to. Pleaded with him. I need him to be my father sometimes instead of being cold and dismissive and treating me almost like a stranger. Worse, really. He acts like he doesn’t like me at all, like I’m a burden.”
A nearly silent “ah” slipped from Scott. Had he sorted the mystery in its entirety? Her father’s disdainful attitude toward her wasn’t exactly hidden from the world.
“I just want him to be my father.” She sighed. “He has refused to be for a third of my life, though for a part of that time, he said he hoped to change that one day.”
“And from him, ‘hoped to’ means ‘not going to.’” Scott kissed her forehead.
“He is a very good butler,” she said, “but he was once a very good father. I wish he could find a way to be both.”
“Is there anyone other than you and Mrs. Brownlow who knows that your father is her butler?” Scott asked.
Gillian shook her head. “Not even the Huntresses. Like you said, Society is very particular about these things.”
He slid his arms from around her and took hold of her hands. “Someday, when you have a family of your own, you would want your father to be part of that life you would build, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course I would.”
He nodded. “And that would mean Society would discover this secret you’ve kept.”
“Yes, I suppose they would.”
Worry pulled at his features. “This is a decided complication, Gillian.”
Her heart dropped to her stomach. “Learning about my father changes things for you?”
He lifted one of her hands to his lips, kissing it softly. “Not for me. There are few things I could learn about you that would change how I feel. That you enjoy torturing puppies or have aspirations to undertake murderous rampages, perhaps. But this?” He shook his head. “This doesn’t change that I love you.”