by Brianna York
Forrest’s parents had been distant and cold, but strict about maintaining the family structure. Forrest had not lacked for routine in his early life, and through his siblings, he had not lacked for love either. He had always known that, as the second son in a family not monetarily gifted, he would have to become a soldier once his early education was completed. There had never been a single doubt in his mind that he would do exactly that. However, Forrest knew that Matthew’s life had been anything but stable. He had once told Forrest that he couldn’t remember a time when his parents had not fought, nor could he remember a time when his mother had not openly preferred Julian to her older son. She had successfully driven a firm wedge between the brothers that time would never heal. Forrest had also come to realize that, while Matthew had always been assured a life of wealth and contentment, there was little freedom in the life of the eldest son. Bearing the responsibility of the family title was not a small duty and Matthew had been prepped for the job from the time that he could read and write.
Once, Forrest would have given anything to be guaranteed life as a peer of the realm in society’s highest circles, but after knowing Matthew, he knew how lucky he had been to be allowed a real childhood and the chance to live life entirely according to his own standard.
“I haven’t seen him this abstracted in a quite a long time,” Alex’s voice whispered in Forrest’s ear. The Dowager Duchess had always hated Alex, had considered her an unfortunate penance to be paid for marrying a man who had lost his first wife in childbirth. It was not so much Alex herself that she hated, however; it was her closeness to Matthew. Alex had been more like Matthew’s mother in many ways than Emmeline herself.
Forrest woke from his contemplative silence to turn in her direction. “That is exactly what I was just thinking,” he whispered back. “What makes this visit more intimidating than all the others?”
Alex edged closer to Forrest trying to absorb some of his warmth. She found suddenly that she was quite cold, despite the unseasonable warmth of the day. She knew distantly that she too was nervous about Emmeline’s visit. “I think the suddenness of all of this has him so jumpy. Usually he has a couple of days to prepare himself.” Forrest nodded, and Alex was near enough to him to feel the movement. “Plus, there is change in the air lately,” she whispered prophetically. Forrest opened his mouth to reassure her that this was idle fancy, then changed his mind. He too felt the sensation that an era was coming to a close and something new was on the horizon.
“There they are,” Marcus said from his post by the window, breaking the thrumming tension in the room.
“Everyone sit down,” Alex ordered. As Forrest passed her, he caught her chin in his fingers and smiled at her reassuringly. Alex returned the smile with gratitude, and passed him to where her brother was still pacing. “Matthew?”
He halted and stared down at her. His face was so abjectly miserable that she wanted to hug him, but she resisted the urge despite its extreme strength. “Let’s go sit down. There’s no use stewing about it, you know. What can she do to you that she hadn’t already done?”
Matthew’s face cleared somewhat at that, and he managed to summon a thin smile. “You are so wise,” he said to her, his throat unexpectedly dry. “You sent for tea?”
Alex nodded. “Go and sit.” Matthew did as she bade, taking a seat in one of the chairs placed around the tea table. He felt a measure of calm steal over him, and he grasped a hold of it eagerly. Alex was right. He had no idea why his mother’s presence still had the power to completely unnerve him, but he supposed that some things one never forgot, despite the passage of time. He felt his mind start to drift as the tiny thread of calm spread through him. He stared down at the ornate signet ring on his finger and allowed his mind to wander.
"But I don't want to go away to school!" He had yelled in exasperation, jumping to his feet and pacing across the library floor in front of his father's mahogany desk. "Alex doesn’t want me to go either!"
His father had smiled sadly at his first son, his thirteen year old heir, a son he was furiously proud of despite the time he now realized he had wasted away from the boy. At the time Matthew had only read the sadness in his father's golden eyes, so like his own, but he would understand much later what his father had tried to protect him from.
"It is inconsequential what Alex wants," the man behind the desk had replied, his deep voice weary despite the fact that it had only seen thirty-six years of service. "You must be able to leave Alex and do things on your own. You have things to learn and school is where one must learn them.”
