Jenny’s heart tore as she turned to look down at Mary, who was busy gazing at the many beautiful flowers that graced the estate gardens. “What, may I ask, makes you believe such a thing, Mary?” she asked, gently, trying to encourage the girl to speak openly. “Your father is a very busy man, you must recall.”
“I am aware of that,” Mary agreed, softly, not looking up at Jenny, “but he is very distant. He does not come to the schoolroom to look over our work. He does not ever want us to join him for dinner, nor does he come to bid us goodnight as he used to.” Slowly, her eyes drifted from the flowers to look up at Jenny, a solemnness in them that did not suit her age. “I think that he must be very angry with us in some way.”
John, who had been wandering around nearby, came closer. “It is not you that he is angry with, Mary. He is angry with me.”
Jenny felt her stomach tighten, her whole being filling with tension as she tried to explain such matters to the children. “His Grace has not held onto any anger with regards to your behavior, John,” she said, firmly, a little surprised to hear the boy suggest such a thing when it had been over a fortnight ago. “I am certain of that.”
“Then why does he never seek us out?” John challenged, shrugging his shoulders. “He has never once come to speak to us simply because he wished to do so.”
“I am aware of that,” Jenny replied, quickly, dampening down the sharp anger that flared within her. “And yet I am certain that he is neither angry with you nor dislikes being in your company. You must recall that I have barely seen your father either, and that is not because he is attempting to stay away from my company. It is simply because the Duke is very busy, caught up with all that he has to do.”
Jenny knew that this, whilst true, was not the entirety of the matter, and from the look on John’s face, she feared that he knew she was not telling him everything. The child was sharp-eyed and very intelligent, which meant that he might well be able to decipher the fact that the Duke was continuing to deliberately avoid spending time with his children.
“I shall take him some flowers, then.”
Mary’s simple request brought a small smile to Jenny’s lips. “Indeed?”
“I shall ask the gardener to help me,” Mary continued, looking up at Jenny with a small smile brightening her expression. “Father might be glad to have them in his study, and if he does not dislike us nor is angry with us, as you say, then I am certain he will be happy to see me.”
Ignoring the sudden stab of tension in her stomach, Jenny gave the girl a warm, encouraging smile. “I think that is a wonderful idea, Mary. The flowers are beautiful, and I know the colors and the scents will bring joy to any heart.” She had to pray that the Duke would be amenable to accepting a gift such as this from his daughter. She was a trifle afraid he might turn around and reject the gift from Mary without any explanation as to why. Jenny had hoped that her conversation with the Duke some weeks ago when they had first been looking for John, would have made an impression upon him and helped him to change his attitude and behavior towards his own children but, as yet it seemed, nothing had altered significantly in any way.
“You will come with me, will you not, Miss Edgington?”
Jenny nodded at once, seeing the relief on Mary’s face and, in turn, feeling the anger rise up within her again. This was the Duke’s doing. There was no need for him to be turning against his children, no need for him to be pushing them aside as he seemed to do with such ease. If only he would reach out, then they would be by his side in an instant.
“Of course I will go with you, Mary,” she said, as gently as she could. “But you have nothing to fear from your father. I know he will be glad of them.”
* * *
A full hour later and Jenny was standing beside Mary. In her hands, she held a small glass vase with a bouquet of flowers within. Mary had taken her time to decide what flowers she would have cut and had carefully and meticulously made her arrangement to give to her father. Jenny had been pleased to see the girl’s considerations, marveling at how altered she was to when Jenny had first arrived. Despite her father’s inattention, she had become a sweet, placid little girl who loved the outdoors and, in particular, riding her pony whenever she could. Jenny had been glad to see the change but still found herself longing for the day that the Duke would take a greater interest in his children and see the joy on their faces as he did so.
“Enter.”
The Duke’s voice was gruff. Jenny felt her heart climb into her throat as she pushed the door open and allowed Mary to enter first.
“Good afternoon, father,” Mary said, her voice a little quieter than usual. “I have picked you some flowers for your room.”
