Chapter 24 - A Father's False Love

The dining room fell silent after Clara's departure. I sat alone at the head of the table, her parting words still hanging in the air. The momentary satisfaction I'd felt from standing up to her had dimmed, replaced by an uneasy foreboding.

My thoughts scattered when the door swung open again. Baron Reginald Beaumont – my father – entered with Lady Beatrix close behind him. His eyes immediately fixed on where I sat.

"Isabella," he said, his voice tight. "What are you doing in your mother's chair?"

I met his gaze steadily. "Sitting."

Lady Beatrix made a scandalized noise. "Such impertinence! Reginald, you must—"

"It's my last night here," I interrupted. "One dinner in my mother's place seemed appropriate."

My father's jaw tightened. He glanced between me and the chair as if debating whether this battle was worth fighting.

"Lady Beatrix should sit there," he finally said. "She is the lady of this house."

I turned to my stepmother with exaggerated politeness. "Would you like this seat, Lady Beatrix?"

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. We both knew she wouldn't take it – not after I'd "contaminated" it. Just as I expected, she sniffed disdainfully.

"I prefer my usual place," she said, moving to her regular seat.

My father seemed caught, unable to force the issue without making his wife change places. He finally sighed and took his own chair at the opposite end.

"Very well, but just for tonight," he muttered.

Clara returned, pausing briefly when she saw our father had conceded the seating arrangement. She slid into her place without comment, though her eyes burned with resentment.

Jasper appeared with a tray of food, serving me first since I sat at the head of the table. The old butler's hands shook slightly, but he managed a small, supportive smile as he placed the plate before me.

"Thank you, Jasper," I said warmly.

Clara's lips curled. "My, how things change overnight. Serving the masked freak first now, are we, Jasper?"

"Clara," my father warned halfheartedly.

"What?" She feigned innocence. "I'm simply congratulating my dear sister on her sudden elevation to lady of the house. All it took was marrying a man as monstrous as herself."

I cut into my meat with deliberate calm. "Better a monster who acknowledges what he is than those who hide their cruelty behind smiles."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the table. Jasper hurried to serve everyone else and retreated to the kitchen.

My father cleared his throat. "So, Isabella, how was your day? I understand Kate helped you with packing."

The attempt at normal conversation was so jarring, so false, that I nearly laughed.

"Let's not do this," I said, setting down my fork. "Let's not pretend you care about my day or that Kate was helping me out of kindness rather than your orders to monitor me."

"I was merely—"

"Making conversation? After twenty-one years of barely speaking to me except to criticize? I'd prefer silence."

Clara smirked. "For once, I agree with Isabella. Let's not pretend this is a normal family dinner. We all know she was never truly part of this family."

"That's enough," my father said, his voice sharper now.

"Is it?" I asked. "Clara's right about one thing – I was never treated as family here. Not after my face was scarred."

"That's not true," my father protested. "I've always loved you, Isabella. I sheltered you for years."

The words hit me like a physical blow – not because they hurt, but because they were so blatantly false. Years of suppressed rage bubbled to the surface.

"You sheltered me?" My voice was deadly quiet. "Is that what you call locking me away? Forcing me to wear a mask? Allowing your new wife and daughter to torment me daily?"

"You don't understand—"

"I understand perfectly," I cut him off. "You sheltered me to protect your reputation, not out of love. You were the first to look at me with disgust after Clara scarred me. You were the first to call me cursed."

My father's face paled. "That's not how it happened."

"Isn't it? I was seven years old, bleeding and crying, and you couldn't even bear to touch me. You turned away and told the servants to 'deal with it.' Do you remember what you said when the doctor suggested I might not survive the infection? 'Perhaps it's for the best.'"

Lady Beatrix gasped. "Reginald!"

He shook his head frantically. "I never said such a thing."

"You did. I was conscious, despite what everyone thought. I heard everything." I leaned forward. "You encouraged the rumors that I was cursed. It was easier than admitting your precious Clara had deliberately harmed me."

Clara's smug expression faltered slightly.

"You're twisting things," my father insisted. "I kept you safe. I provided for you when many would have sent you away."

"You kept me hidden," I corrected. "There's a difference. And you did it to protect yourself, not me."

He slammed his hand on the table. "Ungrateful child! After everything I've done—"

"What exactly have you done?" I asked. "Name one act of fatherly love you've shown me since my mother died."

His mouth opened, then closed. His eyes darted around as if searching the room for answers.

