by Rose Pearson
The Duke frowned, his eyes narrowing. “I did not ask you to stay, Miss Edgington,” he said again, his voice filled with warning. “I have much to do and –”
“And you cannot give your daughter more than a moment of your time, not even when she has brought you such a gift as this?” She gestured towards the vase of flowers on the window, her anger burning hot again. “That child spent an hour this afternoon choosing the flowers and the colors she thought you would most appreciate. The hope in her heart came from the belief that you would be glad of her gift, that you would show her some consideration, but instead, you railed at her and prevented her from presenting you with the gift she had chosen.” Her voice was rising steadily now, her hands curling into fists as she took a few steps closer to the Duke. “All Mary wanted was for you to be grateful, to show her some appreciation, some love….” She shook her head. “And yet, you did precisely the opposite and her spirit was quite broken.”
The Duke cleared his throat and looked away, his face infusing with color.
“Your daughter spoke to me this afternoon and stated that she believes you dislike them both entirely,” Jenny continued, refusing to keep a single thing back from the Duke. “She believes that you are deliberately avoiding their company for the simple reason that you are not inclined to even like them. I have done my best to assuage her of such a thought but it has not been easy, especially when John believes it to be true also.”
“John?”
The Duke’s eyes swung back towards Jenny, doubt filling his voice.
“He believes you are still angry with him for his past behavior,” Jenny told him, bluntly. “And you have done nothing to chase that idea from his mind, Your Grace.”
“Mayhap I am.”
She frowned at him. “What do you mean?”
“Mayhap I am still gravely angry with what he has done,” Lord Carrington replied, somewhat dismissively. “What say you to that, Miss Edgington?”
It felt as though he were goading her and it was all Jenny could do to keep her countenance. Such was her anger that she was forced to hold back her response until she was able to answer him without harshness or expulsion of words.
“If that were the case,” she began, stiffly, her breathing hard. “Then I would hope you would then be obliged to see that treating your son in such a manner is entirely wrong. If you have something to speak to him about, then do so. Do not remain afar from him simply because you are displeased. That does no good whatsoever.” Planting her hands on her hips, she lifted her chin, her eyes flashing. “But I do not believe that you are speaking truthfully to me, Your Grace. I believe that you are using it as an excuse.”
“An excuse?” The Duke thumped the table hard with his fist, making her jump, but Jenny did not lose her focus. “Good gracious, Miss Edgington, will you never learn to speak to me with respect?”
She could not help but let a harsh laugh rip from her. “I hardly think that I should fear you, Your Grace. Not when it is for your children’s sake that I speak my mind to you again and again. You may try and chase me away with your hard words and your dark looks, but I will not be silenced. Your children care for you deeply and they are hurt and confused that, whilst you remain in the house, you keep yourself from them.” Throwing up her hands in exasperation, she shook her head at him. “Can you not see? It is as though you still live apart from them, in an entirely different world, but all the while, you remain alive and well within the very same house. They fear that they have displeased you. They fear that you have rejected them entirely and forever. So, you will find, Your Grace, that I will not remain quiet out of fear or some misplaced loyalty.”
He glowered at her, although there was now a slight paleness to his cheeks. “You do not think that you need to respect me.”
“I do my utmost to show that respect to you, Your Grace,” she replied, evenly, “but my loyalty lies with your children. It is for their sake that I dare to speak so freely. It is for their sake that I force myself to speak with bluntness and harsh words. Can you not see that you are living in the past still? Your memories and your dreams surround you, calling you their friend and you welcome their embrace.” She shook her head again, feeling a sense of tiredness replacing her anger. It was the very same thing that she had said to him over and over, and yet again, he was refusing to take in a single word that she said. “Why do you linger there when you have a life here, waiting for you to grasp at it with both hands?”
Looking back at him steadily, Jenny felt her eyes mist with tears. Tears that were filled with sympathy and compassion and love for the two children that were in her care. They were struggling in their own way, but with just a little tenderness and care, she knew that they would blossom forth completely. The Duke, however, did not seem inclined to notice it and certainly did not intend to do as she hoped. His face was a mask, his eyes fixed on hers unblinkingly with his lips pulled taut.
“I shall go, Your Grace,” she finished, bitterly, turning on her heel and walking to the door. “I can say nothing more, it seems.” She did not look back at him and the Duke did not say a single word more. All that was left was to leave him, yet again, in his solitude, in the hope that one day soon, he might begin to see that all John and Mary wanted was for their father to return to them and be the man he had once been.
Chapter Twelve
As much as he wanted to be furious with Miss Edgington for speaking to him with such boldness and harshness, Stephen found that he was not at all angry. In fact, there was something rising within him that he could not quite place, could not quite make out. The way Miss Edgington had spoken to him, whilst she had done so before, had been markedly more fervent than on previous occasions. The way her eyes had flared, the way she had gestured towards him, had made him realize just how desperate she was for him to truly consider his children.
