Chapter Twenty-Eight

 

Holden followed his father through the foyer and out onto the portico. How could the man have been so cruel? Lady Prescott had clearly gone to much trouble obtaining proof that her dead husband had existed, and yet his father was still not satisfied.

“Let that serve as a lesson,” his father snapped.

“And what lesson is that?” Holden demanded.

His father laughed. “That few women know little about what they say.”

Holden grasped his father’s arm, ignoring the glare the man gave him. “They provided proof!” he said. “I do not see why you still disapprove.”

“That Prescott woman is exactly like Lady Lambert,” his father growled. “A woman of great wealth who has remained alone despite her young age. Oh, yes, I know she was once married to a baron, but this Michael Skylark? There is no telling who the man truly was. And as for Lady Lambert, she has a few dark secrets, to be sure. No woman remains alone by choice, not one as beautiful as she. They are trouble, my son, all three of them, and you will be better off looking elsewhere for a bride.”

The man turned and continued toward the carriage, and an image came to Holden’s mind, a memory from his childhood of his father always walking away from him, angry and displeased with anything Holden had done.

Yet, as his father turned back to glance over his shoulder, Holden understood something else. Nothing Holden ever did would please this man, and he would live a life of misery trying to do so.

“Come now,” his father barked. “We have wasted enough time on this nonsense. I have business to attend to.”

Holden approached the carriage, taking steps he knew he had to take. “Before we leave, I must ask you something.”

“Well, get on with it. I am in a hurry.”

“I remember a time when I struggled to complete a mathematics lesson, and you said you were disappointed. You said you thought I was as ignorant as the servants. Do you remember?”

His father gave him an impatient glare. “What of it? I did it to push you, to make you see you could do better.”

Holden shook his head. “All my life, I have disappointed you, and I no longer wish to do so.”

“Good,” his father said. “Then we are in agreement that Miss Skylark is best left behind. Now, let us go.”

“No,” Holden said in a firm tone he had never used with his father before. “I wish to ask you another question. If you were to see the headstone belonging to Rose’s father, and if the man rose from the grave and told you the story of his life, would you then be satisfied?” Anger burned in Holden, and he did not allow his father to respond. “Be honest with me. Did you not believe that my marrying Rose would give you a way into the coffers of Scarlett Hall? The only reason you now refuse is because you learned she truly has no claim on even a farthing of the riches Scarlett Hall possesses! Admit it!”

“If it was my plan, it should make no difference to you. And I would be careful of your next words, boy,” his father said, spittle flying from his lips.

“Or what?” Holden demanded. “You will tell me how much of a disappointment I am to you? That I have failed you yet again?” He had to draw in a great breath to continue. “Perhaps I am, and for a time I admit I was. But then I met Rose and all that changed. Do you know what I became?”

His father responded with a glower.

“I became what I was before Mother died,” Holden replied. “There was a time when we were happy. Yes, you were strict, but you cared about me. I cannot imagine what it is like to lose a wife, but I know how it feels to lose someone you love. If I leave today, I will experience yet another loss—Rose—and my heart will never be healed. The truth is you will never be happy.”

His voice rose with every word, until he was shouting, his anger was so great. “Regardless of my decisions today, tomorrow, or all days in the future, you will be displeased until you realize that happiness does not come from documents nor from the amount of money noted in a business ledger. Or from the coffers of Scarlett Hall. Perhaps one day you will realize that contentment comes from within. Rose taught me that, and it is one of the many reasons I love her.”

During Holden’s speech, the features on his father’s face changed. Now he stared past the stables, sadness in his eyes.

“When your mother died, my world was taken from me. I became stricter with you because I feared that if I died, you would have nothing.”

“The wealth we acquire is but a portion of what a man needs,” Holden said. “You know this, for you loved Mother as I love Rose. Do not take that from me. You know the pain that comes from loss.”

His father drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Perhaps I have been so consumed with finding a man’s past that I ignored my own. You are right, my son. I did change after your mother’s death. And like you, I believe there is a better way.” He clasped Holden on the shoulder. “Despite my words to the contrary, you have never been a disappointment. It was I who failed, and I see that now. Forgive me.”

“All is forgiven,” Holden said.

His father dropped his arm, looked back at Scarlett Hall, and sighed. “I suppose we should return to your fiancée,” he said, and for the first time in many years, Holden looked at his father and smiled, truly smiled. And much to his happiness, the man readily returned it.

***

Rose had stopped sobbing, although tears still filled her eyes. Her heart was left broken and bruised.

“Another man, one who is worthy of your love, will find you,” her mother counseled. “I know you hurt now, but it will ease in time.”

Rose nodded; however, she doubted rather highly that she would ever find another man to love. She had fought too hard, come too far, to experience this loss. Why had life been so cruel to her?

The prize of having Holden in her life had been what had kept her from going mad when she learned the truth about her father. It was what had helped her through hearing what Charles Lambert had done to her mother. And now, Holden was gone.

“Lord Bradshaw,” her mother gasped, and Rose looked up to see the baron standing in the doorway to the drawing room.

No longer did he stand glaring in defiance. Now he seemed subdued somehow, a stark contrast from the man who had stormed from the room earlier.

“I am here to apologize for my actions and words,” he said. “After much consideration and wise counsel from my son, I will see that the reading of the banns will commence this Sunday.” He turned and bowed to Rose. “My son wishes to speak to you, Miss Skylark. He is waiting on the portico out front.”

Rose did not wait to see if the man was jesting. She rushed past him and down the hall to the foyer, tears flowing down her cheeks. She threw open the door to find Holden standing there, his arms opened wide, and she threw herself into them.

“Can it be true?” she sobbed. “Tell me this is not a dream.”

“My father has come to understand what I need,” Holden said as he wiped tears from her face. “And that is you. I love you, Rose Skylark, and you are who I need. The woman who has my heart and the lady I wish to be my wife.”

Rose drew in a heavy breath and glanced behind her. She should keep her secret, but if the truth ever were revealed, would he still love her? “About my father…”

He placed a finger to her lips. “You have presented all the proof needed. I do not care if he was a duke or a man who swept the chimneys. Even if your mother had been unable to provide the documents that proved she and your father were married, I would never stop loving you. Nothing else matters. I want nothing more than to spend my life with you.”

He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. Their kiss was passionate and full of hunger and love. It was the love shared by a woman raised only by a loving mother and a man who had spent his days doing everything to please his father. Each in his or her own way had been lost and now they were found. Found in the arms of one another.

As the kiss broke, Rose sighed against his chest. The worry, the fear that had once consumed her, was now gone, and she smiled as she looked up at Holden. “If I may dare say,” she said with a giggle, “you are a handsome man, Lord Bradshaw.”

And you, Miss Skylark,” he said with a wink, “the most daring of women, are indeed beautiful.”