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“You have no excuse to think any better of me, I know,” he managed, looking more miserable than she had ever seen him. “And perhaps if I had better handled things with you after Aaron died, perhaps if I had been able to look past my pride to do what was right, we would not now be where we are. But I know now I was wrong, Meg, to refuse your marriage to someone you loved, and to cut you out of my life. And I’m so very sorry. Can you forgive me?”
It was not that he begged—something she had never seen him do—that brought the sob rising up in her throat. Nor was it the use of his childhood name for her, something she had not heard from him in nearly two decades. No, it was him calling Aaron by his name that finally made her see that he was sincere. Before this moment he had always been “Kitteridge” to her father, first said with unconcerned boredom, then with disdain, and finally with barely suppressed anger. But saying “Aaron” in that anguished way, a tone that spoke of regret, fairly broke her heart.
He must have seen how deeply she was affected, for he suddenly leaned forward. “Meg,” he said, his voice broken, “I can never undo the damage I’ve caused. But please, can we move forward? Can we try to rebuild what we’ve lost?”
She stared at him, torn between the anger that had burned bright inside her for so many years and the quieter part of her that remembered how much she had loved this man. Even now, after all he’d done, he was still her father.
She dragged in a deep breath, seeing him with new eyes. “Have you truly helped Mr. Kitteridge and his family?”
His gaze dropped from hers as a faint blush stained his cheeks. “He wasn’t to tell you that.”
A warmth started up in her chest, a healing of a wound that had long festered. She smiled, a small thing, and murmured, “I do believe the promise was to never write of it.”
He blinked, his gaze flying back to her. Then, an uncertain smile. “I suppose I should have expected the man to find a loophole. He’s a clever one.”
She leaned forward. “Tell me about it.”
He did, haltingly at first, how he’d known from nearly the moment she’d left with Aaron that he’d made a mistake. But pride had kept him stewing in his outrage. Until news of Aaron’s death had reached him. He had meant the trip to London to see her and tell her to return home as a kind of reconciliation, to let her know all was forgiven and he wanted her back. Another mistake, he soon realized.
When he’d learned of Mr. Kitteridge’s troubles he’d decided to step in, to help. He’d thought himself a great benefactor, forgiving and kind. But he soon learned with their weekly visits that the man had far more to give him, far more to provide and teach.
They could be just words, the more stubborn part of her brain argued. He had hurt her too much to allow her to trust him so quickly, so completely, no matter that the young girl she had been, and that was still somewhere deep inside her, wished to do so.
When Joan reappeared some hour or so later to check on them, however, with Wesley in tow, and Margery’s father held the child on his lap with an eagerness and ease that told of many such scenes, she began to believe that what he had told her, all he had claimed, was true. And so, a short while later when her father rose to leave, and he hesitatingly went to hug her, she stepped into his arms willingly.
He started in surprise. Then, heaving a deep sigh, he held her tighter. Their relationship was not fully healed; she wasn’t sure it could ever return to what it had been before her marriage. But it was a hopeful beginning, and for that she could only be grateful.
She stood at the door after he’d gone, watching his carriage as it made its way down Dewbury’s main thoroughfare. Suddenly a comforting presence stepped up behind her.
“Do you forgive me?”
She turned to face Mr. Kitteridge. “For inviting him here despite my declaration that I wouldn’t see him? For explicitly going against my wishes?” she asked archly, before ruining her stern affect by smiling. “I don’t like being manipulated in such a way. But I forgive you for it, as I know you had my best interests in mind.”
She sighed then, looking up at the sky. The sun was climbing toward its zenith, and the day was fast progressing. She’d best get going if she was to return to Seacliff by nightfall. She had a decision to make regarding a certain blackmail demand. And a certain duke who still inexplicably held her heart though she had tried her best to pry him from it.
He seemed to understand. “Time to leave then?”
“I’m afraid so,” she said, taking his arm as they made their way back inside the small house.
In short order Mr. Kitteridge fetched the carriage while she and Joan packed up what few things she had brought with her. Goodbyes were said, tears shed. And by the time the coach pulled up before the house she was ready—finally—to let go.
Joan and baby Wesley blew kisses from the door before heading back inside, leaving her alone with Mr. Kitteridge.
“I’m glad you came,” he said.
“I am as well,” she agreed quietly. “But I’ll return soon, and promise to write often.”
“And you’ll be welcome anytime,” he pronounced. Then he frowned. “But you can’t be worrying about the likes of me. You need to look to yourself now, start a family of your own.” At her stricken look he smiled. “You think I didn’t notice your half-mourning? Or that ring still tight on your finger? But you need to live your life now, my girl.”
“I am living my life,” she said through stiff lips, though even to her ears the words lacked conviction.
He raised an eyebrow, an expression that said she was fooling herself but couldn’t fool him. It was an expression she had often seen on Aaron’s face, and it made her heart lurch in her chest.
“You’ve got one of the biggest, kindest hearts I know,” he said. “And I can see there’s a sadness to you that has nothing to do with my boy being gone. But Aaron wouldn’t have wanted you to waste your life away. Go and be happy, my girl.” He patted her hand. Then, letting her go, he stepped back.
For a moment Margery felt unmoored, lost. But then she looked at Mr. Kitteridge’s smiling face, at the certainty that shined from his eyes, and knew in a moment she wasn’t lost. Rather, she had been set free.
Chapter 23
