I was like him.
I sat straighter, toying with my napkin. “Why did you never send any letters?” I asked. “Or come back to see me?”
The room went silent except for the tick tick tick of the mantel clock.
His face shifted almost imperceptibly. He set down his steak knife. “I wish I could have, of course. But I can never return to England. There’s the small matter of a warrant for my arrest.”
“But it’s unfounded, isn’t it? You’re innocent of the things they accused you of.” My voice was harder than it should have been. Not exactly obedient. “Aren’t you?”
His fingers drummed on the wineglass. “It seems perhaps my daughter shares your questioning mind after all, Mr. Prince.” His voice was tightly controlled. He took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. “The last thing the justice system is, is just,” he said. A bitterness stained his eyes, but I realized it wasn’t my question that had him angry but the memory of false accusations. “My academic rivals schemed to slander me so they could steal my work. Unfortunately, they succeeded.”
“But if it’s not true—”
“It isn’t about truth, Juliet. It’s about what people want to believe.” He rubbed his brow. “You’re young. You haven’t experienced how unjust the world can be.” He sighed. “You’re upset I didn’t bring you with me. You’ve every right. I thought it was no life for a child, running, hiding out on an island a hundred miles from anything.”
He was right in that at least. It wasn’t a good life for a child. And yet he’d taken Montgomery.
Father leaned forward. He took my hand across the table. The hypnotist was gone, and he seemed only tired and old and lonely. “I was wrong, Juliet.” His long fingers consumed my small hands. “Now, what do you say to putting the past behind us?”
Puck hovered behind him, a dusty champagne bottle in his hands to celebrate our elegant meal. His scaly fingers unwrapped the foil, hesitating to pull the cork until I spoke. Father’s eyes crackled with the promise of a life together, of a family again.
Alice handed me a champagne flute. The rim was chipped. Like my soup bowl and my brandy glass and all the beautiful, expensive dishware. Everything had a chip or crack. Nothing here was perfect, but it still worked.
I met Father’s gaze and nodded. Behind him, Puck popped the cork.
AFTER SUPPER, A COMFORTABLE silence settled over the room. The ticking of the clock seemed not nearly so harsh, and I rather enjoyed the small reminder of civilization.
Father smoked a cigar as he used to do, his gaze settling on the dark night beyond the compound walls. “Yes,” he reflected, “it’s good to have you here. A father should know his daughter. I’m starting to not even mind you so much, Prince.”
Edward didn’t laugh.
Father sent a small cloud of rich, earthy smoke toward the high ceiling. “Why don’t you play us a tune on the piano?” he asked me. “It’s been a long time since we’ve heard proper music, though Balthazar attempts a melody every now and then.”
Montgomery looked up from the table where he’d been rubbing a crack in the surface, no doubt thinking of how to fix it. I remembered on the ship he’d said he wanted to hear me play again. My heartstrings tightened.
“Of course.” I stood, hoping I looked more confident than I felt. We all retired to the sitting area. Montgomery leaned against the doorjamb, keeping his distance. The piano bench beckoned, and I sat on it hesitantly, as if afraid it might bite. I hadn’t played in years, and I vaguely wondered if I could rescind my agreement until I’d had time to practice.
I played a C-major chord.
“It’s out of tune, I’m afraid,” I said.
“For the life of me, I can’t tell,” Montgomery said. I shot him a look over my shoulder. He wasn’t helping.
I ran my fingers lightly over the keys. They were worn, so unlike the perfectly crafted piano we’d had on Belgrave Square. I’d taken lessons every week from a piano tutor. Mother said I would one day play for suitors, then my husband, and then teach my own children. But after Father left, the piano was the first thing sold.