“At times like these, ‘I love you’ is too small to express what I feel for you,” she whispered. “There aren’t words enough to tell you how grateful I am for you in my life.”
“You speak as though our marriage has blessed you more than me, but I assure you that is not possible,” he replied, a hint of brightness returning to his eyes.
“I see we are to rehash that old argument.”
Ambrose’s smile turned genuine. “We will if you insist on spouting nonsense—”
But just as the atmosphere in the dining room lightened, Ruby and Conrad strode through the door, arm-in-arm. Seeing them united as husband and wife made Mary’s heartache ease despite what was to come. Getting to her feet, Mary came to Ruby, longing to embrace her but stopping short at the worry and distrust filling Ruby’s gaze. Conrad did not release his wife’s arm as Ambrose came to Mary’s side to greet them, and though her son’s words were cordial enough, tension filled the air.
“Ruby, I owe you an apology—” But before Mary could speak it, Lucas swept into the dining room.
“Why are the servants packing my things?” he demanded.
The air in the room shifted once more as Mary stepped closer to Ambrose. He placed a hand at the small of her back, and she leaned into his touch. Conrad stiffened, his gaze flying between his parents and brother, but he led Ruby around the table and away from Lucas. Though Mary’s gaze was fixed on Lucas, her attention turned to Ruby, who remained composed except for the tightness of her grip on Conrad’s arm.
“We are making some changes to the household,” said Ambrose. “Your mother and I are going to do what we can to support and help you, but we cannot go on as we have—”
But Lucas interrupted. “You are cutting me off?”
“No,” replied Mary with a firm shake of her head. “Of course, we aren’t, but as your father said, we cannot go on as we have. Things must change.”
Ambrose continued, “We will assist you in finding a position and lodgings—”
“I have a position and lodgings,” said Lucas, throwing his arms wide to take in the house.
“Other lodgings,” said Ambrose. He paused, and Mary felt his muscles tighten, so she stepped in to finish his thought.
“And you have no position,” she added.
Lucas’s brow furrowed. “We will rebuild Newland Mills.”
“Yes, but you do not have a position there.” Silence followed her words, and Lucas stared at the pair of them as though he did not comprehend her meaning.
Ambrose took in a breath and continued, “We will do what we can to get you established. I have already written to a few associates on your behalf, and there are a number of options for you to pursue—most of which include room and board.”
“If you have debts, then we will assist you in paying them this last time so you can begin this new chapter of your life without such burdens,” said Mary, rehearsing the terms upon which they’d decided the night previous. “But that is the end of it.”
“We will no longer supply an allowance,” said Ambrose. “We cannot support your behavior any longer. It is doing no good.”
Lucas’s eyes darted between the pair, and as the silence lingered on after that final declaration, their son’s expression fell. His shoulders slumped, and there was a bleakness in his gaze that called for Mary to comfort him. Her arms itched to enfold him, but she pressed into Ambrose’s side, and his hand rubbed at her back.
“You would cut me off?” he murmured. “Abandon me?”
“We are doing all we can to assist you, but you must take steps to prove you are earnest in your desire to change,” said Ambrose.
“I am—” he began, but Lucas’s voice broke, and he dropped his head and took in a shaky breath. “I am trying, but it is so very difficult. I cannot do it on my own. How can you do this to me?”
Mary shifted her weight, her feet beginning to move without prompting, but Ambrose’s hand moved from her back to her waist, reminding her of what they’d agreed upon, and she remained where she was.
“You are not on your own, Lucas,” she assured him. “But neither will we continue to give aid on your terms.”
“But how am I to learn how to run the mill if I am occupied with other employment?” asked Lucas.
Ambrose’s hand at her waist clenched, and Mary leaned into him, giving him the same support she’d needed moments ago.
Her husband took another breath and answered, “Newland Mills will never be yours.”
Mary heard a quick intake of breath off to one side and glanced in Conrad’s direction; he gaped at that declaration, but not nearly as much as his elder brother.