Matthew remembered looking at his father, a long, hard look and one designed to get him his way. In that moment, looking at the man who was the sunlight and the very center of his world, Matthew felt the weight of sudden understanding settle onto his shoulders. He noticed for the first time the fine lines that framed his father's golden eyes, and realized they hadn't been formed by smiles. There was a cast about Geoffrey Hargreve of weariness of the world-tired type that his fine clothing and handsomeness could not hide. It had settled like a blanket over the man sometime long ago, Matthew realized with a forceful start, and yet he had not noticed until now. It had robbed the sheen from his curly ebony hair and the sparkle from his once twinkling eyes. Everything about him seemed to be dulled, from his lack of expression down to the tiny white-gold horseshoe in his cravat. Matthew knew suddenly and with startling surety that Geoffrey did not wish his son to become like himself.
"I want what is best for you Matt, do not ever believe otherwise." Geoffrey glanced down at the signet ring on his right hand, his left index finger tracing the ornate 'D'. When he glanced back up to meet Matthew's gaze, his eyes had been very sad, almost bereft and Matthew had felt like he had taken a blow. "I don't want you to grow up to be like your father, jaded and unhappy with life no matter you look at it. I have made my fair share of mistakes with you and your brother and sister, Matthew, but I will not make the wrong decision this time. You will go out into the world and see what school has to offer you, not sit here in London long enough for the spark of life to be stolen from you the way this place has stolen mine."
Matthew held silent, dumbfounded really, watching those golden eyes across from him shimmer and change colors as emotions flickered under the surface of their owner.
"I want you to be happy," his father had said, his finger again tracing the edge of the family signet ring, "And I want you to grow up that way. I want you to appreciate all that life has to offer to you so that you can enjoy all this when I pass it on to you."
Matthew stayed quiet for another, long, tense moment, then he paced slowly back to his chair. He placed a white-knuckled hand on the back of it and forced out the words, "But why can't I stay here with you?"
His father had laughed then, a cold, brittle laugh. "Your mother would never allow that, lad.”
Matthew had thought of protesting yet again, then, bowing to the desperate, defeated and sorrow-filled look on his beloved father's face, he said evenly, "If it is what you wish, father, I shall go off to school. It will be beneficial, I'm sure."
"When did you become so old for your age, Matt?" his father had asked quietly, fond but still sad.
Matthew had looked at his father once again through his new insight, then replied, "It has been so long since I felt young, father.”
“Don’t wrinkle that, Milton,” Emmeline’s sharply cold voice broke through Matthew’s sudden daydream. He shook his head to clear it. He had been so thoroughly lost in thought that he had not heard his family arrive.
“May I take your coat, Lord Julian?” Milton’s tone was everything polite, but Matthew heard the tremor of tension in it.
“My thanks, Milton,” Julian’s voice replied.
“His Grace is in the sitting room,” Milton said then.
“Thank you, Milton,” Emmeline replied briskly.
Matthew steeled himself, shaking off the last of the haze induced by the daydream. He felt a sudden confidenc
e steal over him and the intense worry vanished as if it had never been. The drawing room doors swung open then to reveal his mother and his brother.
"Hello mother," he said in a placid tone of voice that came dangerously close to communicating outright boredom. Julian stood just behind his mother, almost out of sight, but Matthew leaned around his mother to say, "Felicitations, Jules."
"Fel... Felici...Oh hang it. Good to see you Matt," Julian replied, stepping into full view as he spoke. He rocked nervously back and forth on his heels and glanced around the room furtively. Matthew returned his steady stare to his mother. They stared at each other for a long, adversarial moment, cool green eyes a stark contrast to bright gold ones before Emmeline smiled at some inner triumph that only she was privy to. “How are you, dear?” she asked sweetly, her eyes still locked intently on her son’s handsome face.
