Once Upon a Scandal. Delilah Marvelle
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cousin, silently reminding him that he shouldn’t rile her father. “This isn’t about you, Grayson, or what you find appetizing. This is about ensuring Papa’s health and comfort.”
Grayson’s mouth thinned. “He wasn’t like this when I last saw him. He has become delusional. This cannot be good.”
She pinched her lips together, refusing to admit to him or herself that her father was fading.
“Delusional?” The earl dragged his chair closer to the table, his gaze flickering toward Grayson. “I do beg your pardon, but I am not delusional. I remember quite a bit. Especially about you, Grayson. Why, you just returned from Venice all but two days ago, did you not?”
“No. It was four months ago, Uncle.”
“Ah. But I remember you being there. Yes. Once I am well again, you and I will charter a ship and visit those fops. There is someone there I have been meaning to call upon.” The earl nodded. He paused, his silvery brows coming together. “Though I cannot remember who. Who is it, Grayson? I think you know him. Was he not your friend? A good friend, at that?”
Grayson winced and occupied himself by staring at the contents of his plate.
Victoria drew in a shaky breath and let it out. Even after five years, Grayson was still ridden with guilt, as well he should be. Because she knew full well who it was he’d been visiting in Venice all these years, although he’d never once had the decency to admit it.
The earl turned his squinting gaze to her and patted the edge of the table with a bandaged hand. “My dearest Camille—perhaps you can travel to Venice with us.”
Grayson, who’d been nudging his peacock with a fork the whole time, sighed and threw down his silver with a tinkering clatter. Bracing his hands against the table, he slowly rose. “Uncle, she is not Camille. She is your daughter. Victoria.”
“Grayson!” Victoria exclaimed, her heart pounding.
“You cannot hide reality from him. ‘Tis wrong.” Grayson returned his gaze to the earl and said softly, “Uncle. Surely you remember your daughter. How is it you remember me, Venice and my friend, yet not your daughter?”
Victoria gasped and jumped to her feet, whipping the napkin onto the table. “How dare you? Do you not understand that he panics when his version of reality is challenged? I have been dealing with it all week. All week!”
Her father slammed a hard fist onto the dining table, shaking every plate, glass and piece of silver set on it. His graying blond hair tumbled down onto his forehead. “I would bloody remember if I had a daughter. ‘Tis you who is delusional, Grayson. You!”
Victoria drew in a ragged breath, desperately willing herself not to cry. It was unbearable to see her father like this. He truly was lost in his head.
Grayson fell back into his chair, eyeing her. He shifted and glanced toward her father, offering in a soft tone, “Forgive me, Uncle. I have had too much sherry. We should all eat. I hear peacock is excellent for one’s health.”
Victoria swallowed and seated herself again. At least her dear cousin still had a heart.
Grayson lowered his gaze to his meal. Grabbing his fork, he pierced the peacock on his plate and placed a piece of its white meat into his mouth. He chewed and then paused, his features twisting. Leaning toward his plate, he spit it out and glared at her. “Gut me. Have you tried this? It tastes like burnt piss.”
Her entire family was about as refined as gnomes. It didn’t help she was the only female left in the family to oversee this deranged chaos. “I understand peacock isn’t the most savory of meats, Grayson, but there are physicians who insist it may prolong his life.” She leaned toward the table. “And who knows, it may prolong yours. Now set an example and eat it.” Victoria eyed her father, who had yet to unfold his napkin. She reached out and patted his side of the table. “You really must eat. Eat.”
Grayson blew out a breath and eyed her from across the table. “So. Camille. Assure me, despite all of this, you still intend to meet your suitors and wed. My father has been extremely worried, and rightfully so, about whether or not you will oversee your obligations. Your inheritance depends on it.”
Victoria kept her hand from jumping to a plate and throwing it at his head. As if she wanted to think about men and marriage! “I have repeatedly assured you and your father of my compliance. There is no need to be crass. We will discuss this at a later time.”
The earl blinked and fully turned toward her, shifting in his seat. “Are you getting married, my dear?”
She swallowed. “Yes.”
He grinned and clapped in approval. “I will have to send a missive to your mother in France at once. She will be quite pleased to hear it. She was convinced you would forever be a devoted spinster.”
She winced, not even wanting to know who her mother in France was, and pushed herself away from the table. How was she to rationally explain anything to him anymore? It was an involved game she wasn’t mentally prepared to play. She didn’t want to argue over what was real and what wasn’t. Because it didn’t matter. Not to her.
Grayson rose from his seat, as well. “I think it best he be placed into better care at once. My father would be more than willing to—”
“Damn you, Grayson!” The earl hit the table with his fist again, causing everything on the table to chime and rattle. “Cease discussing me as if I were not even here.”
Grayson stared at Victoria in exasperation before pleadingly whispering, “You cannot continue to live like this. I will not allow it. Nor will my father once I inform him of how much my uncle has deteriorated within a short week.”
Victoria blinked back tears. “I have the best physicians calling upon him daily and every servant at my disposal. Surely you do not mean to separate us.”
Grayson’s expression stilled. “No amount of love is going to save him. You have upcoming duties. He won’t be able to remain at your side after you marry.”
Tears blinded her, but she refused to give in to them. She was trying so desperately to be a good daughter by submitting to the familial duty that her father had asked of her before he lost the last of his rational mind. Although she was being forced to marry a man she knew she would never love, she certainly wouldn’t be the first woman to do so. Nor the last. It was the least she could do to honor her father. But despite what Grayson thought, she was not abandoning her father, either.
She fisted her hands in an effort to prevent them from shaking. “I know I cannot save him, Grayson. But I can make whatever time I have left with him memorable. And I will. Whatever husband I take, I will expect him to open his life and his home to me and my father. Otherwise, I will not marry. For I cannot and will not abandon him.”
Grayson swiped his face with a hand. “No man will agree, given his illness. Vile whispers about his state are already flitting across London.”
She narrowed her gaze. “London has never been known for mercy, has it? And if there is no man willing to take mercy upon what I hold dear, then I will not marry at all.”
“Enough, enough of this nonsense!” The earl slammed his bandaged hand against the table. “You will marry whoever will have you, Camille. Your mother wants it so.”
Her cousin groaned and fell back against the chair, raking a hand through his hair. “I need brandy. Lots of it.”
Victoria couldn’t help but share Grayson’s sentiment.
The earl smoothed his wine-stained cravat against his throat and, with pursed lips, marched over toward her side of the table, his gait faltering. He paused beside her, intently looking her in the eye.
She sucked in a breath and braced herself for whatever outrageous thing he was going to say next.
Her father leaned in and patted her cheek assuredly.