Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Winston stood back as the coach carried Mattie away, his heart heavy with conflicting emotions. Every moment spent with Mattie chipped away at his defenses, leaving him vulnerable. And that was a problem. He didn’t dare start feeling things for her again. He needed to move on, and that meant a life without Mattie.

From the corner of his eye, Winston noticed Isaac watching the coach, a smirk playing on his lips. It would have been wiser to ignore Isaac, but Winston found himself unable to do so. Acting on impulse, he closed the distance between them.

“You are trespassing,” Winston growled, his voice low and threatening.

Isaac feigned innocence, a mocking gleam in his eyes. “Am I? I suppose I just came in for a closer look at Miss Bawden. She is a beautiful young woman, is she not?”

Winston took a commanding step closer to Isaac. “You leave Miss Bawden out of this,” he ordered.

“I’m afraid I cannot,” Isaac responded. “You have made her a part of this. But if you return my wife and son to me, I will be able to depart, leaving you and Miss Bawden alone. ”

“I don’t have your wife,” Winston stated.

Isaac narrowed his eyes. “We both know that is a lie,” he spat out. “I was able to confirm that Sarah is not residing at Brockhall Manor.”

“And how did you discover that?” Winston demanded.

Isaac grinned, a smug satisfaction radiating from him. “Your servants are not as loyal to you as you believe. A few coins can make any servant talk.”

Winston pursed his lips together, his temper barely in check. “I don’t know what you intend to do, but you will lose. My advice to you is to leave before it is too late.”

Isaac put his hands out wide. “And miss these pleasant chats? Besides, I am not leaving here without my wife and son.”

“Then you shall be sorely disappointed,” Winston replied, his voice firm and unyielding.

Isaac’s expression turned almost gleeful. “I read the most interesting article in the newssheets this morning. A traveler from London gave me his paper at the boarding house when I was dining.”

“I do not care…” Winston began, his patience fraying.

Isaac spoke over him. “It was about a boy named Johnny that died in a workhouse. A tragic ending, considering his mother was hung right in front of him.”

Winston clenched his jaw. “What do you know about that?”

“Only that you were the reason why Johnny’s mother was killed and why he was sent to that workhouse. Alone. Without anyone to care for him,” Isaac said. “Can you imagine how lonely he must have felt?”

“You are lying,” Winston shot back. “Johnny was sent to live with his aunt.”

Isaac’s eyes turned cold. “His aunt couldn’t care for him and sent him to the workhouse. It is all in the article. I would be happy to show you. ”

Winston’s hands balled into fists, his struggle to control his anger evident in every taut muscle.

“You are upset,” Isaac remarked, his smile growing. “I am not quite sure why you care so much, especially since you represented the lord that brought the charges against Johnny’s mother. If it wasn’t for you, Johnny might still have a mother.”

With a steely gaze, Winston said, “You know not what you are talking about.”

“I know only what has been reported in the newssheets,” Isaac responded. “You have quite the reputation for winning. How fortunate for you.”

Winston knew that Isaac was trying to goad him, and the worst part was that it was working. How did Isaac know exactly what to say or do to provoke such a reaction? Winston’s mind whirled, trying to process the information and control his mounting anger. It would be best to walk away and take a moment to clear his head.

Without another word, Winston turned on his heel and started to walk away, his shoulders tense with suppressed rage.

“Enjoy your evening, my lord,” Isaac called out jovially.

Winston’s steps faltered. He should keep walking and put distance between him and Isaac. But his anger boiled over, clouding his judgment. Spinning around, he strode back to Isaac, his movements purposeful and commanding. “I want you to leave and never come back.”

Isaac stood his ground, looking thoroughly amused. “Give me my family back and I will be able to.”

“I will never give you what you want,” Winston stated.

“Then we are at a stalemate, my lord,” Isaac said. “And I have all the time in the world. Unlike Johnny or his mother.”

The taunt was too much. Unable to control his anger any longer, Winston reared back and punched Isaac square in the jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Isaac touched his reddened jaw, a twisted smile forming. “That was an impressive hit. I wouldn’t have expected that from you.”

