There's Something about Lady Mary by Sophie Barnes

Author:Sophie Barnes [Barnes, Sophie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-11-12T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

* * *

“Mind if I join you?” Ryan asked as he walked out onto the terrace. It had stopped raining, leaving the air fresh and the hydrangeas dripping wet.

Mary sighed. “I thought I knew him,” she murmured as Ryan stepped closer. “He was my father and my only parent for so many years. We never kept secrets from one another—at least, I did not think so. But as it turns out, everything about him was one big lie. I didn’t really know him at all.”

She squeezed her eyes shut to stifle the tears that were already threatening to trickle down her cheeks. Ryan offered her a handkerchief, but she shook her head and turned away. “I am sorry,” she said. “I must look a frightful mess.”

Ryan shrugged. “You look no worse than I did when Mama died.”

She nodded with understanding. “That must have been a terrible blow to your family.”

“It was, in a way. But in a sense it was also a relief; she suffered quite badly toward the end, you see. Alexandra was most affected by it, I suppose. Not only was she the youngest, but she was also there during Mama’s final moments. Papa’s reaction had a great impact on her. I must admit that I did shed a great deal of tears myself, but the pain does get easier to bear with time—even if it doesn’t feel that way right now.”

“You are right; it doesn’t feel that way at all. In fact, it rather feels as though a knot has been tied around my heart, squeezing it so tightly that it aches with pain.” She turned away from him and looked out over the drenched garden, the branches on both trees and bushes hanging limply under the strain of the newly fallen rain.

“You know,” Ryan told her softly, moving one step closer to her, “it is possible that, in spite of all the secrets he kept, you did know the real Lord Steepleton after all. I cannot help but think that every moment you spent with him was genuine. And the person that he truly was was the man that you knew him to be: an excellent surgeon who never gave a wit for his title or his fortune.”

“But why would he keep it from me? What right did he have to do that?” she sniffed, turning around to face him.

“Think about it, Mary,” he quietly urged her. “You have never told me about your mother. Was she from a wealthy family?”

“The truth is I scarcely remember her,” she told him. Her voice grew distant. “I was six when she died, and though I still recall the pain of losing her, I cannot seem to picture her face. But as far as I recollect, her father was a blacksmith in Stepney, where we lived.”

“It seems, then, that in order for them to marry, your father was forced to move down a few steps on the social ladder, because he knew it would be difficult for her to move up.

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