by Megan Bryce
Not dread. How could she dread Mr. St. Clair leaving? He was nothing to her except an entertaining interlude.
Not anger. He wasn’t foiling any plan of hers.
Perhaps disappointment.
Regret?
She looked at his even handwriting and knew Mr. St. Clair had felt the same something that she did.
A single gentleman sending a note to an engaged woman was perilously close to indecent and their relationship, if it could even be called that, did not require him to inform her of his imminent departure from London.
For good. For ever.
She stared at the podium. Then down at her leaflet.
Steam. Trains. The future.
Her future.
Honora Kempe got up quietly and left the lecture hall.
It took two weeks to get rid of Mr. Moffat.
A few temper tantrums.
A couple dinners, handmade.
Honora thought it most likely that her blackened toast and the resulting tantrum when Mr. Moffat could not get his teeth through it had been the final straw but eventually Mr. Moffat could take the thought of his future no longer.
Honora had sobbed and screamed and hysterically shouted how she was ruined and generally made Mr. Moffat absolutely sure that he was willing to pay any price to get rid of her.
And when Uncle Hubert stepped in with his quiet voice and calm acceptance, Honora had collapsed onto the sofa and cried into her handkerchief.
She cried and cried, never hearing the negotiation. Cried for herself, cried for poor Mr. Moffat and the five gentleman who had preceded him. Cried for her aunt and uncle.
Cried for her mother, gone so long ago.
Cried for the home she missed.
Cried knowing this game was all she would ever have.
Honora cried until she was all cried out.
She took a few shaky breaths and when she heard nothing, slowly lifted her head to find her uncle alone, his eyes closed. Just here in the room with her.
Honora’s eyes prickled again and she blinked them back. She wouldn’t cry because she wasn’t alone. Wouldn’t cry because her aunt and uncle, for some reason, had taken her in and loved her when no one else would.
Uncle Hubert asked, “Feeling better?”
She nodded though he couldn’t see it and patted her sore eyes. “I do so hate Miss Blackstock.”
“She is indeed very volatile,” he said and Honora’s laugh was wet and watery.
She wiped her nose on her soaked handkerchief and pushed herself into a more upright position.
“I believe it would do us all good to take a little break, Honora. Be ourselves for a while. With Mr. Moffat’s donations, we have enough for a small cottage in the country. Enough for bread and cheese and the occasional joint of meat.”
They had enough. Just enough. The word reminded her every time of what had been stolen from her and she said, “Letitia.”
Uncle Hubert opened his eyes. “Still?”
“Still. I know where we’re going next, uncle. I’ve found our Earl of Ferrers.”
George St. Clair walked home.
The coach from the rail station had dropped him and Collin off at the village inn and despite Collin’s wish to stop at the tap room for a refreshing and fortifying drink, George had merely picked up a bag in one hand and a side of his travel trunk in the other and waited.
Collin grabbed the other side sullenly and muttered, “The lord’s son slinking home with his bags in his hand.”
“The prodigal son. Everyone will enjoy the story.”
“I want it to be known that I am not slinking home. I am merely following my employer.”
“You’re not going home at all. You’ll be staying with me at the hall.”
Collin blew out a breath. “Downstairs. And my sister up.”
“That is awkward. Would you prefer to stay with your brother?”
Collin made a rude gesture and George laughed. “Funny how going home always brings out the child in each of us.”
“Hilarious.”
“I am sorry, Collin. I’m afraid I only thought how awkward this would be for me.”
“You’re a lord’s son, sir. Selfishness is expected.”
“You would think a lord’s son could have trained his valet better.”
“It is a complicated situation. But I will blame it all on Alice. Complicated awkwardness is unavoidable when someone marries above their station. I think your father was right to push Alice toward marrying Henry instead of you.”
George stopped, his hand tightening around the handle of the trunk, and Collin stopped beside him to quietly say, “Henry was always going to stay here. Her low parentage only makes it awkward for us, for family. But when you take your living, when you start moving up the church hierarchy as your father has always planned for you to do? Her birth and station would have been awkward for everyone.”
“I should tell my father to take his living and his plans and give them to someone who wants them.”
“Are you going to?”
“It does not seem likely.”
Collin sniffed. “Manchester, then. And will you need a valet when you take your position or should I find my way back to London before I run into my brother?”
“Collin, who else is going to mouth off while dressing me if not you?”
“You have a point, sir. Now, should we go meet our nieces and nephew?”
Collin started walking again without waiting for a reply and George followed wordlessly, thinking selfish thoughts like any lord’s son would do.
They had only just been welcomed inside when Alice came running, and when she saw her brother, her eyes filled with tears and she covered her mouth with her hand.
“Oh, Collin. You became a man. You’ve been gone too long!”
She hugged him, squeezing tight, then fussed with his suit and his hair.
Collin blushed bright red and he hissed, “Alice! I’m working!”