Grady appeared by Winston’s side, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Do not let him get to you, my lord,” he advised. “Isaac is trying to get a rise out of you.”

He had succeeded.

Winston flexed his throbbing hand, the pain a stark reminder of his loss of control. “Get off my property, Isaac, or else I will have you forcibly removed.”

Isaac rose slowly, dusting off his trousers with deliberate movement. “I will go, for now. After all, I would not want you to go through all that trouble just for me,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “I do hope you have an enjoyable meal with Miss Bawden. I would hate for anything bad to happen to her.”

Winston lunged forward, fury propelling him, but Grady held him back, stepping between him and Isaac. “Do not let him goad you, my lord,” he insisted. “He isn’t worth it.”

Isaac’s lips twitched. “I would listen to your guard,” he said before walking away.

Grady didn’t release him right away but kept a firm grip on him. “You cannot lower yourself to Isaac’s level.”

“He threatened Miss Bawden,” Winston said through clenched teeth. “What other choice did I have?”

“You always have a choice,” Grady replied, finally letting go. “Reacting with violence only gives him what he wants.”

Winston watched Isaac’s retreating figure, his mind racing with thoughts of Mattie’s safety. “I won’t let him harm Miss Bawden.”

Grady nodded. “You are doing everything you can to ensure her protection.”

A thought occurred to him. “Why are you here and not at Miss Bawden’s cottage?”

“I thought my presence here was more important, considering you couldn’t help but engage in fisticuffs with Isaac,” Grady responded, his tone a mix of concern and reproach.

“I hate that man,” Winston said, his voice low.

Grady gave him a thoughtful look. “Besides threatening Miss Bawden, did he say something else to upset you?”

“Does it matter?”

“No, I suppose not,” Grady said. “But do not underestimate Isaac. He has a lot to gain by getting Lady Sarah back in his life.”

Winston bobbed his head, his mind still replaying Isaac’s words. The mention of Johnny and his mother had struck a nerve. Guilt and sorrow welled up inside of him, and he desperately needed to be alone to process everything. The realization that he was responsible for the deaths of two people was almost too much to bear.

“Go keep Miss Bawden safe. I will be fine,” Winston ordered before he headed towards Brockhall Manor.

But he knew that was far from the truth. How could he be all right, knowing that Johnny was dead? He would need to confirm what Isaac told him, but it could take days until the newssheets arrived from London.

As he stepped into the entry hall of the manor, he was met by his mother and sisters, their faces etched with concern.

“What is wrong?” Winston asked. He worked hard to mask his inner turmoil.

His mother frowned. “Why did you hit Isaac?” she inquired, her tone holding censure.

Seeing no reason to hide the truth, Winston replied, “I assure you that it was warranted. I want everyone to stay far away from him.”

“What was he doing here?” Elodie asked.

Winston sighed heavily. “He was threatening Mattie,” he revealed, the weight of the admission pressing down on him. “He can’t get to us so he is trying to go after her.”

Melody spoke up, her eyes full of understanding. “ That is why you were so insistent that she ride in a coach from now on.”

“It is,” Winston said, his patience wearing thin. He wanted to be alone, and he was tired of answering these questions. “If you will excuse me…”

He was about to retreat to his bedchamber when Elodie approached him, wrapping her arms around him in a comforting embrace. After a moment, she stepped back and said, “You looked as if you needed a hug.”

“Thank you,” he responded, genuinely touched by her gesture, though his mind was still a storm of conflicting emotions.

Once he retreated to his bedchamber, Winston closed the heavy door behind him, shutting out the world. He sank into the leather armchair by the fireplace, the flickering flames casting shadows that mirrored his troubled thoughts. He needed the quiet, the isolation, to sift through the chaos in his mind.

Isaac’s taunting words echoed endlessly, stirring up memories he had tried to bury. Johnny’s tragic fate and his mother’s death weighed heavily on his conscience. Winston clenched his fists, the pain of his earlier punch throbbing in his knuckles, which was a small penance for the guilt gnawing at him.

