Page 120 of Not a Fine Gentleman

If only he could give her some comfort. But no, that path was closed to him.

After completing his errand—successfully, thank the powers that be—he stood in front of the Amesbury house. What would he say? It didn’t matter. He didn’t belong in her world, and he refused to drag her into his. Even if she accepted his meager offering, she would one day grow to become embarrassed by his lowly station, his inability to step into her world.

Not to mention, Grant was right; being a constable in London was for bachelors, not married men with families counting on them to come home whole and able to provide for and protect them. Even Birnie had said as much in his office on Bow Street.

Holding the one thing of Margaret’s he’d likely ever have in his hands, he knocked on the door.

Lord Tarrington’s butler recognized him. “Good evening, Mr. Jackson.”

“I have a delivery for Lady Margaret. Would you please see that she receives it?”

“Of course, sir.”

Connor thanked him and left before he risked seeing any of the Amesburys.

Walking home felt like walking through a tunnel that grew increasingly smaller. Soon he’d have nowhere to go. No options. No air. No life.

All those reasons not to love and marry Lady Margaret seemed meaningless.

But he did have an option. A horrible option. One that he’d rejected all of his life. It had seemed worse than scraping out a living. He refused to be beholden to that man. He must find another way or face a lifetime without Margaret.

With Mother gone and with the searing pain of losing Meg eating a hole through him, his loneliness had never been so keen. Perhaps, as Margaret had said, it was time to at least hear what his father had to say. After all, for better or worse, he was family. The only family Connor had.

Connor had returned or burned every letter his father had ever sent him—even the ones that arrived while he was away at war. Not even the desperate need for family and home had been enough to persuade him to read a word that man had sent. Connor had nursed his grudge long enough.

After returning home, Connor opened the top letter on the pile of Mother’s documents, the one with the broken seal belonging to the Earl of Arlington. Bold, masculine script flowed across the page, addressed to Mother.

Dear Aideen,

I appreciate your efforts on my behalf, but it seems Connor is determined to reject me regardless. Perhaps in time, he’ll allow me to meet with him. It might happen sooner if we both stop pushing. I can only pray that he will one day come around. I don’t expect or deserve his forgiveness, but I hope he will one day allow me into his life, even for only a few hours.

Enclosed is additional money. Please use it to seek a reputable physician. Notify me if you require more for proper treatment. I worry for you. Please know that you and Connor will always have a place in my heart.

I deeply regret all the mistakes I made in the past.

Be well.

Your humble servant

Arlington

The letter did not seem to come from the monster Connor had always imagined his father as being.

Intrigued, or perhaps merely morbidly curious, Connor reached for the stack of letters. Some were addressed to his mother. Others, according to an attached note, were letters his father had asked his mother to pass on to Connor when she felt the time would be right. Connor broke the seal on the first one. In those letters, a father’s love formed. Words of how proud he was that Connor was serving king and country, prayers for his safety for his own sake, and because no mother should suffer the pain of her only son dying, poured from the pages.

Mother penned the last letter, a mother’s words of love, and finally, a plea to make peace with his father, to give him a chance, and to forgive them both.

By the time Connor had finished reading, the room had grown so dark he could hardly see the paper.

Perhaps it was time to meet his father. If he didn’t do it now, he probably never would. Mother had wanted him to meet his father. Meg had expressed the same wishes.

Perhaps Mother and Meg were right; it was time to put his long-nursed animosity toward his father to rest. He didn’t wish to further disappoint the women he loved most.

Connor scribbled a note and marched through the streets to Mayfair, only a block away from Tarrington House where Meg lived with her family, another reminder of their different worlds. He presented himself to the awe-inspiring front door belonging to the Lord of Arlington. With nothing to lose, he boldly lifted the knocker and let it fall.

To the butler who answered the door with a dismissive lip curl, Connor said, “Please give this message to Lord Arlington. I’ll wait for an answer.” He held out his note.

The butler lifted his brow but managed to hold onto the composure so prized by men in his vocation. After a moment of consideration, he said, with a touch of barely-concealed disbelief, “Very well. Do you wish to come in?”