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What he meant was, he’d be better off. With his daughter gone, he’d no longer have to suffer hearing rumors about her. He’d no longer suffer humiliation at her hand.
Again, the thought came.
Why had he never defended her to others?
The excuse of the rumors only growing was a pitiful one, at that. For what were rumors and falsehoods when the truth was shared? Even if the Mount hadn’t believed him, even if the rumors had grown, at least she would have felt the comfort in a father who’d defended her.
As August did.
Her footing stopped, her lips parting as the realization struck her with such force, she could no longer move.
August had defended her. She’d known this before, but seeing it so clearly propped up against Father’s cowardly silence, she could hardly bear it.
“Did ye forget somethin’?” Father asked, stopping as he shifted to face her.
Livvy couldn’t respond, her tongue bound as she blinked mutely.
“Livvy,” Father pressed. She looked up at him as his frown deepened. “We mustn’t miss the coach.”
The coach. Marazion. The Mount. All at once, the fog seemed to lift from her hazy mind, and clarity rushed forward. “I be sorry, Father, but I can’t leave the Mount.”
Father’s eyes shifted from confusion, to realization, to anger, all in a matter of seconds. “Ye can,” he stated. “And ye will.”
But Livvy shook her head. “No. No, I can’t leave.”
He sighed, taking a few steps forward, clearly encouraging her progression across the causeway. “Ye just be havin’ second thoughts. Once ye reach Nanstallon, ye’ll be ’appy. Ye’ll see.”
“No,” she said, and he stopped to face her again. “No, Father. I be ’appier on the Mount, just like I’ve always said.”
His nostrils flared. “And just as I’ve always said, ye don’t know yourself like I do. I saw it with your mother, the un’appiness she felt ’ere. I’ll not see ye experience the same.”
Livvy squeezed her eyes shut at the mention of her mother again, the unwarranted comparison. “I ain’t me mother.”
“No. But ye be your mother’s daugh’er.”
Had Livvy not been closing her eyes in that moment, she might have missed the slight derision in his tone, the hesitation in his words. But she hadn’t missed it. Not this time.
Slowly, she opened her eyes, looking at Father as the light around them shifted from blue to a soft purple.
Sure enough, the look in his eyes revealed exactly what she feared. “Father,” she said softly. “Ye ’eard ’er, didn’t ye?”
He looked away. “I don’t know what ye be talkin’ ’bout,” he said. “Come. Ye made a promise to me cousins and meself. Ye must leave the Mount.”
But Livvy could no longer hear him, her ears ringing. “Mother,” she said in a flat tone. “Ye listened to ’er the day she died. Ye ’eard what she said to me.”
He didn’t meet her gaze, but that was proof enough. As realization hit her once again, Livvy shook her head, attempting to contemplate all the revelation entailed. “All this time,” she breathed. “All this time, ye knew what she said to me, and ye ne’er said a word? Not a jot o’ comfort, not a whisper of encouragement?”
His jaw twitched, and he looked away. “Well, what did ye want me to say? I couldn’t deny ’er words. Nor could I confirm…” He hesitated. “Who ye really be.”
Her heart twisted, wringing out the tears she’d thought had dried from her eyes for good. All these years, Father had known the burden Livvy had carried, wondering if she was her father’s daughter, and he hadn’t said a word.
But then, that also meant that all these years, he had been unsure if she was his daughter or some other man’s he’d been tasked to raise on his own.
Her heart ached. For herself and for her father. “No wonder ye’ve always been embarrassed o’ me,” she whispered. “No wonder ye be wantin’ rid o’ me. ’Cause ye still don’t believe I be yours.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
“But [she] had in herself that which softens all difficulty, and beguiles all fatigue—an active mind, a strong sense of duty, and the habit of meeting and of overcoming adverse circumstances.”
