Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Ernest's fist was held aloft at the white, wooden door to Miss Gundry's bedroom.

It was strange; he was sure he had seen candlelight flickering down the hallway beneath her door for a moment. Was it possible she had heard him and wished not to talk? Had he imagined the light? If she truly was asleep, he should not disturb her simply to discuss Florence's progress.

Then he hesitated. Did he really want to be caught around her twice in one day? What would the staff think if they saw him loitering outside her door? He grimaced and moved back. His footsteps sounded too loud to his ears, and he cringed, hoping she hadn't heard him.

He should not disturb her with questions about Florence so late.

Still, Ernest almost resented the distance he put between himself and Claire's bedroom door.

Instead, he went downstairs and found his mother in the drawing room, wrapped in a burgundy robe, with her hair plaited back from her face.

"Ah, Ernest," she said, beaming at him. "I had some wine brought up. Would you care to join me for a nightcap?"

Ernest was not one to shy away from indulging himself, but he sometimes disliked how a nightcap or toasting reminded him of his fallen friend, Archibald. They had done it many times during their service, and now he only thought of the man's jovial smile as it disappeared into the ground with the brave man himself. Were his fiancée's eyes now forever saddened by the loss of a marriage that they had not even begun? He thought of Archibald's promise to wed Lady Samantha upon their return to England.

Now he never shall have that, Ernest thought sombrely and accepted the glass his mother passed to him. He finished it quickly and asked for another to nurse much slower as he took up the armchair adjacent to hers.

"We indulge in fine things rather well, Ernest," Katherine said, lifting the glass to her lips. "This wine is more than one hundred years old. Do you think your uncle would have appreciated it for its vintage nature? No, he would have sought only the effects of the drink. We are far more deserving of this rank than he ever was." She smiled at him, leaning across to pat Ernest's hand. "Thank heavens for you, my son."

He gave her a withering smile, feeling rather like a puppet on a string.

"Mother, do you not miss my father?" he asked.

"Drink your wine, Ernest," she scolded. "You do not indulge enough."

She is avoiding my question. Why? he thought.

"I do," he said, "but I can hardly do my work as a physician when I am shaky-handed from a night of wine. Some of us cannot sit around preening in our drawing rooms."

"Then what is it you are doing now?" she challenged softly, smiling at him as if she were proud of herself. "Ernest, if I were not worthy of my rank, then I would not have been born in this very house. I am simply stepping back into an old pair of shoes, only to find they fit better than they ever did before."

She shook her head. "You must reconsider my request to leave that job," she muttered. "Bellott Hospital does not need one more physician. I am proud of you for the work you did in the king's army, and I know the hardships you have faced, but it is time you realize your place in society. You are an earl now, Ernest. It is a fine title, and you do not need this career of yours you idealize. It is … unbecoming. You are living both a commoner's life and a noble one, and the two have never gone hand-in-hand."

You would know after marrying my father, he thought bitterly. He took a sip of his wine, letting the rich flavour burst over his tongue.

"Mother, I know you regret leaving the Ton behind when you married my father, but I do

not wish to give up work I feel passionately about—good, hard work—just because I have a new title. I have barely settled into it. I need time to adjust." It was an excuse, and he knew it. He loathed how this new title took him away from his career much more. He wished life was as simple as it used to be: when he was just a medic, and his mother only talked of life back as a lady of the Ton. He almost resented how she swanned around this house.

"Besides," he muttered, "it is hard to find joy in the new title when it was only gained due to your brother's unfortunate death. My uncle and cousin's deaths brought us these titles again. It does not feel right to celebrate it."

"We are celebrating fortune, not death," she said, her voice snappish. "That is what we applaud and recognize for ourselves. That we are now secure."

"We already were," he countered. "You are happy to have lost your brother but gained a title?"

"You are far more the Earl of Bannerdown than he ever was, and you ought to be grateful."

Perhaps it is you who ought to be grateful for me, as without me taking the inheritance, you would not have been allowed back here as a lady.

Instead, he said, "Thank you, Mother. I am grateful. I just have been around far too much death."

"Which is another reason why you could sacrifice your career, my dear boy. Give yourself a break from tragedy. It is concerning how much you enjoy being around it."