He had lied to her, of course, when he had stated that staying away from his children had been in part due to his ongoing anger towards John for his behavior some weeks ago. That was nothing more than a falsehood, for whilst he had thought on John’s behavior for many hours, there was no anger within him over it. More confusion, disappointment, and guilt that he could not shake – but not anger. Miss Edgington had, of course, been able to see through his lies and had challenged him as such. And, try as he might, Stephen had not found a way to continue his excuses. It was as if Miss Edgington had been able to see into his very heart and soul and had torn apart his mistruths as though they were nothing but paper. There was not a lack of compassion within her, he knew, for she understood what it was like to have someone taken from you without warning. Yet, there was a fierce determination within her that he did not have. She had been forced to look at her life without her mother and her father and to take a hold of it regardless of the pain and the struggle that was within. She was more loving and caring towards John and Mary than he, their own father, was, and that knowledge stung.
Why was he still hiding from his children? The memories of Martha still came at him from time to time but no longer as thick and fast as before. The evenings were still spent alone in his library or in his rooms but he had not lost himself in a stupor ever since the day he had awoken in the stables. The shame he had felt upon being discovered by Miss Edgington had been enough to make him realize that he could not continue as he was. He had needed to change part of his behavior, and so he had done.
“Miss Edgington.”
Her name was whispered from his lips in an almost reverent fashion. Had it not been for her presence in the house, then he might now be struggling to remain sober for even an hour each day. He might still be mired in the darkness, might even have left his children and his estate for London and thrown himself into all manner of things. Had it not been for Miss Edgington and her honest way of speaking, then he might never have seen it important to change any part of his behavior. Her concern for the children was more than obvious, but did she not also have a concern for him?
His brow furrowed an
d he leaned his elbows on the desk in front of him, running his hands through his hair. Miss Edgington had proven to him that she had a good deal of mettle, for to continue speaking to him in such a way, over and over again, saying the same words and bringing him the same concerns, required both strength and patience. In asking him to pull himself towards his children, in asking him to consider them with more compassion than he currently held for them, she was asking him to change. Asking him to look beyond his own pain and his own torments and to see them instead. In doing so, would he find a freedom and a happiness that had long been missing from his life? In doing so, would he find himself filled with a joy and a contentment that he had not known for so long?
“They remind me of her,” he whispered to himself, agony breaking his heart into pieces all over again.
Perhaps that is not something to be avoided.
The murmur in his heart had him closing his eyes tightly against the sea of pain that threatened to engulf him. If his children did indeed remind him of his late wife, then could he truly consider it to be something that would be too great a torment to bear? Of course, they would remind him of Martha, for they held pieces of her within their very selves. The smile on Mary’s face showed glimpses of Martha’s smile. The deep blue of John’s eyes was the very same that had been within her own. He would never be able to escape from the fact that his children reminded him of Martha, which meant that he either continued to push himself away from them or, instead, move towards them, accepting the pain and the sadness that would come with the joy of being their father.
It was as though the clouds had parted before him, making a gap in the gloom that had wrapped itself around him for so very long. It felt as though he could breathe a little easier now, as though the chains of the past were slowly being loosened from his wrists. It would be difficult indeed, but he could not remain so distant from his children for the duration of their lives in a feeble attempt to avoid the stab of pain that could come at any given moment. He had mourned Martha for a long time and he could not, as Miss Edgington had said, remain living in the past any longer. There was no joy within his life. For a long time, he had convinced himself that this was all he required; that he could continue to manage the estate and his duties without any other consideration towards his own heart or his own children. It could not be so now, he realized, as the words from Miss Edgington’s lips began to run through his mind. He had to put the past aside and accept that he would have to continue on in this life without Martha. He had to accept that his duties and responsibilities to his children had not come to an end the day Martha had died. He had failed in that regard, he knew, feeling shame pile upon his shoulders. Miss Edgington had tried for so long to get him to realize just how much John and Mary needed him, but he had been unable to face the truth. Now, however, it hit him hard, forcing him to catch his breath as he realized what he needed to do.
Throwing himself out of his chair, Stephen strode to the door and, without a word to anyone, hurried down the staircase and out of the front door. The air was cool now, the sun hiding behind a cloud as he hurried out to the gardens. He forced his feet to move but his heart was reluctant, and his desire to turn away from this path growing steadily. But Stephen gritted his teeth and forced himself onwards. It was time for this. It was beyond the time for this. He should have listened to Miss Edgington a long time before this moment and yet, even with that knowledge, he felt desperate to turn away from the path. It was as though the past was calling to him, the memories of Martha tugging at his heart and drawing him back. Even though the darkness and the pain were an agony to his heart and mind, Stephen felt almost willing to return there, almost desperate to remain where he was so that he would not have to change a single thing. There was a comfort there, a knowledge of what his life was like when he hid there. The opportunity to emerge into a new way of living, a time when he greeted his children and drew nearer to them than he had before, was almost fearful to his mind. He did not want to do it, and yet he knew he had to.
