Free Society's Most Scandalous Viscount by Anabelle Bryant Page B

society where I uphold aristocratic mien and deportment. You’ll not bring ignominy to our doorstep.” He jabbed his walking stick into the slates for emphasis though his tone revealed all that was left unsaid. “I am your father. I will not be disobeyed twice. Your sister is better off gone.”
    â€œHow can you say such things—”
    â€œVery easily, dear. Helen was rebellious and given to a selfish, puerile nature. I’d prefer to explain her absence on occasion rather than support her unjustifiable promiscuous choices and her bastard child.”
    â€œYour grandchild.” However soft she spoke it, her father heard. And how he misjudged Helen’s strength and courage.
    â€œNo relation of mine.” His bitter tone expressed more than his tone and as Angelica watched, eyes wide from his response, he shifted his shoulders as if shaking off the burden of Helen’s existence.
    Angelica held her tongue, though her emotions prompted her to object to his high-handed dictates. A kinder man would consider his daughter’s happiness. Again she tamped her indignation. Her father harbored a depth of anger at Helen’s actions, an act Angelica had instigated. It served no purpose to show disobedience. Not until she could develop a plan of her own. “Yes, I understand.”
    â€œThere’s nothing left to discuss.” He moved toward the cottage. “I’ll not stay for the evening meal. With several hours of daylight remaining only a fool would waste the afternoon, and you’ll need the time to pray and make peace with this decision. I can see in your eyes you’re in disaccord, but your soul must be cleansed of all rebellion.”
    His words were cold and emotionless, and she wondered at his lack of dejection and desolation. Was he not interested in claiming information about his missing daughter? Or had he dismissed Helen as a lost cause, anxious to get on with things and disperse the inconvenient obligation of seeking her whereabouts? Her father was not an affectionate man and rarely offered an embrace or kiss on the cheek in greeting. Now he intended for her to accept a jolting proposition when she returned to London. How sad and peculiar that she longed for any show of kindness from him after knowing nothing of it all her life. She’d watched her sister deteriorate until she could do nothing but disappear. Angelica vowed she would not experience the same.
    â€œSafe travels then, Father. I will see you at the end of the week.” She needed to say the words aloud in further confirmation of their agreement. She clung to these last four days as a lifeline in an ocean of despair. In these last days she had control. All control. She would make her own decisions.
    â€œVery well.”
    He said no more and entered the cottage while she widened the distance between them, rushing to the far end of the property and through the garden gate. With no aim or focus, just desperation for distance and time, she moved as fast as her slippers could carry her. There was a copse of trees beyond the far edge of Grandmother’s property where a gathering of crack willow, ash, and tall oak cluttered the landscape and provided the perfect refuge. She’d need to hurry to reach their cover before her tears began to fall.
    Kellaway righted the lopsided targets he kept tacked to the pines at Black Down. The uninhabited acreage at the periphery of the Surrey border spanned a short distance to the beach and added another layer to the enjoyment of the area. Brighton offered coastline and forest, cliffs and plains. It comprised the perfect respite away from the clamorous bustle of London society and far removed from the tangle of problems left in his wake.
    Sheltered by tall pines, the oilcloth targets resisted the weather where he kept them nailed to tree trunks. An accumulation of precise shots perforated the center in a cluster of accuracy. He’d honed his skill to become