Always Proper, Suddenly Scandalous (Scandalous Seasons #3)(88)

He remained the same bloody coward he’d always been.

“You are strong and courageous,” Abigail said softly. She took his hands in hers, and held up their interlocked digits. “I admire your strength, Geoffrey.”

He didn’t deserve her high-praise, not when he wanted to turn and flee.

A knock sounded.

Geoffrey swallowed.

Abigail gave his hands a squeeze.

The door opened.

Abigail turned and greeted Mother and Sophie with a generous smile. She extended her arms and reached for his mother’s hands. His mother blinked. She still seemed shocked by Abigail’s outward displays of affection; affection that hadn’t erased Mother’s displeasure, but had seemed to lessen it.

Sophie, on the other hand…

She threw her arms around Abigail. “Oh, Abby! It is so very good to see you.”

Geoffrey nearly choked on the ball of guilt that clogged his throat. His sister would not feel such unabashed kindness when she learned the reason she’d been summoned here.

With the grace and poise of the most accomplished matrons, Abigail gestured to the seats. Abigail proceeded to pour tea as Mother and Sophie sat.

Sophie reached for a pastry on the tray of refreshments Cook had provided. Her hand hovered over Cook’s confectionaries, before she settled on a cherry tart. She took a bite. “Will you not sit, Geoffrey?” she asked after she’d swallowed.

“I…” He looked toward the door. He’d rather flee through the streets of London like a madman loose from Bedlam than have this discussion.

Abigail reached for his hand. Her delicate grip infused strength into his trembling frame and fueled his resolve.

“I need to speak to you,” he said quietly.

His mother sipped from her teacup, and from over the rim of the glass, looked at him curiously. “What is it, Geoffrey?”

“You are very serious,” his sister said, and set her pastry down upon a porcelain china plate. “Is everything all right, Geoffrey?”

“It is about Father.” He took a deep breath, and before his courage deserted him, told his mother and sister of the great shame he carried. He spoke of the sordid, ugliness of Emma’s betrayal, his father’s desperate pleading, and ultimately…Father’s death on that dark, lonely road.

When Geoffrey finished, he realized he gripped Abigail’s hand so tightly, her skin had turned white. He lightened his hold, and braced for the disgust, the hatred, the loathing upon his mother and sister’s face as they came to terms with the great crime Geoffrey had committed.

The tick-tock, tick-tock of the clock punctuated the silence, somehow more deafening than the blare of a pistol.

Sophie and his mother sat, unmoving, expressionless. His mother folded her hands upon her lap, and studied the interlocked digits for a long while.

What he expected? That they should so readily forgive him for the selfish act that had robbed Father of his life?

Sophie spoke first. “It is not your fault, Geoffrey,” she said quietly.

He closed his eyes. “It is.” Pained regret made his voice hoarse.

Mother drew in a jerky breath, and released it on a slow exhale. The teacup in her fingers rattled, and sloshed bits of tea over the side. She set it down quickly. “There never lived a more deceitful, horrid woman than Miss Marsh. And if you’d not defied your father’s wishes, then yes, he would surely be alive.” Her voice broke.

Guilt twisted inside him at the raw pain in his usual stoic mother’s eyes. He opened his mouth, but there were no words. He could never find any sufficient words to absolve him of his complicity or ease her suffering.

“Mother,” Sophie said sharply. She glowered at their mother and then turned her attention to Geoffrey. “It is certainly not your fault. You did not make that viper deceive you, and I know you believe yourself powerful but you cannot control the rain. Nor did you make Father ride out in that storm.” She offered him a sad, little smile. “I am so very sorry that…that woman broke your heart.” Sophie glanced over at Abigail. Her smile widened. “But if she hadn’t broken your heart then there would certainly be no Abigail, and that, well that would be sad, indeed.”

His mother continued to sit there, motionless. After a long while, she smoothed her palms along the front of her burgundy silk skirts. “I am incapable of lying to you, Geoffrey. I have missed your father every day since the moment h-he…” Her voice broke, and she coughed into her hand, in an apparent attempt to conceal any display of emotion. “Since the moment I learned of his accident,” she amended. “And I do wish you had made far different decisions so he’d not been on that road that miserable night.” Her gaze slid momentarily over to Abigail, then back to Geoffrey. “And loving Abigail as you do, I imagine if you lost her, then you would give anything to alter the events that led to her death. Do you understand what I am saying?”

Abigail gave his hand a firm squeeze, and he swallowed hard, borrowing strength from his wife. He well understood. His had been an empty, meaningless existence until Abigail. If someone’s carelessness caused Abigail her life, Geoffrey would never be able to find any hint of forgiveness within his heart—not even if it was an, as of yet, unborn child, responsible for taking her from him.

“I am not fool enough to believe I can be forgiven this irrevocable wrong, but you and Sophie were…are deserving of the truth.”