Chapter 7

Heart to Heart

Bridget greeted her mother and the Dowager Duchess on the veranda as she returned from her walk. She could barely look at her mother as she passed, fearing she would give herself away. She did not want her mother to know she was on her way to talk to her father.

Penelope would try and stop her from talking to Ralph, and she would want to do it herself. Bridget knew it was not her responsibility, but she wanted to save her mother from the stress.

Bridget passed quickly by the drawing room, where Margaret was humming a tune while she stared intently at four vases each containing different flowers. She pointed toward each of them in turn and then took some marigolds from one vase and added them to the vase with the roses. She smiled, but shook her head, moving the marigolds back to their original vase. The happiness emanating from the room was almost contagious.

That happiness was slowly sapped as Bridget made her way to the east wing of the house. She found one of the guest bedroom doors closed, and she knocked on it. When there was no answer, she knocked again.

"I'll eat later," came the disgruntled reply from within.

"Father, it is me," Bridget called.

"I'm trying to sleep," Ralph called back.

"I need to speak with you, Father."

There was silence.

"Father, I need to speak with you," Bridget repeated.

There was another moment of silence, then Ralph said, "Give me a moment."

Bridget looked over her shoulder to make sure no one else was approaching. She did not know what would be worse, Margaret joining her or the Duke.

"Alright, you can come in," Ralph grunted.

Bridget tentatively opened the door and went into the room, which smelled of sweat and alcohol. She found her father sitting in a chair by the window, as if that was where he had been all along. He was wearing his trousers from the previous night and a plain cotton shirt that was partially untucked. He must have run a hand through his hair, which was slightly flattened but still unkempt.

"Good morning, my dear," Ralph said pleasantly, as if the world were devoid of problems.

Bridget looked around the room. There was no second chair, and she did not want to sit on the bed. She remained standing by the door in case she needed to make a quick escape.

"Father, I am worried about you," she told him, trying to be diplomatic.

She knew her father had a problem, but she had not yet been able to confront him about it.

"You care so much," Ralph replied, as if he was ill and not an addict.

"Father…"

"Yes?"

"We have to speak about this, Father. The wedding is approaching, and I am sure you know how important these next two weeks are for Mother and Margaret."

"As are they for me," Ralph stated.

Bridget sighed and shook her head. "Father, you are not listening to me."

"And you are not hearing me," her father said confrontationally.

"Father, you came home drunk last night!" Bridget snapped.

"Whatever are you talking about, my dear? Is this because I accidentally knocked over the vase? Why did you come here? To speak to me or to accuse me of something?"

"I don't want to accuse you of anything, Father." She would rather he owned his mistakes. "We could all smell the alcohol on you. It was not just me."

"Smell the alcohol?" Ralph asked, smiling wide. For a moment, he reminded her of the Duke, who always had a smile and a charming word. "My dear, you know nothing of business. Where do you think business happens? In stuffy rooms? No, in gentlemen's clubs and other such establishments. I am out there trying to set this ship right, and you accuse me of going out to drink! I came home in a good mood last night, but you are spoiling it thoroughly. If you wish to say something, at least have the gumption to say it to my face."

"So, you were out making business deals?" Bridget asked.

Birdsong drifted in through the open window leading to the side of the house, where a tall oak tree stood.

"I was," Ralph replied.

"And?" Bridget prompted.

"And what?"

"I know how much financial trouble we are in, Father. Did you make a business deal with anyone?"

"My dear, you have no idea how business works," Ralph replied, becoming irritated with his daughter. "That is why you should have a man to set you right. I would explain it to you, but you would not understand."

"What I do understand is that you are saying a lot without saying very much at all."

Ralph sat up straighter and leaned forward, his eyes dark and heavy from the night before. He was a tall man with thick black hair and brown eyes. He had been a handsome man for most of his life, but his constant drinking had given him a nervous look that brought an ugliness to his features.

"How dare you talk to me like that! I am your father, Bridget!" he scolded.

"Then act like it!" Bridget shouted back.

Ralph rose from his chair, and Bridget cowered, moving back until she was pinned to the wall. Ralph dropped back down into his chair. Whether that was due to the alcohol still in his system or he decided not to attack her, she did not know.

"Get out of my room," he ordered. He didn't even look at her as he said it.

Bridget did as she was told and went to the door. When she got there, something bubbled inside her, and she could not leave without telling her father exactly what she thought. When she turned to face him, he still did not look her way.

"You are a drunk, Father! A drunk and a gambler. Now, I don't care whether you can control it or not, but you must know you are ruining this family, and I do know you can control your actions at other times. You did not need to come back last night, and you don't need to be here for the following couple of weeks. You are supposed to be the man of this house, but you certainly don't act like it. Mother is trying so hard, and if you ruin this wedding, you will ruin our family. I hate to say this, but things are better when you are not around. I'm begging you to leave. Margaret still has some respect for you, but that will disappear if you keep this up. If you want to help, then stop trying to help."

