Page 88

“Perhaps you should ask yourself why you are so angry about such a simple action. Why does my following you anger you so much?”

“You—You—” Edwin paused as he considered her words just for a brief moment.

Truly, why was he so angered by her actions? In truth, Ava’s only crime was being so curious.

“Did you follow me right from home?” he asked in a lower voice.

“Why would I follow you from home?” She looked rather offended by his question. “Stella and I were shopping for her wedding dress when I saw you walk up to that house.”

Edwin nodded. She had only been curious.

Then why do I still feel this anger coursing through my body?

Of course, he knew why. He was angry with himself for letting her see him in such a state.

He took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. He knew Ava had done nothing wrong. And yet he could not let it go. She had just watched him get slapped. He just felt so humiliated.

Ava could never see me as anything but a pitiable man. After all, she has seen me at my lowest.

Ava seemed to have sensed that his anger had simmered down because she approached him—cautiously, of course.

“You are not truly angry with me, are you?” she murmured.

A look at her pleading eyes and his anger evaporated.

He shook his head. “No, I am not mad at you,” he sighed. “I am angry because that woman is my mother.”

Ava’s eyes widened in shock, and she staggered backward just a little before she righted herself.

“Your mother!” she repeated.

From the horrified look on her face, Edwin might as well have told her that he was an axe murderer.

He nodded.

“You have a mother?”

As strange as it might seem, I was not dropped from the sky.

“Yes, I have a mother, and she is alive,” he replied. “And you just met her,” he added after a pause.

“But she… She…” Ava lifted her palm to her face to demonstrate.

Edwin nodded once again. “Indeed, she slapped me.”

“Why?”

Edwin sighed in exasperation. He understood why Ava was so surprised and curious. After all, it was quite uncommon to see a mother slap her son with such venom and vitriol.

“It is a rather long story,” he warned, half-hoping that this would somehow discourage her from probing further.

Alas, he was not so lucky.

“I am willing to listen.”

“Then we must sit down,” he said resignedly. He went and sat down on her bed. “That woman you saw is Margaret Crawford.She is the Dowager Duchess of Gillingham, and as much as I hate to say it, she is my mother.”

Ava nodded, her eyes still wide with disbelief.