Verity and the Forbidden Suitor (The Dubells #2) Read Online J.J. McAvoy

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Forbidden, Historical Fiction Tags Authors: Series: The Dubells Series by J.J. McAvoy
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Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 116547 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
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“Did he break his promise?”

“No…it was my mother who did not meet him.”

“What?” That did not make sense. “Why would she fail to meet him? She loved him, did she not?”

“Deeply, but she also loved her brother, my uncle. My father was betrothed to Lady Charlotte Griffinham, and their family was adamant he would marry her. So much so, they threatened my mother with her brother. One day, when my uncle crawled back home beaten to within an inch of his life, she broke the engagement without telling my father why.”

“Wait. They attacked her brother? Your uncle?” Did such things truly happen?

“And instead of invoking further scandal, my mother lied to my father, saying she wished not to marry but to dedicate her life to her patients. She refused to speak to him, and he returned to his family heartbroken. She was not aware she was pregnant till later. She suffered melancholy before my birth and even more so afterward, but no one noticed, as she smiled regardless. She did her best to care for me despite the abuse she received from others until one day…” He became very quiet, his eyes no longer on me. It was as if he had turned to stone.

“Theodore?”

Blinking, he glanced at me as if only just then remembering I was here. “Forgive me. I have not spoken of this in many years.”

“No, it is fine. You have already shared so much.”

“None of that matters if I do not tell you how she died,” he whispered. “No matter what happened, my mother would always smile at me. She always told me she was fine. It was the last thing she told me before she put me to bed, went to her room, drank hemlock, and never woke up again. I was the first to find her.”

My hands covered my mouth to keep the shock down. “Theodore, I am so sorry.”

“It has been twenty years, and there are times I still have nightmares of that day. Times when I wonder if I had seen she was not all right.”

“You were a child. You had no control over what could have happened.”

“So were you,” he reminded me gently, and my shoulders slumped. “We can tell ourselves it is not our fault over and over again, but that does not always work, does it?”

“It does not.” I knew that all too well. “What of your father?”

“My father, upon hearing the news of my mother, broke down in grief, grief that plagues him to this very day I am told. And I cannot bring myself to be around him. I have not seen him in many years,” he answered.

“You were not raised with him? Or did your stepmother not allow it?” I asked. “I, too, have an illegitimate brother. His name is Fitzwilliam, and after my mother’s death, he came to live on the estate, though I rarely saw him. He and Evander cannot stand being in the same room for more than a minute without coming to blows.”

“I have heard rumors of your family, but I try not to listen. I try not to follow the lives or families of other illegitimate children. I fear I’d end up comparing my life with theirs, good and bad. In my case, my father wished to raise me on the estate. However, I refused to go.”

“Why? People always seem to be dreaming of life on a grand estate.” Little did they know of the pains within.

“After my mother passed, I realized very quickly that home was not a place; it was people,” he said very softly. “If I did not like the people, I would not stay. As I grew older, I found no place ever felt like home to me, not even my grandfather’s, as they, too, suffered from the loss of her. My uncle’s pain and anger over the years has caused him to hate those in high society. In all their faces he sees the same people who attacked him, who caused his sister’s death. I thought faith would help him. But it has not. So I could not bear to stay in my grandfather’s house. However, I refused to live with my father as I…I am angry at him even still.”

“As one who understands anger toward fathers, can I say that so far, I do not think yours the worst?” I said gently. “Mine…I do not believe he ever wanted me. And I do not know why. In all my memories, he is cross with me. Annoyed that I exist at all. I used to think it was because I killed my mother—”

“You did not kill your mother,” he snapped at me. “Some sickness or ailment hindered her birthing and that killed her. You are blameless.”

“Nevertheless, that is what I thought. Do you know that my family home here in London is where I was born? So, it is where she passed as well. I realized my father cared for neither her nor I when Evander once had to remind him of this fact. He cared so little he did not even wish to remember that. Therefore, hearing that your father at least sought your attention…makes him far better than mine.”



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