by Rose Pearson
Mrs. Blaine was wringing her hands again, clearly quite distraught. “Does that mean you will leave us?”
Jenny swung around, framed in the doorway of the kitchen. “I have no intention of leaving these children to deal with their father on their own,” she stated decisively, feeling more protective towards Mary and John than ever before. “No, Mrs. Blaine, I have no intentions of going anywhere.”
“I am glad to hear it,” said the voice of the butler, from over her shoulder. “Do come in, Miss Edgington, Mrs. Blaine. This officer has been informing me about the Duke’s recent struggles with regards to the army and his return to England. It seems he is not at all pleased at having been forced to return.”
Mrs. Blaine took a few steps further into the kitchen and sank down at the roughhewn table. “Forced?” she repeated, looking at the officer with wide eyes. “This has not been his own choice?”
The officer shook his head. “No, indeed not. I shall not go into specifics, but needless to say, Lord Carrington is not at all delighted at being sent home. He has been discharged from the army and will not be permitted to return.”
“I see,” Jenny murmured, a little surprised to hear that someone of such noble character as the Duke would be discharged so dishonorably. She recalled how he had behaved since the very first moment he had arrived and wondered silently whether that was due to his discharge or whether or not he had been something of a drunkard during his time abroad. Perhaps that had been the cause for him to be so dishonorably sent away.
“My fellow officer and I have done our duties, however,” the man finished, with a small bow. “Therefore, I would have someone sign this paper –” He pulled a small folded letter from his pocket which he spread out on the table. “This is simply to send back to Colonel Fitchley so that he is assured Lord Carrington is now at home and can resume the responsibilities of his estate.”
Mrs. Blaine let out a snort of ridicule at this last comment, although she was silenced by a sharp look from Mr. Thomas. The butler then took the letter away to his own private rooms where he might sign the letter, leaving Jenny and Mrs. Blaine to finish the conversation with the officer.
“Might I ask,” Jenny began, slowly, the question she had been considering in her mind running around and around until she knew she had no choice but to ask it. “Was the Duke so….” She shook her head, letting out a small sigh of frustration. “What I mean to ask is, was the Duke inclined towards liquor during his time with the army as he is at the moment?”
The officer shifted a little uncomfortably. “I do not wish to speak ill of the master of this house,” he said, looking away from Jenny.
“I quite understand,” she answered, quickly, “but surely you must be able to see that we need to understand the issues we must face.”
The officer sighed, rubbed at his forehead and nodded. “The death of his wife has proven difficult for Lord Carrington to accept,” he said, slowly, his gaze fixing itself onto Jenny’s face. “He took some time away, as he ought, but then returned before his mourning period was at an end. The liquor, I think, helped the pain that came with the knowledge that he was now alone.”
Jenny swallowed hard, feeling a heavy weight settle in her stomach. She knew precisely what the officer meant. There was no question about it now. The Duke of Carrington had a penchant for liquor – although it seemed it was simply to dull his pain and hide his emotions from himself instead of a desire for the liquor itself.
“Thank you,” she said, softly, suddenly feeling the urge to return to the children to ensure they were quite safe. “I do appreciate your honesty, sir. Good day to you.”
Chapter Six
It took Stephen a few minutes to realize that the sound of groaning was coming from his own mouth. Unable to lift his head with the sheer amount of pain rifling through him, he squeezed his eyes closed tightly and tried not to moan aloud again.
He had, as usual, drunk far too much brandy and was now suffering the consequences of it. There was never any change. Always being aware of what was to come when he imbibed too much, he never once hesitated. He never once allowed himself to consider what would follow. All he wanted to do was drown out the pain and sorrow within his heart and mind.
With an effort, he opened his eyes, squinting into the light that poured through the parlor windows. His clothes were rumpled and, as he raked one hand through his hair, he realized just how disheveled he must appear. Not that it mattered, of course. There was no-one here to see him.
Another groan escaped from him as he pushed himself up to sitting. The couch he had fallen asleep on had not been comfortable and he could feel the pain of it now in his limbs. Feeling stiff and sore, he winced as he rubbed hard at one of his shoulders, hoping to ease the pain that had settled there.
Might you care to come in with me?
A sudden memory, a sudden reminder of his own voice speaking those words, hit him so hard that he slumped back into his seat, shame infusing his heart. Barely able to recall the young woman who had stood there, looking at him, Stephen groaned again, covering his hands with his face – although this time, it came from the deep sense of mortification over what he had done. To try and seduce the governess by leering at her and making such improper remarks was more than a little shameful – it was downright dishonoring. Why had he done such a thing? Yes, the liquor could easily be to blame but there was more to it than that.
Dropping his hands from his face, Stephen sighed heavily as he let his eyes rove around the room. In his heart, he knew why he had spoken to that young lady in such a way. It was the very same reason that he now found himself hiding away in the parlor instead of retreating up to his room to sleep.
The memories.