She laughed and swatted at him and she turned to George. “You too, brother. You have been gone too long.”
Lord St. Clair came out from a room, saying, “I agree. Too long.”
Collin tried to get out of line of sight of the viscount, unsuccessfully since Alice was still clinging to his arm, and George had to give his father credit. He welcomed Collin warmly, told Alice to take her brother in to the sitting room so she could visit with him, and turned to greet his son.
George nodded at Collin to go and then stared back at his father who said, “Glad you could come.”
As if I had a choice, George thought.
And, I’m not.
But he’d only just accused Collin of being childish now that they were home so he said, “Yes. It has been a long time.”
“Let’s go into the library. Henry is resting right now and you can say hello to the children when they come down to say goodnight. I think Alice and her brother will be busy for quite a while, which leaves us to discuss your new position. I confess when I heard how close it was to home, I jumped on it. I wish all my sons could stay near at hand and close enough to visit more often than every five years.”
George said, “Hard to do when one son is stationed in Africa.”
“He’s a good writer, though,” Lord St. Clair said to the son who wasn’t. “Been promoted to Major. Moving up.”
His father sighed as he sat, satisfied with his second eldest son’s progress. “And you’ve seen Alice. Already recovered from the newest; I expect there will be many more.”
“The child is. . .healthy?”
Lord St. Clair nodded proudly. “Healthy and strong. Her lungs! You’ll hear her.”
George couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice. “It’s all falling into line for you, isn’t it, Father.”
“I have always said that your mother gave me four sons for a reason. One, for my heir. Two, for the military. Three, for the church. And four, to stay at home and bless me with a multitude of grandchildren.”
“It is lu
cky for you that three of your sons followed your plan to fruition.”
“The fourth one will as well.”
The fourth one said, “Why? Why would I?”
“What else are you going to do?”
George sunk into his seat and closed his eyes.
His father said softly, “I know you wanted her, son. But you didn’t need her, not like Henry. Her health when Henry has none. His relations when hers are lacking.”
“Father, I don’t want to hear how you bred them.”
“And if I did? Their children are healthy and strong and they have a far better future than they would have, had their parents married others.”
George opened his eyes. “Am I the only one who sees this part of you? That you think you are God?”
His father got that satisfied look on his face. “That is because you are a man of the church. You’ve been trained to see God everywhere.”
George’s disgust turned to dread. The fourth son was falling into line as well.
“Yes. I see God everywhere, as you say,” he said and tried not to roll his eyes. “Tell me about this living.”
“It’s on the outskirts of Manchester, in the newly created diocese.” His father beamed with pride, as if he’d not only single-handedly created this opportunity for his son but also the textile factories that employed the ever-growing number of immigrants looking for work, the coal mined in nearby hills that powered the heavy machinery, and the railways that transported finished goods out to the world.
“The town is growing so quickly! Nearly two dozen churches have been built in the area since you left school and a dozen more are in the planning stage. Your living should be comfortable enough for a bachelor, though you won’t be able to stay one for long now.”
“Sounds. . .” Horrifying? Depressing?
“I’ll be going with you.”
Torturous.
“I don’t need a chaperone, Father.”
“I’m not going for you. I’ve ordered the house opened. I spend some time there every year, checking my investments. Might as well do it now. You may stay with me until you’re settled, if you like.”
“I assume my allowance will not be reinstated any time soon?”
“You assume correctly. Once you’ve picked a wife, the matter will be revisited. We need to attract the right kind of woman for you, the kind of woman who will be comfortable hosting archdeacons, bishops. . .the archbishop. You won’t be able to find that on a vicar’s salary.”
The entire thing was horrifying, depressing, and torturous.
George said, “When are we leaving for Manchester?”
“Is a week too long for you to spend at home, to visit with the family you haven’t set eyes on in five years?”
Yes, it was.
George stood. “I’ll need to bathe before dinner. I’ll go find Collin.”
Collin unpacked while George bathed, putting clothing away with a running commentary.
“She’s the exact same. I thought maybe your family would have put some polish on her, but no.”
“My father doesn’t need her polished.”
Alice was warm and welcoming and her children would be just like her. Healthy just like her, and George closed his eyes. Hating that his father had been right; hating that George could see it.
Collin said, “She’s happy.”
“Good.”
“She says Henry’s health cycles but at the moment he is doing well.”
“Good,” George said again.
“After we’re done here, I’m going to run up to the nursery, see the children. Do you want to come?”
George opened his mouth to say that the children would be coming to say goodnight before dinner and he would see them then.
And then he thought of seeing Henry and Alice’s children for the first time with his father watching and said, “Yes. Yes, I do.”
Two towheaded children greeted the men when they entered the nursery, shouting, “Uncle Collin! Uncle George! Mummy said you would come!”
And though Collin had seen the children as often as George, meaning never, the young man fell to his knees and hugged them both. “It looks like Mummy was right.”