“Martha.”
The word dragged from his lips as he came to a small clearing far away from the house. He did not know how he had reached it so quickly for he had felt his steps were slow and restrained. The clouds began to grow heavy in the sky, and the gloom surrounding him growing ever thicker. He was alone here, completely surrounded by solitude, the quiet weighing down on his shoulders with ever-increasing gravity.
His legs buckled beneath him and Stephen went willingly, falling on his knees in front of the grave marker that had been set up here in the gardens for Martha. He had ordered it within the first month of arriving home, knowing that he had a duty to do so. Whilst in one of his sober moments, he had come down to lay his eyes upon it, he had never lingered here. He was not even certain that his children knew of its existence.
Her name was chiseled into the stone marker, with the date of her birth and of her death. It was simple enough, with no ornate decorations, and the simplicity of it seemed to bring peace to his soul. Reaching out one trembling hand, he brushed his fingers down the stone as though, in doing so, he would be able to put all thoughts of Martha from his mind.
“I am sorry, my love,” he whispered aloud, his head hanging low and his eyes squeezing closed. “I have lost myself in grief and have not attended to our children as I ought. I have not thought of them. I have seen too much of you in them and so I have turned away.” A lump formed in his throat and his breathing grew ragged with the overwhelming strength of his emotions. “I shall do so no longer.” His fingers fell from the stone marker and he sat back on his knees, feeling a slight dampness beginning to seep into his limbs. “I must set you aside,” he said, brokenly, knowing that the only way he would be able to draw close to his children and find any semblance of happiness in his life was to no longer allow his mind to linger on Martha every moment that he had. “I confess that I must allow my heart to open again, Martha, even to my own children.” For a moment, a vision of Miss Edgington speared his mind, making him start violently. His breath caught as his eyes opened, suddenly aware that he had thought of the governess in reference to his heart opening once more. Surely, he could not have any particular feelings towards the lady?
Closing his eyes tightly again, Stephen let out a long breath and settled his shoulders. “I shall always love you dearly, Martha,” he said aloud, his hands clasped loosely together in his lap. “But I cannot cling onto you any longer. I must let you go. Forgive me for the mistakes I have made in neglecting our children. I swear to you I shall do so no longer. I know they dearly miss you….as do I.”
These last words were spoken with such a fierceness of spirit that it felt as though he were being carried on a wave, high above the clouds, so that he might draw near to the realm where Martha now dwelt. Stephen flung his head back and drew in great lungfuls of air, feeling tears begin to course down his cheeks. He had not cried over his wife’s death since the day she had breathed her last and he had not meant to do so now – but the tears remained on his cheeks and, as he continued to look up to the sky, more and more came.
Stephen allowed them to fall from his eyes unhindered, feeling a heavy burden begin to lift from his heart as he did so. Something broke within him and a fresh flood of tears blurred his vision, but still he did not hold them back. They had to be let out from within him, had to be expelled from his heart and his mind so that he might find the strength to return to his life and begin it anew.
A beam of sunlight split the clouds and, as Stephen wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, felt the warmth suddenly surround him. It shone over him and onto the stone marker, filling him with a peace he had never experienced before. It was as though his soul was slowly healing. As though he had been freed from the dark memories of the past.
It was time to return to his children.
Chapter Thirteen
“Did you hear what one of the footmen said about the master?”
Jenny looked up with interest towards Mrs. Blaine, seeing th
e way her eyes had widened slightly and the curious expression on her face. “No,” she said, setting down her tea cup carefully and feeling a slight twinge of nerves. “No, I did not.”
“I should not say, of course,” Mrs. Blaine continued, waving a hand as though such a thing as gossip did not really matter. “But it has been so very interesting to hear that I think I simply must tell you!”
“Well, I think you will need to tell me quickly,” Jenny replied, with a quick smile. “The children will be finished with their luncheon by now and I will need to return to their rooms.”
“Oh, they will only be playing with their toys by the time you return,” Mrs. Blaine said, dismissively. “And Jill can wait with them for a few minutes longer.” She sat down at the table and looked at Jenny with a small smile playing about her lips. “You know that the master’s been keeping himself to his rooms or the study these last couple of months, don’t you?”
“I do,” Jenny agreed, wondering what Mrs. Blaine was going to reveal about Lord Carrington. “He has made improvements to the estate, however, has he not?”
“Oh, yes!” Mrs. Blaine exclaimed, sitting back in her chair. “Yes, he has, of course. From what I can see, the duties and responsibilities of the estate have been performed in an excellent manner. It is just like as it was before he was married.” Shaking her head, she gave a slight tut as though she were irritated with herself for speaking of something other than what she had intended. “Well, one of his responsibilities was to set up a marker in the gardens for the late Lady Carrington.”
Jenny’s brows rose in surprise. “I see. I did not know –”
