The door opened and Mrs. Brodie came in again. She looked sharply at the two of them. She must’ve heard their voices in the hall, but she didn’t say anything. She set her tray on a table at Lucy’s elbow and nodded. “Have a bite of that, Miss Lucy. It’ll make you feel better. I’ll have the fire laid in your old bedroom, shall I?” Without waiting for an answer, the housekeeper bustled out.
Lucy looked at the tray. There was a slice of cold meat pie, a bowl of stewed fruit, a bit of cheese, and some of Mrs. Brodie’s fresh bread. Her stomach rumbled. She’d declined supper at an inn on the way home, and she hadn’t known she was hungry until now. She picked up a fork.
“Then what is it?”
“Hmm?” Mouth full of tender pie, Lucy didn’t want to think about Simon, his danger, or their failed marriage. If she could just go to bed . . .
But Papa was stubborn when he wanted to be. “Why’d you leave the man if he wasn’t carrying on with soiled doves?”
“Duels.” Lucy swallowed. “Simon has killed four men already. In duels. He calls them out and then kills them, and I can’t take it anymore, Papa. He’s destroying himself slowly, even if he survives the encounters. He won’t listen to me, won’t stop, so I left him.” She looked down at her pie, oozing brown gravy, and suddenly felt nauseous.
“What for?”
“What?”
Papa scowled. “Why’s he killing these fellows? Don’t like your husband, never have and, make no bones about it, probably never will. But he doesn’t strike me as a loony. Popinjay, yes; loony, no.”
Lucy almost smiled. “He’s killing the men responsible for his brother, Ethan’s, death, and I know what you’re going to say, Papa, but however noble the reason, it’s still murder and a sin in the Bible. My conscience can’t abide it, and I don’t think Simon’s can either in the end.”
“Ha,” her father grumbled. “Glad to know I’m so easily read by my daughter.”
Lucy bit her lip. This wasn’t how she’d imagined coming home. Her head was beginning to pound, and apparently her father wanted an argument. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know. I know.” He waved away her apology. “You didn’t mean to insult your old pater. But the fact is you did. Think all men feel the same, do you, gel?”
“No, I—”
“’Cause we don’t.” Papa leaned forward and stabbed a finger at her nose to emphasize the point. “Don’t think killing for revenge is the thing at all. Seen too many men die for too little reason to condone it.”
Lucy bit her lip. Papa was right; she’d been too hasty in her judgment. “I’m sorry—”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t understand the man, though,” he said over her words. He sat back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.
Lucy flipped over the pie crust. The inside was rapidly congealing, white puddles of fat hardening on the surface of the gravy. She wrinkled her nose and set the plate aside. Her head had begun to pound in earnest now.
“Understand and even sympathize,” Papa suddenly said, making her jump. He popped up from his chair and began pacing. “Yes, sympathize with the man, damn him. Which is more than you do, my dear.”
Lucy stiffened. “I think I understand Simon’s reasons for dueling these men. And I can sympathize with the loss of a loved one.”
“But can you sympathize with the man? Eh?”
“I don’t quite see the difference.”
“Ha.” Papa stared at her a moment, his brows beetling.
She had the sinking feeling that she’d somehow let her father down. Sudden tears threatened. She was tired, so tired from traveling and the argument with Simon and all of the things that had happened before. Somewhere in the back of her mind she’d thought surely Papa of all people would take her part in this catastrophe.
Papa stalked to the window and looked out, although he couldn’t have seen anything but his reflection. “Your mother was the finest woman I ever knew.”
Lucy frowned. What?
“Was two and twenty when I met her—a very young lieutenant. She was a bonny lass, all dark curls and light brown eyes.” He turned and looked at her over his shoulder. “Same color as yours, poppet.”
“So I’ve been told,” she whispered. She still missed Mama—the soft voice, the laughter, and the steady light she’d been to her family. Lucy looked down, her eyes filling. It must be the fatigue.
“Mmph,” Papa grunted. “Could’ve had her pick of any of the gentlemen hereabouts. In fact, it was very close at one point with a dragoon captain.” He snorted. “Scarlet uniform. Always turned the ladies’ heads—and the bastard was taller.”
“But Mama chose you.”
“Aye, she chose me.” Papa shook his head slowly. “Could’ve knocked me over with a feather, I was that surprised. But we were wed and we settled down here.”
“And you lived happily ever after.” Lucy sighed. She’d heard the tale of her parents’ courtship and marriage many times before when she was a girl. It’d been a favorite bedtime story. Why couldn’t her own marriage—
“No, there you’re wrong.”
“What?” Lucy frowned. She couldn’t have understood Papa correctly. “What do you mean?”
“Life’s not like a fairy tale, my girl.” Papa turned fully around to face her. “In our fifth year of marriage, I came home from sea to find your mother had taken a lover.”
“A lover?” Lucy sat up straight in her amazement. Her mother had been kind and gentle and wonderful. Surely . . . “You must be wrong, Papa.”
“No.” He pursed his lips, frowning at his shoes. “She near threw the fact in my face.”
“But, but . . .” She tried to digest this information and failed completely. It was simply unbelievable. “Mama was good.”
“Yes. She was the finest woman I ever knew. Already said that.” Papa gazed down at the globe as if he were seeing something entirely different. “But I was away at sea for months at a time, and she had two small babies to take care of, all alone in this little village.” He shrugged. “She told me she was lonely. And mad at me.”
“What did you do?” Lucy whispered.
“Got angry. Stormed about, cursing a blue streak and yelling. You know me.” Papa spun the globe. “But in the end I forgave her.” He looked up. “Never regretted it either.”