He stared into the fire, trying to find solace in its warmth, but the flames only reminded him of the hell he felt trapped in. How was he to seek any form of redemption? He had been sending money to Johnny’s aunt to provide for him, but that had been in vain. Johnny had been sent away, and he hadn’t known.

In the flickering light, he resolved to find out everything about Johnny’s fate. He would contact his sources in London and insist on an investigation. Until then, he would protect Mattie with every ounce of his being.

Winston reached for the bottle of whiskey that sat on the table next to him. He shouldn’t drink, but he wanted to forget, even if it was just for a moment. The familiar image of Johnny staring up at his mother as she hung right in front of him, the tears of anguish that flowed down his cheeks as he was led away, haunted him. The scene replayed in his mind, relentless and unforgiving.

He needed a drink.

The clock on the mantel chimed, alerting him to the time. He was supposed to depart for Mattie’s cottage for dinner soon.

But he couldn’t go.

Not now.

Removing the top of the whiskey bottle, Winston took a long drink, hoping that for tonight, he could forget.

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, casting deep shadows across the room as Mattie gazed out the window. Her thoughts were consumed with worry for Winston. They had planned for him to dine with her family this evening, with the hope that he would speak to her father afterwards.

She wondered what could have detained him, her mind racing with possibilities. Winston was many things, but he was not one to disregard others so easily.

Emma let out a loud, dramatic sigh, breaking the tense silence. “I am starving,” she declared, rising from the settee with an exaggerated stretch. “Can we please go eat?”

Her father, seated comfortably in his high-backed chair, looked up from his book and glanced at the long clock ticking softly in the corner. “I must agree with Emma. It is late, and I do not believe Lord Winston is coming.”

Even Franny glanced her way with a hopeful expression, her eyes reflecting the warm glow of the candles.

Mattie reluctantly rose, her heart heavy with disappointment. “Very well,” she said, forcing a smile. “I would hate for our food to grow cold.”

“Perhaps he misunderstood your invitation to join us this evening?” her father asked, placing the book down.

With a weak smile, Mattie responded, “Perhaps.”

Emma ran a hand down the pink gown that she had insisted on wearing this evening, despite being in mourning. “If I had extended the invitation to Lord Winston, I promise you that he wouldn’t have misunderstood,” she declared confidently.

They walked towards the dining table and sat down. The table was elegantly set, with polished silverware and delicate china gleaming under the chandelier’s light. Mattie couldn’t help but notice the extra plate setting, a glaring reminder that Winston had broken his promise to come.

Her father took his seat at the head of the table, his expression thoughtful. “Lord Winston is a busy man, and I am sure that something came up,” he said, trying to reassure her.

“More important than dining with us?” Emma asked skeptically as she took her seat. “No, I do think the problem lies with Mattie.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” Mattie muttered under her breath.

Franny claimed the seat next to Emma and reached for her cup. “I am glad that Lord Winston didn’t come. I am not up to visiting with a stranger.”

Emma waved her hand dismissively. “Lord Winston is not a stranger, at least to us. He is tall, handsome and very intelligent. He is a barrister in London,” she shared with a hint of admiration. “And I have read about many of his cases in the newssheets.”

Her father gave Emma a look of mild displeasure. “You read the newssheets?” he asked.

“Just the parts that interest me,” Emma declared unapologetically. “I do not care much about most of the drivel that is reported on.”

“I would prefer it if you didn’t read the newssheets,” her father said. “It is uncouth of you to do so.”

Emma shrugged, brushing aside his criticism. “Can I at least read the Society page?” she asked.

“Yes, that is perfectly acceptable,” her father replied.

Mrs. Watson stepped into the room, carefully balancing the bowls of soup in her hands. “I take it that Lord Winston is not joining us for supper this evening,” she observed.

“No, but we have decided that Mattie is to blame for the misunderstanding,” Emma responded.