Matthew shrugged negligently and allowed a small smile to settle on his lips. “I’ve been worse. Do sit.”
Emmeline stared at her son for another long moment in which she contemplated how much Matthew reminded her of his father before seating herself on the silk couch that Rob was sitting on. "Sit down Julian," she said offhandedly, the words a command none the less. Julian cast around helplessly, then plunked down into a gilt chair to his left. He smiled hopefully at Forrest, who smiled back briefly.
“Are you all here just to welcome Julian and I?” Emmeline asked of the room as a whole. Alex was unsure what emotion the older woman had been attempting to convey to them, but to Alex her words seemed harshly false despite the flattered and amazed look on her still-beautiful face.
Matthew reined in a brief spark of temper. “I decided that it would really be much more entertaining for you and Julian if I arranged a small house party during your visit. This is it.”
“Oh, how thoughtful of you!” Emmeline cooed. She turned her head and caught Alex’s eye. She made a face that looked a bit like she had just bitten into something sour. “How are you, Alexandra, dear?”
“I am well, thank you for asking,” she said to her stepmother in a chilly voice.
Matthew clenched his teeth. He knew that his mother had always hated Alex, but it infuriated him to see her treat the sister who was so dear to him in this manner.
Milton arrived with the tea things then. “Put them on the table, Milton,” Matthew told the butler. “That will be all,” Matthew said after Milton had arranged things to satisfaction. The older man bowed slightly and exited the room in what would have been considered a hurry for Milton. “Have a sandwich mother,” Matthew said in a rather dry tone.
“I do hope that Milton remembered how I like my sandwiches,” she muttered, selecting one and peering at it intently. Alex stole a glance at her brother in time to see his cheek start twitching as he clenched his jaw.
“How have you been, Earl?” Emmeline inquired politely of Rob, giving the highest ranking title in the room besides her own the credit it was due.
“I am quite well, thank you Your Grace,” he replied deferentially, inclining his head slightly.
She turned away from him and extended one delicate hand toward Marcus, leaning forward ever so slightly. “How are you Marcus dear? It has been an age, hasn’t it?”
Marcus’s lip curled back into a gloating smile. “That it has, Your Grace,” he said in his most proper voice as he took her hand and pressed a lingering kiss to it. “You grow lovelier every time I see you,” he assured her.
Emmeline smiled and blushed with practiced ease. “Oh, Marcus,” she gushed. “You silly thing!”
Matthew groaned inwardly, and suppressed the urge to retch. “I see that Marcus has not lost any favor in your eyes.”
Alex shot him a warning glance that plainly told him not to provoke his mother. “Marcus has always been the most suitable companion for you, Matthew dear. He understands precisely what the title of Duke implies.” She turned a decidedly frigid stare on Alex. “Some people seem never to learn their place.”
“I trust that your trip was not too tiring, Your Grace,” Forrest asked of Emmeline, attempting to distract her from needling Alex.
“Oh, it was as tiring as can be expected,” she replied off-handedly, her contempt for Forrest and his title evident.
Matthew decided that he had had enough of his mother. “I shall help you to your rooms,” he said, offering her a hand. She took it reluctantly, and flashed a last bright smile at Marcus before rising and following her son to the door.
“Come Julian!” she snapped. Julian started, then rose quickly. He cast an apologetic glance around the room, his hopeful eyes lighting longest on Alex. She winked at him conspiratorially. He opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, but was cut short by his mother’s impatient voice. “Julian! Hurry up!” He sighed and scurried from the room.
“Poor fellow,” Rob said, shaking his head. He selected a sandwich from the tea tray on the table and bit into it contemplatively.
“I always forget how truly awful that woman is,” Forrest said in a thoughtful tone of voice that suggested he was talking to himself.
Alex, who was feeling somewhat wilted, nodded. “She is rather impressively nasty, isn’t she?”
Forrest smiled at her quickly. “You handled her well, you know.”