A soft-spoken voice behind them said, “Mummy is always right.”
George turned, looking over his brother carefully as he sat in a plush chair near the fire. Noting the frailness that never went away thanks to the wasting sickness that had plagued him since birth. Noting that he looked happy beneath the frailty as he watched his children pull Collin here and then there, showing off their toys.
“You’re looking well, Henry.”
“Feeling well, George. You look tired.”
Tired. Of life.
But he went to stand next to Henry’s chair and tried not to sound more tired than his sick brother. “It was a long trip from London.”
“I hope you’ll stay to rest. Take walks with me in the morning and naps in the afternoon, and you’ll be feeling yourself again in no time.”
George didn’t think so. He was pretty certain that what ailed him couldn’t be fixed with walks and naps, but he nodded at the brother he hadn’t seen in years.
“I would love to join you on your walks, though I might skip the naps.”
Henry chuckled lightly. “I know it sounds childish, but Alice swears by them. And I must admit, I feel better when I am able to sleep for a bit partway through the day. Invigorates me enough to last through dinner, at least.”
Henry watched the children and Collin play with one toy after another, and George remembered how his brother had always had to sit and watch others play.
Henry said, “Alice and Father will appreciate having company a sight more active in the evenings and we’d all love to hear about London. How long are you planning on staying?”
“A week. Then I’m off to finally start my life.”
But it felt as if George’s life was ending. As if he knew exactly what the future held in store for him.
And he didn’t like it one bit.
But, indeed, what else was there?
Collin played toy soldiers with the children, dying exuberantly and making them squeal with laughter, and when all three of them finally tired of it, Collin pushed himself from the floor, remembering loudly that he was a grown man of twenty and while he would have liked to stay all day playing, he had dinner clothes to prepare.
George said, “Awkward, indeed,” and Collin said over his shoulder as he closed the door behind him, “I’ll remind you for Boxing Day.”
Henry shot a disappointed look at George. “Boxing Day? He is family, George.”
“As he points out every year, he is both family and a servant, and so deserves gifts on both Christmas and Boxing Day.”
Henry laughed. “Ah. Very well then. I am glad you have someone, George, who is not afraid of you. I am glad you are not alone.”
“Afraid of me? Are you?”
Henry thought for a long moment. “Not afraid, but you can be very severe. I’m glad Collin is there to poke at you.”
“He does an admirable job of it.”
“Perhaps once you’re comfortable in your new living, you can add a wife to your small circle.”
George sighed, and thought he might need a long nap every day after all.
“Father will no doubt find me a suitable wife who loves to poke at me as well as Collin.”
“For an old widower, he does not do a bad job of picking out exactly what one needs.”
The baby started her howling at that moment, the sound making George’s ears tingle even through the closed door.
“How in the world can something so small be so loud?”
Henry smiled as if her screams were the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. “You should hear when she really gets going.”
“Father did say she had some lungs on her.”
Henry closed his eyes to listen to the life bellowing from his child, and George watched him, wondering how many of the seven dead
ly sins a man could commit while looking at his brother.
A week was far too long to stay but he did.
And at the end of it, he hugged the children goodbye, kissed Alice’s cheek like a brother, thumped Henry gently on the back as if they were good friends.
He didn’t look back when the carriage began its journey to Manchester.
Lord St. Clair sat across from him and said, “I was right about them, wasn’t I?”
“Yes, Father.”
The older man nodded. “I’ll be right about you, as well. You’ll see.”
Sinclair,
Glad to hear you have landed in India. The place must agree with you, or it is as I have always suspected and you are simply a lucky scoundrel. The widow has made an honest man of you and there is a child on the way? Just how long is the journey to the edge of the world?
All joking aside, I am very happy for you, old friend. Happy to have been wrong about that, and well wishes to the both of you.
Your friend, who will be joining you in matrimony fairly soon if Father has any say in the matter,
St. Clair
Four
Miss Letitia Blackstock had changed a little. Scandal will do that to a girl.
She smiled a little less. She wore her twiggy hat a little more.
Those who had known her in London, and there were a few unfortunately, noted the change. And whispered about it.
Aunt Gertrude stood at the edge of a smallish ballroom, watching those around them dance and laugh and include them not at all and said, “I didn’t think any place could be worse than London. Perhaps it is the season.”
Honora said, “It’s the rain. It hasn’t stopped since we got here.”
Uncle Hubert cleared his throat. “It’s rained no more than it did it London. It’s the welcome.”
It was the welcome. Or, rather, the unwelcome.
The few acquaintances who’d known her, or of her, had made short work of her ruined engagement. She was surprised they’d been invited to any gathering at all, and if she had still been Miss Apple Blossom Blackstock, she would have been grateful and thankful to be allowed here on the outskirts.
She wasn’t Miss Apple Blossom Blackstock any longer, thank the Lord.