Mattie rolled her eyes. “Can we please move on and talk about something else?” she asked, trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice.

Emma leaned to the side as Mrs. Watson placed the bowl down in front of her. “I do not know why you are upset since you made us wait hours to eat dinner. I thought I might die from hunger,” she said dramatically.

Her father cleared his throat. “You made your point, Emma,” he remarked. “Now let us eat our soup that Mrs. Watson graciously prepared for us.”

Reaching for her spoon, Emma remarked, “I hope I do not soil this gown since I wore it especially for Lord Winston.”

“You shouldn’t have changed out of your mourning gown,” Mattie admonished.

“I look terrible in black,” Emma declared defiantly. “Can I not go into half-mourning and wear dark colors?”

Mattie frowned, her frustration growing. “You haven’t even mourned for one full day.”

“Because it is so difficult to do so,” Emma said. “My skin is far too fair to be paired with a black gown.”

Mattie was done with this ridiculous conversation. She turned her attention towards Franny and asked, “Did you enjoy going outside for our brief walk?”

Franny placed her spoon down onto the table. “It was nice to step outside, even for a moment.”

Emma chimed in, “If you don’t go outside, you are going to become far too pale. You must think of your complexion.”

“I am sure that Franny has other things on her mind right now,” Mattie stated, giving Emma a stern look.

Shifting her gaze towards her uncle, Franny asked, “When are we departing for Darlington Abbey?”

“Soon,” he promised. “The vicar is traveling to our village now.”

“I admit that I am anxious to return home,” Franny said.

He smiled warmly at her. “I know, Dear, but I do not wish to leave this village without a vicar. It would be terribly unfair of me to do so.”

Franny nodded slowly. “I understand,” she murmured.

Emma pushed the bowl of soup away from her, her expression thoughtful. “I have been thinking of the bedchamber that I want at Darlington Abbey, and I think I want the room that has green-papered walls. It is the largest of the guest rooms, and I think it would be perfect for me.”

“We shall see,” her father said, his tone measured. “We will discuss such things with the housekeeper at Darlington Abbey.”

“Why would we discuss such things?” Emma asked, looking perplexed. “Shouldn’t we tell Mrs. Devan what we want, and she accommodates us?”

Her father pursed his lips together. “That is rather a high-handed thing of you to say. I would think we would work together as a team.”

“But they are servants, Father,” Emma protested. “Our servants.”

Mattie lifted her brow. “You seem to forget that just a few days ago, we lived in humble circumstances.”

Emma raised her hands. “We still do!” she said, her voice rising. “But everything has changed now that Father is a viscount. We need not live in squalor any longer.”

“We hardly live in squalor,” Mattie claimed, her tone edged with irritation.

Lifting her chin, Emma responded, “We shall have to agree to disagree, Sister,” she said. “You may have been content as a vicar’s daughter but I never was. I knew I was destined for great things and I am grateful for the chance to prove it.”

Franny pushed back her chair and rose. “Excuse me, I am no longer hungry,” she said before fleeing from the room.

Mattie shook her head at Emma. “Why can’t you show an ounce of compassion for Franny and her circumstances?”

“I am not entirely sure why she is so sensitive,” Emma argued. “People die all the time. You can cry for a day or two, but then you must move on.”

Rising, Mattie said, “I should go speak to Franny.”

“Why?” Emma asked.

Mattie didn’t understand what was wrong with her sister. “You upset her, and she hardly ate her soup. I am hoping that I can convince her to come back down for supper.”

Emma looked uninterested. “Suit yourself.”

Mattie had had just about enough with Emma. How could someone be so utterly self-absorbed and rarely show an ounce of compassion for anyone? She knew there was no point in arguing with Emma, but she found herself at her wit’s end. “What is wrong with you?” she demanded.

“What is wrong with me?” Emma repeated in surprise. “I have done nothing wrong except tell the truth.”

Mattie tossed up her hands. “No, you only tell your truth. Which is always wrong. You can’t even muster up enough compassion for what our cousin is going through.”