"I enjoy helping people, Mother," he countered. "That is all." He sighed. "I am like my father in such ways. Have you heard from him? I am assuming that is why you do not miss him."

"I did not say I do not miss him," she said entirely too quickly. "I believe that tomorrow, I shall attend the modiste and find out some upcoming fashions so we can start to look towards Lady Florence's future. She shall need a good, upstanding husband."

More title talk, he thought sourly. More dodging questions.

"Of course," he said. "I shall be at the hospital."

Katherine simply rolled her eyes and finished her wine. Ernest drained the rest of his

glass and stood, bidding his mother a good night.

***

The following morning, he walked past the breakfast room and heard soft-spoken voices coming from inside.

He paused just out of sight, finding himself in such a position far too many times for comfort. Sunlight streamed through the tall French windows, the curtains all pulled open. He briefly remembered how this manor had been shrouded in complete darkness, but he loved the sunlight that now came through.

I should go inside, he thought. I should eat with them and make conversation. At the very least, I should ask Florence how she slept. I should compliment her musical progress. I should thank Miss Gundry.

And yet …

He could not.

His grief, awkwardness, and lack of how to talk to his young, orphaned cousin held him back. He would look like a fool. Sometimes he had dined with Florence and spent the whole time eating in a tense silence, but he could not endure that today.

I shall finally ask Miss Gundry later, once I have returned from the hospital.

His mother was out at the modiste, as she had mentioned she would be, so he knew he was safe not to be subjected to her further complaints. It was strange how she enjoyed berating him for his career choices but answered none of his questions.

Ernest walked past quietly, ducking his head, heading upstairs, and calling for his valet to get ready.

***

Just as he was about to duck into the second carriage—thankfully, he had brought his own from their old home and now had use of the previous earl's carriage—he heard a shout.

"Driver!" He turned around to find Claire rushing out, holding her skirt above her feet not to trip as she hurried down the house's main steps. Her cloak's hood slipped off, showing her wayward waves that had been held back loosely, as if she had been in a rush. "Oh—Lord Bannerdown. I apologize; I did not see you."

She speaks formally for a governess, he thought. While they are often well-educated, they do not have the silver tongue the pompous crowd of the Ton has.

"It is quite all right," he said. "What is it that has you in a rush?"

"I was wondering if your driver might be troubled to go into town and pick up a package for Lady Florence. It is at the Haberdash Bookshop."

He knew the place well, and he thought he could pick it up, but … He hesitated. I cannot talk to my cousin, but I believe I can talk to Miss Gundry.

"Miss Gundry, if you are not otherwise busy, you are very welcome to pick it up yourself. As my cousin's governess, you are not confined to the house."

Claire stumbled back, her eyes wide as she gaped at him. "I—I couldn't possibly—" She glanced at the carriage. She worries like a lady of the Ton might, he noted. But she is a working woman. She should not worry about such things.

He was about to retract his offer when she nodded timidly. "That would be most generous, Lord Bannerdown."

I served in the king's army as Ernest, he wished to say. Call me Ernest.

But he could not, and he kept his mouth closed and only stepped back to allow Claire to enter the carriage first. She awkwardly moved past him. He moved his hand on the carriage door handle a moment too late, and her fingers found his hand as she stepped in. Her hand pulled back sharply, and she stuttered an apology.

"Forgive me, Miss Gundry," he said, meeting her gaze for a moment. Claire's lips parted, and he found his eyes drawn to the movement before they strayed to that mole beneath her right eye, finding it a pretty addition to her face.

"It is not your fault, My Lord," she whispered.

"Regardless, I should have moved my hand to allow you entry into the carriage." Her words prompted him to break his gaze.

Before she could answer, the driver motioned them along. "Lord Bannerdown, are we to get moving?"

"We are," he said, climbing in after Claire. "Let us go into town."

They settled, and the carriage pulled away from Little Harkwell House. As much as he liked the manor, he felt much lighter and better whenever he left for work. It was as if distance from the house took the weight of the unwanted responsibility from his shoulders. He was indeed grateful for the security for both him and his mother, but why did she dodge his questions about his father?

He wondered if something had happened between them while he was away at war.

