Untouched

She straightened her shoulders and met his eyes with a direct look. She had a right to be here, even if he wanted to banish her back to obscurity. But bravado didn’t disperse the haze of uncertainty, grief, guilt, and resentment in her heart. And love. In spite of everything, love lurked too.

For a charged moment, they stared at each other, father and daughter. Only a few feet separated them, but it might as well have been a chasm a mile wide.

“Have you no greeting for your father, girl?” He didn’t sound angry and his stare seemed questioning rather than accusatory.

Unthinkingly, she sank into a curtsy. “Good afternoon, sir,” she said in an unsteady voice.

When she rose, she was dismayed to see tears in the dark blue eyes that were faded copies of the ones she saw in the mirror. She’d always favored her father’s looks, with her dark hair, pale skin, and indigo eyes.

“Sir? Is that the best you can do, Grace? After all this time?” he asked hoarsely. The hands he placed on his stick trembled. He’d always moved quickly and vigorously. It was a shock to see he used the stick for support, not fashion.

“I don’t…don’t know what you want.”

She heard him draw in a shuddering breath. “First, a warmer welcome than I’ve received.”

“As you wish.” Hesitantly, she approached. He was stooped enough now for her to reach up and press a kiss to his cheek. It was a brief salute. Once, she’d have thrown her arms around him in an extravagant hug. But those days were gone.

“I’m glad to see you, Father.” It was true, although the changes in him cut to her soul. Even after a few minutes of his company, she could see this man was different from the one she remembered. For a start, he was willing to unbend enough to speak to his errant daughter. She stepped back. “Did Uncle Francis tell you I was here?”

He’d closed his eyes when she kissed him as if the gentle salute hurt. Now he stared fixedly at her. She wondered what he saw. At least she was dressed like a lady, not the beggar she’d looked when she’d arrived at Fallon Court. That in itself made her feel a fraud. She was a beggar.

“No, Vere wrote to me at Marlow Hall. Thank God he did. I came as soon as I got the letter. I’ve looked for you for the last five years, child.”

Her father had looked for her? None of this made sense. When he’d barred her from his house, she’d had no doubt that his decision was set in marble.

Yet now he said he’d sought her out.

Bewildered, she wondered what had changed, when he’d changed. Was it after Philip’s death? Although neither had mentioned her brother’s name, the tempestuous, beloved ghost hovered so tangibly, she could almost touch it.

But no. Her father said he’d started to search for her five years ago. Philip had been alive then and galloping headlong toward ruin in the fleshpots of London.

The earl had relented for Grace’s sake, not just because he’d lost his only son and turned in desperation to his one remaining child.

“You said you never wanted to see me again.” She couldn’t stifle a hint of bitterness. Her marriage had been irresponsible, reprehensible, she recognized and regretted that. But her beloved father’s implacable rejection had opened a wound that had never healed.

She saw him whiten at her tone. “I said many things that afternoon. At the time I meant them but I quickly repented of my harshness. Within a year, I came to York and approached Paget about helping you both, finding him a position on one of my estates so at least you could live in some comfort. But he threw my offer back in my face.”

Her father had swallowed his pride to the point where he’d extended the hand of friendship to Josiah? Grace felt lost in a world that bore no relationship to the one she thought she inhabited.

She spoke through a throat tight with distress and twisted her hands in her skirts to hide their trembling. “You didn’t ask to see me?”

“Your husband said you’d turned your back on your family forever and looked forward to a new and better life with him. He said you despised the Marlows and everything we stood for.”

She could imagine how self-righteous Josiah had sounded when he’d told her father those lies. “And you believed him?”

The earl’s mouth turned down. “I had no other option. You hadn’t written to us since your marriage or tried to see us.”

She’d always imagined that if she ever met her father again, he’d be angry, as he’d been angry after her elopement. But instead, he was just so wrenchingly sad and she didn’t know how to react. His sadness weighed down her heart until it felt like a massive stone inside her.

“You told me not to,” she said, fighting the urge to touch him, comfort him.

A faint smile crossed his face although the deep sorrow remained. When he dredged up a touch of the dry humor she’d loved as a girl, she thought her heavy heart would break. “So obedient at last, daughter. You were never the most biddable chit. A pity this was the one time you should have ignored my command.”

“You sounded like you hated me,” she said in a hollow voice.

“I was angry, disappointed.” He took a step in her direction. “But I never ceased to mourn the break with you. You’d always been my favorite, you know.”

Yes, she had known. She’d mistakenly assumed that her father’s indulgence would extend to forgiving her unfortunate marriage, but she’d been tragically wrong.