They had come back to him already. They had done so the very first moment he had set eyes on his two children, from the first steps he had taken into the house. It was breaking him in two from deep within. He could feel it tearing him apart and the only thing that would prevent it, even for a few hours, was to lose himself in a drunken stupor. The reason he had slept in the parlor, the reason he had behaved so lewdly towards the governess, were simply attempts to hide from the memories that lingered in his bedchamber. The bedchamber where he had brought Martha in the days after their wedding. He could not go there now, not when he could not forget her. The memories of holding her close would be too much to bear.
Then you need to find a different solution, came the small voice of his conscience. You cannot keep imbibing until it throws you into an early grave.
At times like this, when the darkness was great and the pain almost too much to endure, Stephen felt himself almost looking forward to such a morbid thing as the grave, given that it was the only rest he would feel from his torment. But then he would remember the faces of his two children and he would turn away from his thoughts, feeling even more wretched than before.
Closing his eyes again, Stephen leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees and thrust his hands into his hair. He had not so much as greeted his children. Just looking at them had been more than enough for him to manage. Yes, there had been a great deal of liquor coursing through his veins, but the sight of his two children had still been overwhelming. They had changed somewhat since he had sent them away – but it had been their wide eyes and expressions of shock that had made him realize just how poor an example he was setting.
He had attempted to improve himself in the minutes that followed after his children had departed, but the effects of the liquor had been too much to fight against. The shame of it all had sent him to the parlor in search of more brandy, and he must have fallen into a stupor shortly thereafter.
“Oh.”
The sound of the door opening and someone stepping inside had him lifting his head jerkily, although he immediately regretted the sharpness with which he had done so.
“I do apologize.”
It was the governess, he realized, looking at her with bleary eyes. She was tall and willowy, even with her plain governe
ss gown, but she wore a pinched expression that had him fully aware of what she thought of him.
“I just came in search of one of Mary’s toys,” she stated, walking into the room and looking all around. Her hands were held tightly in front of her, her fair hair tied back neatly into a tight bun. “I do not think it is here, however. Do excuse me.”
“Wait.”
His voice was hoarse and rasping, gruff and unwelcoming. He saw the governess pause in her steps, turning back around to face him with a reluctance that was more than obvious. Her eyes were light green and filled with ice as they held his gaze, her lips thin as she lifted her chin a notch. Stephen felt his mouth fill with dust, not quite sure what it was he wanted to say but knowing that he needed to say something to make up for his despicable behavior towards her.
“Miss….” Closing his eyes, he drew in an unsteady breath, realizing that he had quite forgotten her name.
“Miss Edgington,” she replied, swiftly.
“Miss Edgington,” he repeated, something beginning to nag at his mind. “You knew my late wife, I believe?”
She nodded, a slight wariness about her eyes. “I am a distant relation to Lady Matthews and to the late Lady Carrington,” she agreed.
He nodded slowly, his eyes drifting away from her. His thoughts began to fill with memories of his wife, wondering just how much Miss Edgington knew of Lady Carrington and whether she had any memories of her that she might share with him.
Miss Edgington’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Yes, Your Grace? What is it?” She made an impatient gesture towards the door. “I must return to the children.”
“But of course.” Focusing his gaze, he rubbed at his chin and felt the roughness there. Both unkempt and scruffy, then.
Wincing inwardly, he looked up at her, still uncertain as to whether or not he would be able to stand. “I must apologize, Miss Edgington.”
Her brows rose but she said nothing.
“I believe that I may have made some inappropriate remarks,” he continued, a flush rising steadily into his face. “I do apologize profusely, Miss Edgington. I do not recall yesterday’s events with any particular clarity, but –”
“I do not think, Your Grace, that it is I who needs your apologies,” Miss Edgington interrupted, showing no regard for his status as a Duke and the master of the house. Stephen clenched his jaw, knowing full well that no other servant in his employment would ever speak over him in such a way but yet feeling that he had no right to demand her respect.
“Your children, Your Grace, are distraught over your inability to so much as give them a simple greeting,” she continued, her voice sharp. “I have consoled them as best I could but it is still not enough. Your son believes you to have been overcome by the length of the journey back to England and I did not feel it to be my place to correct him. Therefore, they are both hoping that, once you have recovered, you might, in fact, speak to them and welcome them into your embrace.” She held his gaze steadily, as though she could see the struggle going on within his heart. “I can imagine that it must be a difficult thing to consider, Lord Carrington, but for the sake of your children, I hope you can do such a thing.” Without allowing him to reply, without even waiting for him to allow her to quit the room, Miss Edgington turned on her heel and strode towards the door, flinging it open and marching through it without so much as a look behind her.
Stephen stared after her, more than a little astonished that she had chosen to speak to him in such a manner and then had disappeared from his presence without his agreement. This new governess, whomever she was, certainly had more mettle than he had expected – and Stephen was not entirely sure that such a thing pleased him.