Claire cleared her throat, prompting him out of his thoughts. Right, he remembered. I am not alone.

But he could not think of what to say, so he also cleared his throat to buy some time. Claire did it again moments later, and Ernest could not help an awkward laugh as he looked out the window, avoiding meeting her gaze again head on.

"I was wondering—"

"I wanted to—"

They both spoke simultaneously, having spent far too long in silence waiting for the other to talk. Ernest laughed and hesitated while Claire looked wide-eyed at him for a moment as if wondering if it was okay to have interrupted him.

"Please, My Lord, you speak first," she said hurriedly.

"I was merely wondering what Florence's package is," he commented, still laughing through his awkwardness.

"Ah," she said. "It is a book. Specifically, a special edition of Romeo and Juliet. It is the first edition, apparently. It was bought in especially for her. The bookkeeper at the Haberdash Bookshop is most generous."

"Shakespeare?" Ernest asked, nodding. "That is quite impressive."

"Oh, Lady Florence is very fascinated with him!" Claire said, her excitement palpable. "She has read every Shakespearian play at least twice. I believe her favourite is Macbeth, but she does have a special place for Romeo and Juliet. I think she is a romantic at heart but—"

Claire cut herself off, snapping her mouth closed.

"What is it?"

"I do not wish to speak out of turn."

"I assure you, Miss Gundry, nothing is out of turn."

"But… If you do not mind me saying, My Lord, you have not asked of her progress. I do not want to assume you want to be told."

"I would very much enjoy it," he said, nodding encouragingly. "Do go on."

"I was only going to mention that I believe Lady Florence to be a romantic at heart, but I think her grief stifles her, so she turns to Shakespeare's books with woeful tragedy. The fated lovers theme seems understandable."

"It does indeed," he said. "Although I do hope she does not wish for her own Romeo in those circumstances."

He found the conversation going in an easier direction than anticipated and began to relax.

"Lord Bannerdown," Claire spoke up after a moment, "if you do not mind me asking, why do you not speak with Lady Florence directly? She is your cousin, is she not? And she is very young. Of course, she has me, but I can see she craves a connection with you."

He hesitated, feeling rather embarrassed of himself when he admitted, "Miss Gundry, the real reason I do not speak with her is because I find myself rather awkward around her. She is young and grieving, and I am older and do not know how to navigate my own grief to best be there for her. I do not know how to communicate with her in a way that won't leave her feeling rather negative."

"I can tell she wishes to speak with you, no matter what," Claire said gently. "She is a lover of books, as I mentioned. If you have a favourite Shakespearean tale, perhaps you could bring it up over dinner. If you feel awkward, then you can keep the communication to a confined time. Break your fast with us one time, or you are welcome to step into the music room and watch us duet." Her voice went higher with her teasing, joking about catching him lingering in the doorway. He laughed lightly, allowing her such a tease.

"You are quite right," he said. "I am merely aware of my own … poor skills in talking. I am used to being clinical and observant. That has not equipped me to cater to a grieving young ward whom I did not know I would have guardianship over."

"She worries about that," Claire told him. "That she is the ward you are stuck with and never chose and cannot get rid of until she is married."

The fact that his cousin carried such a burden … Oh, it jaded his heart. He truly did need to talk to her.

"I shall find myself taking your advice, then, Miss Gundry. And it is quite ample timing as well, for it appears we have arrived at our destination." He smiled as they entered the town. "I believe the Haberdash Bookshop is a little way down the road."

"Thank you, My Lord."

He opened the carriage door to her and stepped out before offering his hand to help her out. Claire blinked at his open palm for a moment before sliding her hand into his. He jolted at the touch but closed his fingers around hers to steady her as she stepped out of the carriage and onto the cobbled streets.

She bumped into him, her eyes wide as she gazed up at him. He looked down at her and was only brought out of his reverie by the closing of the carriage door by one of the footmen. Ernest startled and stepped back.

"I shall… I shall leave the carriage here so you may have a way to return to Little Harkwell Park," Ernest said. "I do not know when I shall be home."

"Thank you, Lord Bannerdown."

He lingered awkwardly, unsure how to part ways, so he simply nodded jerkily before he turned and walked away towards Bellott's Hospital.