What You Deserve (Anything for Love 3)

There was a brief moment of silence. The air about them swirled with an uncomfortable tension. “I would have permitted you to marry anyone of acceptable standing, anyone but her.”

“But why, when she made me happy?”

“Because she is rotten to her core.” His mother waved her hand in the air. “I suppose the girl cannot help her lineage.”

Part of him wished he had not been desperate for an answer. The vitriolic comments falling from his mother’s mouth only served to make him despise her all the more. “If you felt that way, why take her into your home?”

“I was not given the choice. Your father made a promise which he refused to renege. The man was loyal until his last breath.”

“Andrew said that our father acted in good faith, that he believed he was serving Isabella’s best interests when he took her away.” The lies were falling easily now. For his own sanity, he needed to believe in the goodness of one of his parents.

His mother sat down in the chair. “I’m sure it will please you to know that your father cared for Isabella and would have done anything to see her happy. Hence the reason for the letter. Hence the reason I arranged for Lord Fernall to approach him.”

“But you could not have arranged anything with Lord Fernall. You knew nothing of our elopement until the day we left Kempston. There would not have been time.”

She sneered. “I was not blind, Tristan. I could see what she meant to you. I spoke to Lord Fernall months before as I knew it was only a matter of time before you did something foolish. Of course, I did not expect you to behave so recklessly. I thank the Lord your brother came to me after dinner that night else God only knows where you would be now.”

He would be happy, in love with his wife, a doting father to his children.

“The depth of your betrayal is sickening.”

“My betrayal?” she scoffed. “I am the victim of the worst kind of deceit.”

“What could possibly be worse than a mother betraying her son?”

“A husband betraying his wife,” she said bluntly.

Tristan jerked his head back. “You expect me to believe my father was capable of such treachery. Are there no depths to your cruel comments and vile accusations?”

“Why do you think your father agreed to take Isabella as his ward? He would have done anything for Vivien. I have lived in that woman’s shadow most of my life. Her death should have brought me some peace, but instead, it brought nothing but pain. I lost my husband. I refused to lose my son.”

Time stopped for a moment.

The trauma and heartache amounted to nothing more than a woman’s bitter jealousy?

Tristan dropped into the chair. “But by the very nature of your actions you have lost me anyway,” he whispered solemnly as he stared at a nondescript point beyond her shoulder. Could such a deep-rooted resentment cloud a person’s judgement to the point they felt justified in all wrongdoing? “So, what are you saying? Was Isabella’s mother my father’s mistress?”

“Of course not,” she blurted with a look of utter astonishment. “Your father was a gentleman, an upstanding member of society. He would never have degraded me in such a manner.”

Tristan shook his head which only served to aggravate the pounding in his temple. “Then I do not understand your issue.”

“Love, Tristan. Love. I had your father’s kindness and respect, but I did not have his love. Do you know what it feels like to love someone so deeply yet know that you will never experience the same level of devotion?”

“It is devastating,” he said remembering all the lonely nights when he questioned Isabella’s reasons for leaving him. “I think you forget that I have spent five years grieving for a love I thought lost to me. Your actions denied me all that you longed to have for yourself.”

Anger still simmered inside. All the pain and heartache had been for naught.

“What are five years compared to a lifetime?” she replied in a tone brimming with self-pity.

There was little point trying to rationalise with a woman whose crippled heart brimmed with nothing but resentment.

“I am going out.” He jumped to his feet. “You will write to Catherine and ask if you can come to Ripon. Leave the open letter on my desk as I cannot trust a word that falls from your mouth. Some time away may bring some clarity to your thoughts. The tedious carriage ride will give you time alone to consider if my father would have been so respectful to you had he been aware of your devious plot. Would any husband love a wife capable of such callous disregard for others?”

He stormed out of the room, resisted the urge to go back and demand an apology. The woman was so absorbed with herself she was oblivious to her own misdeed.

He was halfway along the hall before he heard her tottering behind him.

“Tristan! Tristan. Are you going to Brook Street? Does this mean you do not intend to offer for Miss Smythe?”