“It is my birthright. My inheritance—”
“Lucas,” Ambrose said with a sigh. “I have waited for you to show any interest in the business, and you have not. Conrad has worked and sacrificed for it. He has earned Newland Mills.”
But it wasn’t Conrad or Ambrose that held Mary’s attention at that time. For all of Conrad’s insistence that Lucas was manipulating them, she had never seen any sign of it before that very moment. Lucas’s eyes had been wet and pleading, but the moment Ambrose spoke, his expression shifted into something dark and menacing.
“That is ridiculous,” he barked. “It’s mine!”
Ambrose’s own expression hardened, his jaw tensing. “No, it isn’t. And we are done handing you things you do not deserve.”
Lucas turned his burning gaze to his brother. “Have you been filling their heads with lies? You’ve always been jealous of me, Conrad, and it’s disgusting that you would stoop to such measures.”
Mary opened her mouth to defend him, but it was Ruby who spoke first.
“This is on your head, not his,” she said, but that only drew a scorching glower from Lucas.
His voice was hard and a near growl as he turned his anger towards Ruby. “I was not speaking to you, whore.”
The dining room erupted as Conrad lunged for Lucas, but Ruby pulled at her husband, trying to keep him at her side, and Ambrose jumped between them, pressing a hand to either chest, bellowing at them to get control of themselves. But Mary stood there, watching the scene devolve into chaos and hearing Lucas rail and scream at the poor lady he had abused, laying every bit of guilt on her shoulders.
A cold wind swept through her, amplifying the exhaustion clinging to her. Her legs struggled to keep her upright and the noise around her faded into nothing.
There was no denying what she was seeing, and hearing Lucas speak thus cast Mary back to the last time she’d spoken to her mother. The words were different, but Mary recognized her mother’s tone mirrored in her son’s. The same haughty condescension. The same selfish demands and expectations. Ambrose was not what her parents had wanted for her, and Mama had nearly succeeded in convincing her that their needs superseded Mary’s paltry desires for love and marriage. Lucas had never met his grandmother, yet he was her twin.
Her son had not changed, nor did she think he intended to; self-improvement is impossible without acknowledging one’s own culpability. Mary saw the truth clearly before her—though it did not make embracing it any less painful.
“Enough.” Though her voice was quiet, the force of the word cut through the chaos and drew the attention to her. Mary held Lucas’s defiant, angry gaze, but her heart was an empty shell as she continued, “Do not say another word, Lucas. Your time for speaking has passed, and you will listen.”
Conrad eased away, taking his bride by the arm as Lucas glowered at them.
“No matter what has passed, we love you. We always will,” she said.
Lucas scoffed. “If you truly loved me, you would not abandon me like this.”
“We are trying to help you, son—” said Ambrose.
“By tossing me in the gutter?” said Lucas with a snarl.
“We have arranged a room for you at a boarding house for the time being,” she repeated, once more ticking off the terms she and Ambrose would live by. “We will assist you
in finding a position and more permanent lodgings. We will pay off any debts incurred before today, but this will be the last time. We will do all we can to help you get established, but we will not give you another penny. It is up to you to earn your living.”
Lucas shoved against his father, his anger turned to Mary, and though she felt the heat scorching at her skin, it did not sink any further.
“I will not dance to your tune like a trained monkey. I am a grown man.”
“Then behave like it,” replied Ambrose.
Lucas sneered. “On your terms.”
“This family has been living on your terms for too long, and it has done no good,” said Ambrose. “No longer.”
“I refuse to live like a beggar,” said Lucas, straightening his dress coat and leveling a disdainful look at each of the family. “And I refuse your ludicrous terms.”
There was a deafening pause, like the moment before a soldier is called to charge, knowing the bloody mess that will follow. Mary knew her heart was to be a victim of the slaughter, but the time to retreat was long past. Ambrose returned to her side, and she took comfort in the strength of their united front. This was not a battle she faced alone.