Jenny saw the Duke freeze, his quill held tightly in his hand as his eyes fixed themselves on the bouquet that Mary now carried. His face drained of color, his eyes roving towards Mary’s face as he drew in a long breath.
Jenny willed him to speak, willed him to say something that would alleviate Mary’s obvious tension.
“I brought them for you, father,” Mary said again, taking a couple of steps closer to the Duke’s desk. “Can I set them here?” She reached up so as to place the glass vase on the desk, only to be stopped by the harsh, rough voice of her father.
“No.”
Closing her eyes, Jenny fought back her anger as she heard Mary’s quiet gasp.
“Set them over there.”
Her jaw set, Jenny opened her eyes and glared at the Duke, seeing him direct Mary towards one of the windowsills in his study. Mary stared at her father for a few moments, clearly distraught over the harsh way he’d spoken to her as well as his lack of thanks, and Jenny had to step in so as to guide the child to where the Duke requested for her to go.
“He does not like them,” Mary whispered, tears splashing down onto her cheeks as she turned to Jenny, the bouquet now safely on the windowsill behind them. “I told you that he dislikes our company and now –”
“I am certain that your father greatly appreciates the time and the effort you went to, to bring him such a gift,” Jenny said loudly, interrupting Mary and shooting an angry glance in the Duke’s direction. “After all, this idea was entirely of your own doing, was it not?”
Mary frowned a little, her eyes confused as she looked back at Jenny. “Yes,” she replied, not turning around to glance at her father. “But my father does not care for them.”
Jenny looked back at the Duke, her anger boiling away within her with such rapidity that it felt as though every part of her was being filled with fury. This dear, sweet child was being wounded, yet again, by her father’s self-centeredness and lack of consideration, and it pained Jenny to see it occurring. The Duke held Jenny’s gaze for a long moment, his pallor a little grey as he looked down at Mary. Moments passed before a long sigh emitted from his lips and he rubbed one hand across his forehead.
“I am sorry I spoke harshly, Mary,” he muttered, making the child turn around to look at him. “Your mother used to bring me flowers such as you have.”
“Oh.” Mary sounded surprised. “Then does that not make you happy, father? To have flowers in your study again?”
Jenny saw a flash of pain cross the Duke’s face, his lips pressing together tightly as he fought for an answer.
“It should,” he agreed, eventually. “Thank you for doing such a kind thing for me, Mary. I am grateful for them.”
Mary said nothing but looked up at Jenny, her eyes holding more confusion than before. It was clear that she did not understand why her father was not pleased to see the flowers in his study again, especially since the late Lady Carrington had done much the same.
“Your father is obviously very busy,” Jenny said, quickly, ushering the girl towards the door. “Might you go to find John and tell him that a tray will be sent to your rooms? You must both be hungry by now.”
This brought a smile to Mary’s lips and she nodded, but not before throwing another look over her shoulder at her father, her small f
orehead furrowed with confusion and doubt. Jenny felt her heart slice open, wanting to rail at the Duke and yet being fully aware that she would have to do all she could to keep her temper.
“I shall be along in a few minutes,” she reassured Mary, as the girl turned to leave the room. “I have something to discuss with your father.” She smiled again and waited for Mary to scamper down the hall before turning around, closing the door tightly and leaning back against it.
Her heart was racing, blood roaring in her ears. The Duke had not asked her to stay and certainly this was more than a little improper to remain in his study without invitation. The thought of Mary’s tears on her cheeks forced her to remain. She had to say something, had to do something to let the Duke see just how troubled his children were over his behavior towards them.
“I do not think I have asked you to remain, Miss Edgington.”
“And yet, remain I shall,” she retorted, her voice seeming to fill the room as she glared back at the Duke. “I have been governess to your children for some time now and I must tell you that you are quite breaking them apart.”
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 and 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.
A New Home for the Duke: A Regency Romance: The Returned Lords of Grosvenor Square (Book 4) Page 10