"I... I allowed you to remain here, in your home."

"My prison, you mean."

Lady Beatrix interjected, her voice cold and precise. "You should be grateful, Isabella. Your father's duty to you ended when you became a woman. He could have married you off to anyone or sent you to a convent. Instead, he allowed you to stay under his roof, eating his food, wearing clothes he paid for."

I turned to her slowly. "His food? His clothes? Are you quite certain about that, Lady Beatrix?"

Her expression flickered with uncertainty.

"Tell me, Father," I said, turning back to him. "Is that why you kept me here all these years? Because you needed access to my inheritance?"

The color drained from my father's face.

"Don't look so shocked," I continued. "Did you think I didn't know? My mother left me a substantial fortune in trust. Money you couldn't legally touch, but could borrow against as my guardian. Money that was supposed to be transferred to me upon marriage."

Clara's eyes widened, darting between me and our father.

"That's preposterous," my father sputtered, but his voice had lost its conviction.

"Is it? The Duke's solicitor found it quite interesting when he reviewed the trust documents. He was particularly curious about how you've been managing those funds. Tell me, how much is left of my inheritance after all your 'borrowing'?"

Lady Beatrix's hand flew to her throat. "Reginald, what is she talking about?"

I smiled thinly. "Oh, didn't he tell you? My mother didn't trust him with her money. She knew exactly what kind of man she'd married." I turned back to my father. "And now, so do I."

My father's hands trembled. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't I? Then you won't mind explaining to the Duke's solicitors exactly how you've spent my trust fund over the years. I'm sure you have meticulous records."

The panic in his eyes confirmed everything.

"You ungrateful little—" He caught himself, forcing his features into a mask of paternal concern. "Isabella, there have been... necessary expenses in managing the estate. Your mother wouldn't have wanted you to live in poverty."

"No, she wouldn't have. That's why she left me well provided for. But you've been bleeding my trust dry for years, haven't you? Funding your gambling debts. Paying for Clara's lavish wardrobe and Lady Beatrix's jewelry."

Clara's head snapped toward our father. "Is this true? Has she had money all this time?"

The betrayal in her voice was almost comical. Ever the favored daughter, she couldn't fathom that she'd been living off my inheritance rather than our father's nonexistent fortune.

Lady Beatrix stood abruptly. "This is absurd! Reginald, tell her she's mistaken."

My father's silence was damning.

"How much is left?" I asked again, my voice dangerously soft.

He swallowed hard. "Isabella, you must understand—"

"How. Much."

"Enough," he muttered. "There's... enough."

"Enough for what? To cover what you've already spent? Because I know you've borrowed against future access as well."

Lady Beatrix sank back into her chair, her face ashen. "You promised me we were secure."

"We are," he insisted desperately. "Once Isabella's marriage is finalized—"

"You thought you'd get a final payment," I finished for him. "That's why you were so eager for me to marry the Duke. Not because you cared about my future, but because you needed one last withdrawal before the trust transfers to my control."

Clara laughed suddenly, the sound brittle and harsh. "Oh, this is rich. All these years, you've had me tormenting a wealthy heiress. No wonder you never stopped me – you needed her broken and compliant."

My father glared at her. "Be quiet, Clara."

"Why should I?" she snapped. "You've used us both. Her for her money, me as your weapon against her."

For once, Clara had spoken the truth. The realization seemed to dawn on her as well, her eyes widening with something that might have been genuine emotion.

"Well," Lady Beatrix said, collecting herself. "This changes nothing. The Duke has married you. The matter is settled."

"Is it?" I asked softly. "The Duke's solicitors have been reviewing all transactions related to my trust. Every withdrawal, every loan, every 'investment' you've made with my money." I stood slowly. "And tomorrow, they'll be here to discuss their findings with you."

My father's face had gone from pale to gray.

"You wouldn't dare," he whispered. "I'm your father."

"No," I said, placing my napkin beside my untouched plate. "You're a man who fathered me. There's a difference."

I moved toward the door, then paused and turned back. "Oh, and Father? The Duke's men will be managing the recovery of what you've taken. I expect they'll be quite thorough."

As I left the dining room, I heard Lady Beatrix's shrill voice rising in panic, my father's desperate attempts to calm her, and Clara's bitter laughter cutting through it all.

For the first time in years, I felt truly free. Tomorrow I would leave this house forever – not as the cursed, masked daughter, but as Isabella Thorne, Duchess of Blackwood.

And my father would finally face the consequences of his false love.