“That is your choice,” she said, “but it does not change our position. We are offering you an opportunity.”
Lucas’s chest heaved with fiery breaths, his furious gaze turning from his parents to his brother and back again. Turning on his heels, he stormed towards the door, pausing only long enough to cast one more blow at them.
“If something should happen to me because you refuse to treat your son as parents ought to, it will be on your heads. Know that I went to my grave despising you both.”
And with that, he flew from the house, the front door slamming behind him. It shook the building and echoed through Mary. Ambrose drew his arms around her as her limbs began to tremble, and she reveled in the comfort his touch brought.
“We have to love him enough to do what is right for him and the rest of the family,” he murmured.
“I know.” And Mary did. They had offered Lucas all he needed to succeed, and he had rejected it. There was no more to be done that would not make matters worse, and Mary clung to that.
Movement sounded behind her, and Mary pulled free of Ambrose’s hold to face Ruby and Conrad. Where the confrontation with Lucas had left her feeling spent and wrung-out, facing her other son and his wife filled her with nerves. Though she had hoped for grand changes, Lucas’s reaction to their rules did not shock her. With Conrad, Mary had no idea how he would respond. Stepping closer to them, she wished to wrap them into her arms and hold them close, but she wouldn’t force the issue.
“I owe you both many apologies,” she said.
“We both do,” added Ambrose, taking his place at her back once more. “That should have happened long ago.”
Mary clasped her hands before her and took in a slow breath. “It was not fair of us to put you both in such a position, and I am ashamed to know that our behavior hurt you both. Will you forgive us?”
Before Mary could continue to prostrate herself, Ruby came forward, wrapping her up in an embrace.
From behind her, Ambrose said to Conrad, “We hope you will stay.”
“I need to speak with Ruby—”
But before Conrad finished speaking, Ruby hurried to say, “Of course we will.”
Mary still had not released her hold on Ruby, and if not for the fear that she would hurt either her or the baby, Mary was tempted to cling tighter to her daughter-in-law. Though she knew the entire rift would not be healed so quickly, she savored the closeness that had been absent for far too long.
Chapter 30
The street bustled around him, but Conrad stared at the inn door, taking no notice of the noise and movement around him. If not for the knowledge that Ruby awaited him at home, he would’ve stood thusly for a good quarter of an hour before stirring himself, but there was no avoiding what needed to be done. Prevaricating only lengthened the separation from his wife.
Stepping into the building, it was the exact sort of public room he expected someone like Lucas to frequent. All inns and pubs maintained a lived-in air to keep the patrons comfortable (and thus, drinking), but the establishments’ state of repair mirrored the clientele the proprietor wished to attract. Though not dingy, darkness wrapped around him despite the shutters being thrown wide; the late morning light could not combat the shadows inside.
The barmaid sidled up to Conrad, her eyes burning with her unspoken invitation.
“Please, excuse me,” he said with a tip of his hat, extricating himself from her wandering touch.
His eyes searched the space, combing through the dim light to find his quarry. But Lucas was not in one of the corners entertaining a buxom barmaid; he sat to one side of the front windows, slouched over a table, his head propped up with one hand as he stared at a mug of ale.
Lucas’s light eyes darted to his brother, their light blue catching the few vestiges of sunlight and causing them to stand out among shadows. Neither brother spoke as Conrad took a chair opposite. Silence hung heavy between them, punctuated by the sounds of mugs clinking, patrons chatting, and the owner barking out orders to his staff.
“I try, and it is never good enough,” said Lucas. Shaking his head, he turned his gaze from his brother, off to the side. “I never measure up to their favorite son, Conrad.”
Conrad let out a heavy breath, his shoulders sagging as he prepared himself for this stage of the battle.
“You have no idea how difficult it is for me to return home, face my mistakes, and try again,” said Lucas, his arms drawing tight against his chest. “Do you know what it is like to prostrate yourself before your parents and much younger brother, hoping for some scrap of affection and morsel of forgiveness?”