Her final few words began to rise up again within the silence of the room, flinging themselves at him until he was awash with guilt. There was no doubt within him that he had done wrong when it came to his children, but to go to them now, in the way the governess demanded, was almost impossible to consider. Their faces would remind him of Martha. Their voices would crash through him, bringing memories and emotions with them until he was overcome, swamped with all that he felt. Most likely, he would break down completely, and what would his children think of him then?
They would not mock you for it.
Wincing, Stephen closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands. For whatever reason – reasons he could not quite understand – he did not want to share the truth of his feelings with another living soul, and certainly not with his children. It was not the correct behavior for a Duke. A man with his title and status ought to remain stoic and unaffected, no matter the circumstances. It was, however, much too difficult to behave in such a manner even though he knew it was for the best.
Shaking his head to himself and wishing that he had not been so affected by what the governess had said, Stephen rose to his feet and tugged at the bell pull. There were a few things he would need to set to rights, and one would be to have his things moved to another room. He did not want to have to continually sleep in the parlor or in any other room of the house simply because he was avoiding the memories that would come from residing in his own rooms. Therefore, he would have to have his belongings moved to the largest guest bedchamber within the house. It would become his residence for as long as it was required. He did not care what the staff would think of him doing such a thing, for it would be all the worse for them to discover him continually drunk and asleep in any given room of the estate! And then, of course, he would have to do as the governess had stated and greet his children.
One hour later and Stephen was feeling a trifle better, given that he had washed, dressed and shaved. He was dressed impeccably. As he stood with his face towards the door, he drew in a breath and lifted his chin a touch. He would have to remain strong if he were to do what was required.
A scratch came at the door and he called for them to enter, refusing to acknowledge the gnawing anxiety that was beginning to stir within him. The door opened slowly and, as he continued to fix his gaze upon it, saw the two small faces of his children.
Devoid of any liquor by which he might be able to dispel some of his tumultuous emotions, Stephen drew in a long breath and tried to smile, hating that his two children were looking up at him with such uncertainty in their eyes. They had changed somewhat since he had last seen them but their eyes held the same touch of fear as they blinked up at him.
“Do come in,” he said, aware that his voice had cracked but unable to do anything other than continue on regardless. “I am glad to see you both.”
Mary took a few hesitant steps towards him, her eyes huge and her hands held tightly in her lap. “Truly, father?” she whispered, her voice so quiet that he had to strain to hear her.
“Yes, of course,” he replied, with as genuine a smile as he could manage. His heart began to tear inwardly as he looked down into her face, seeing so much of Martha there and finding himself assailed with memories all over again. As much as he wished to turn away from his children, he forced himself to put out one hand and rest it gently on Mary’s shoulder, feeling the tension in her small frame. “I am sorry I did not greet you properly before, child. It was only that my legs had not quite recovered from the journey.” It was nothing more than a lie, but a lie that the governess had given to him to use by way of excusing his behavior to his own children. Clinging to it, he saw Mary nod slowly, her eyes still large as she looked up at him.
His heart was being slowly ripped to pieces as he dragged his gaze away from his daughter to look towards his son, who wore something akin to a mutinous expression. Clearing his throat and setting aside his own pain as best he could, Stephen nodded his head in his son’s direction. “John,” he said, clearly. “I am glad to see you also.”
John said nothing, but returned his father’s gaze with something of a mocking expression, one side of his mouth curling upwards. Stephen swallowed hard, wondering if his son knew all too well that the excuse of being without his land-legs was nothing but a lie and th
at, in being aware of it, he despised Stephen for speaking so.
“It has been some time since we last saw one another, I am aware,” he continued, not quite certain what else to say but aware that he needed to fill the sudden silence. “However, I have returned home now, as you see, and have no intention of leaving again.”
“You have been sent away from the army?”
John’s voice was hard and filled with suspicion, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked up at Stephen.
“My duty is done,” Stephen lied, refusing to even consider telling his son the truth. “I will not be returning there.” He eyed John carefully, feeling his heart begin to ache all the more as he took in the boy’s dark expression. Was John afraid that Stephen would leave the estate again? That he would separate himself from his children once more? He could not blame his son for thinking such a thing, not when he knew all too well that there was, in fact, a desire within him to do precisely that.
“I….” He trailed off, a lump beginning to form in his throat. He wanted to speak of Martha, wanted to tell his children that he knew they had suffered greatly in the loss of their mother, but found that he could not even think of speaking of her. It was costing him too much to even speak to his own children, for even looking at them was bringing her to mind.
“You should return now,” he said, thickly, dropping his gaze from his son and turning a little away. “It is near time for you to retire, is it not?”
There was nothing but silence for some moments. He heard John mutter something to his sister and then the sound of footsteps making their way to the door. Tears crept into Stephen’s eyes as the door was pulled open, and he turned away all the more, refusing to allow a single drop of moisture to fall. He could not bring himself to do so, not when he had remained fighting against his emotions for so long.