Bridget felt her chest heave after the tirade. She had thought she might have felt better for getting things off her chest, but she only felt worse.

"Are you done?" her father asked, looking out the window.

"Yes," Bridget replied.

"Then get out of my room."

Bridget finally left the room, not looking back.

This is exactly why I do not need a man in my life.

Bridget could not be around anyone else. She slipped out the side entrance of the house and walked down toward the beach. She wiped her tears with the sleeve of her dress. She knew her father's addiction was a disease, but she could not understand how someone could be so selfish.

He spent his days drinking and gambling, squandering their money. Perhaps he was out there trying to make business deals, but if he were, no one would deal with him in his current state.

When Bridget got to the beach, she kicked off her shoes and pulled off her stockings so she could feel the sand between her toes. She left the shoes and stockings behind and walked a little toward the water before sitting on the warm sand and looking out at the horizon.

Light blue met a green-black in the distance, a perfect line of balance between sky and sea. Gentle waves lapped against the shore, but at the horizon, it was calm and in order. It was unlike her life.

The beach was quiet, and Bridget was thankful for that.

She watched the gulls flying above and listened to the gentle sounds of the surf. It helped to calm her, but it did nothing to solve her problems.

Bridget scanned the pale gold sand. There was movement in the distance—she was not quite alone. Someone walked down by the water. She watched him stride confidently along the sand.

If Bridget had her swimming clothes on, she might have taken a dip. The water was cold enough at this time of year to leave little room to think about anything else.

The man walked up the beach toward her, and she took the opportunity to study him, knowing that he was too far away to know she was looking directly at him and not at the sea.

When he got closer, Bridget felt a jolt of alarm. The man she had been watching was the Duke, and he was coming straight toward her.

The Duke raised his hand in the air to greet her, recognizing her, and she replied in kind.

Please don't come to talk to me!

The Duke did exactly that. He stretched, casting a long shadow over the sand.

Bridget did not know where to look. She felt it was wrong to look away and ignore him, but it was also wrong to stare directly at him. She moved between looking down at the sand as if there were something interesting there and checking on his progress toward her.

When he was close enough, she caught his eye and smiled awkwardly.

"Good day," the Duke greeted, rolling his shoulders.

"Good day," Bridget returned.

He was thick and broad and tall. His black hair was slicked back, and his green eyes sparkled like jewels amid his slightly tanned and chiseled features. She should not have stared, but she did. He was a distraction—that was all—and there was no harm in admiring the male physique. If she could take her mind off her family problems for a moment, then it would be a moment well spent.

"It's a fine day," the Duke observed.

"I thought you went into town with Lord Michael, Your Grace."

"I did, but we returned already, and I fancied a swim, but I feared the day was not hot enough for a swim. Have you been in?"

"Not today, but I have swum in this sea before," Bridget replied. "It can be very refreshing."

"I am sure," the Duke said, stretching.

Bridget looked beyond him at the waves gently lapping on the darkened sand.

"I wanted to apologize," the Duke said.

"Apologize? What for?"

"For yesterday."

"Then you will have to be more specific," Bridget told him. "There were many things you could apologize for."

"For what I said about your father," the Duke clarified.

Bridget went quiet.

"I do not know your family circumstances, but I should not have insinuated he was drunk. We all have challenges in our lives, but I would be a liar and a fool if I did not admit to being drunk on many occasions. And I have made a fool of myself on some of those occasions. Not that I am saying your father is a fool. I only want to apologize for the way I made you feel."

"He was not drunk—he is a drunk," Bridget stated.

She did not know why she admitted that to the Duke, and she should probably not tell anyone, but she had had enough after the confrontation with her father.

But she regretted it immediately. She wanted the world to know the truth about her father, but she could not ruin the wedding. Still, she could not take it back now.

"Oh, he is such a fool," Bridget stated.

She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around her legs, lowered her head, and tried not to cry. All she wished for now was for the Duke to go away and forget the whole thing. She wished for her father not to ruin the wedding, but she was doing far worse.

She jolted when the Duke sat on the sand beside her and wrapped an arm around her. She did not move, keeping her head down. If she did not look up, she did not have to acknowledge that she was in his embrace.

Bridget did not want anyone to be with her, but she felt safe with the Duke. She knew who he was by reputation, but for a brief moment in time, she could ignore it and be connected to someone else. Everything was so disconnected, but for a minute, on a beach in Cornwall, it all made sense.

When he remained by her side, she became uncomfortable. Bridget still did not look up. She could not look the Duke in the eye.

"I want to be alone," she murmured into her knees.

The Duke did not say a word. He remained with her for a second more, and then he released her and stood up. Bridget heard his first couple of footsteps in the sand, and then she was left alone with the birds and the Celtic Sea.

When she had given it enough time, she took a shaky breath and uncovered her face. She looked all around.

She was alone again.