Lucas’s gaze turned to Conrad, and he huffed. “Of course not. For saintly Conrad Ashbrook has never tumbled from his lofty perch. Has never struggled with the shackles of bad behaviors and tried to begin his life again. Has never desired to do wickedness and thus, cannot fathom the torments we lowly sinners must endure.”
A dozen retorts came to mind, but Conrad did not bother giving voice to them. It was never wise to engage with Lucas when he was in the midst of his self-pitying tirades. There was no reasoning with someone who could not—or would not—see the truth of the matter. Silence kept the conversation from derailing and allowed Lucas’s little display to run its course quicker.
“I came here with every intention of beginning again,” said Lucas, hanging his head low. “I wanted to make things right with you, our parents, and Ruby, but nothing I do is never good enough for you. And now, you’ve turned my own parents against me.”
Habit had Conrad casting his glance to the exit, his legs itching to stand and distance himself from this tripe, but the thought of Ruby kept him in his seat. She and their child needed him to be strong. Lucas continued to speak, vacillating between licking his wounds, blaming Conrad for all the misfortunes in his world, and begging for a bit of help, and Conrad merely listened, allowing the words to wind down.
“I came to deliver your luggage,” said Conrad. “The innkeeper was kind enough to allow the footman to place it in a room for you.”
Lucas straightened, his lips thinning into nothing as his body tightened; leaving something behind was a favorite ploy that allowed him to return home and win over their parents without it looking as though he was on their doorstep to beg. But Conrad couldn’t find any satisfaction in having outmaneuvered his brother. There was never any joy to be found in sparring with Lucas.
“You may have turned them against me, but they cannot hold firm forever,” said Lucas, punctuating his words with a jab of his finger against the table. “I am their son. It is unnatural for a mother to turn her back on her child and for a father to cut off his heir!”
Conrad reached into his pocket, taking out the papers tucked inside it, and laid them on the table. Lucas’s eyes darted to it, but he di
d not move to take the tickets when Conrad slid them forward.
“The train leaves for Liverpool tomorrow morning,” said Conrad, tapping the topmost ticket. “Then the boat sails to New York that afternoon.”
Lucas began to talk, but Conrad would not allow him another chance to bluster.
“If you will not accept Mother and Father’s offer, then emigrating is your best option. A fresh start,” said Conrad. “They say a man can go far in America. Even a small sum of money can lead to great possibilities there. Better than anything you’d find here.”
Lucas’s words were hard, his eyes narrowing. “I haven’t any money—”
But before he could launch into another rant, Conrad spoke over Lucas, “Two thousand pounds will give you a modest income if invested wisely."
Lucas’s brows drew together, his gaze growing speculative. “I thought the family finances are all tied up with rebuilding.”
“They are, but I have written to Uncle Simon and Cousin Hatcher for a loan to cover it,” said Conrad. While such a desperate action would have revolted him mere weeks ago, penning that petition had brought no such misery to his soul. He would beg in the streets if that secured the funds to free his wife of Lucas.
Conrad leaned forward, holding his brother’s gaze with all the ferocity he felt at the thought of the blackguard hurting his family again. “I will send you every penny of it when—and only when—you arrive in New York. Our man of business in Liverpool, Mr. Johnson, will meet you at the dock with supplies and enough money to survive your first weeks in your new home, but the bulk of the funds will only be sent once I receive a letter from you postmarked from America.”
“Or I could stay here and work back into our parents’ good graces,” replied Lucas with a hint of a smirk.
Conrad’s stomach clenched, for that was the very reason he’d sought Lucas out. “But even if they reneged their conditions and returned to the way things were, they would not give you more than I have offered, and this money would be yours free and clear. No more allowances or lectures on changing your ways. No more begging from them. You’d be your own agent. The American elite are always ready to welcome a suave British gentleman in their circles, as you’d lend them a bit of old-world sophistication. You could even claim some distant relation to the aristocracy with them none-the-wiser.”
The Honorable Choice (Victorian Love Book 2) Page 26