“I am glad that you think so, Forrest,” she answered, closing her eyes and massaging her temples in a vain attempt to ward off the headache that was starting to make its presence known just behind her eyes. “I hope she doesn’t stay long.”
The delicate ormolu clock on the mantle chimed the hour in a dainty voice that broke the sudden silence that had fallen upon the group as they all retreated into their own private thoughts. Alex rose, and brushed the wrinkles out of her skirts. “I’m off to get changed,” she announced.
Rob nodded and rose as well. “An excellent idea. Dinner is at six o’clock, is it not?” he asked Alex.
Alex nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
The others groaned loudly at this news. “Don’t be late,” she ordered them. “Or else.” She drew a finger across her throat in demonstration.
“Off with their heads and all that,” Rob agreed, a twinkle in his eye.
Alex nodded. “I wouldn’t put it past her,” she replied as she exited the room in a gentle swishing of skirts. She mounted the staircase, her skirts held carefully out of the way of her slipper clad feet. She strained her ears for sounds that would indicate that Emmeline and her son were not yet settled into their rooms. Hearing only murmurs of noise, Alex correctly ascertained that they were tucked away in their respective rooms and that it would be safe for her to proceed to her own room without running into them. She lightened her step and hurried across the hallway. Upon reaching her door, she turned the handle very carefully, and slipped quickly inside. Once the door was closed, she sighed in relief.
“Shall I help you with your hair, m’Lady?”
Alex smiled at her abigail. “I should greatly appreciate that, Jane.” She crossed the room and sank gratefully onto the soft slipper chair before the dressing table.
“Will you be wanting one of your silks tonight?” Jane asked, correctly ascertaining the importance of the occasion.
Alex nodded. “I just can’t decide which color.” She frowned, deep in thought. The pearl was quite striking, but she wasn’t sure that she wished to appear virginal before the powerful feminine force that was Matthew’s mother. She did not want to act too much like a free woman, however, so that Emmeline could not criticize her. She closed her eyes a moment, envisioning the contents of her closet. After a moment’s indecision, she opened her eyes and said to Jane, “Get out the light blue.”
“Yes, m’Lady,” Jane said, hurrying over to one of the two armoires that held Alex’s multitude of dresses. She rifled through the contents for a moment before locating what she was after and carefully extracting the gown that was just a few shades of color darker than white. She spread the dress flat on the bed before rejoining her mistress at the dressing tabl
e and starting to loosen the pins that held Alex’s heavy, curly hair atop her head. “How would you like your hair, m’Lady?”
Alex sighed, distractedly rubbing her forehead. “Let’s worry about getting me out of this dress and into that one first, Jane. Then we can discuss my hair.” Jane nodded and went silently about her duties. Alex stared at her reflection, feeling the nagging of doubt at the back of her mind. She was not sure how she was to present herself in this particular situation. She considered herself a good actress under most circumstances, but she was completely at a loss of how she was to comport herself in this instance. Her natural inclination was to treat Emmeline with frigid indifference, but she knew that would not do. She could not pretend well enough to try for the humble younger female who deserved no notice. She had already been somewhat aloof and stiffly formal in the sitting room, so she supposed that was how she would continue to be. She wouldn’t be any fun to be around when Emmeline was in the room, but there were worse prices to pay. She shrugged off the heavy doubt that kept crowding into her thoughts with some difficulty. Emmeline may have been able to terrorize her when she was a girl, but those days were long past.
Eight
“B
last!” Matthew cursed.
“Might I ask what the problem seems to be?” Dobbs’ bland voice asked from across the room.
Matthew glared at his reflection in the cheval glass over his dressing table. “My cursed hair would choose today of all days to be belligerent,” he growled, snatching the pomade jar and unscrewing the lid with two hard twists.
Dobbs glanced up from the neck cloths he had been folding. “I know that you won’t believe me, but it looks fine to me.”