Emma tilted her chin. “How long must we cater to Franny’s whims?”

With a disbelieving huff, Mattie turned her attention towards her father. “Will you please try to talk some sense into Emma?” she asked.

Her father tipped his head, his expression solemn as he went to address Emma. “Mattie is right?—”

Emma cut him off. “Why are you taking her side?”

Mattie pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. “Because, dear sister, you run roughshod over everyone. You are being intolerably rude to Franny and are balking at tradition by wearing pink when we are supposed to be in mourning. Do you care about anyone but yourself?”

“You are just upset that Lord Winston didn’t show up this evening, and now you are taking out your frustrations on me,” Emma stated.

Mattie knew there was no point in continuing this argument with Emma. Her sister would never see reason so why bother trying? With a sigh, she turned and headed towards the stairs. Reaching Emma’s bedchamber, she knocked gently.

No response.

She opened the door and stuck her head in. “Can I come in, Franny?” she asked. “Just for a moment?”

Franny sat on her bed, wiping away tears. “Is Emma with you?” she inquired warily.

“No,” Mattie assured her, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. “I figured that she had upset you enough this evening.”

Swiping at the tears that continued to fall down her cheeks, Franny asked, “Are you glad that my parents are dead, too?”

Mattie’s heart dropped at that question. “I do not share Emma’s sentiments. I wish your parents were still alive. I truly do.”

Franny huffed. “Why is Emma so insensitive?”

“That is an excellent question. How long do you have?” she asked, trying to lighten the mood. “I suppose we should have suspected Emma’s callous behavior at a young age when she kicked some dolls out of her collection for not being pretty enough.”

“I miss my parents,” Franny murmured, her voice breaking.

Mattie sat down next to Franny and slipped her arm around the girl’s shoulders. “I know you do, and there is nothing wrong with that,” she said. “But you must know that my father and I are here to support you the best way we know how.”

“I don’t want Emma to have the bedchamber with green-papered walls,” Franny revealed. “That was the room that my mother promised me before they left for India.”

“Then it should be yours,” Mattie responded.

Franny looked unconvinced. “What about Emma?”

Mattie tightened her hold on Franny. “I am sure she will complain and pout, but she will come around.”

Leaning into her, Franny asked, “Can I start sleeping in your bedchamber? Emma says my breathing keeps her up at night.”

“I would greatly enjoy having you as a roommate,” Mattie said with a smile. “I will have Mrs. Watson help us move your mattress after dinner.”

Franny sighed. “I miss my bed at Darlington Abbey.”

Mattie offered her cousin a wistful look. “Do you want to know what I miss most about your father?” she asked. “Whenever we would visit Darlington Abbey, he would send up chocolate to my bedchamber, knowing how much I adored it. It was an expense that my father could hardly afford.”

“My father loved having chocolate for breakfast, more so than my mother,” Franny shared, a small smile playing on her lips.

“I also remember how kind he was to me when my mother died,” Mattie remarked. “He gave the best hugs.”

Franny bobbed her head, tears welling up again. “ That he did.”

Mattie kissed the top of Franny’s head. “You will get through it, but you must give yourself the grace to do so,” she said gently. “And you have to eat.”

As if on cue, Franny’s stomach growled.

Removing her arm, Mattie leaned back to meet her cousin’s gaze. “Come back down for dinner.”

“What if Emma says something ridiculously offensive?” Franny asked.

Mattie laughed. “She probably will.” She rose and offered her hand. “But I will be there. As will my father.”

Franny hesitated as she looked at Mattie’s proffered hand. “I suppose I am hungry,” she said as she accepted Mattie’s hand in rising.

They walked over to the door and Mattie opened it. “Perhaps we can play a card game this evening.”

“I would like that,” Franny responded.

As they descended the stairs together, Mattie felt a great relief that she had gotten Franny to return to dinner. However, a part of her couldn’t help but wonder what had kept Winston from coming this evening.

Not that she missed him. Heavens, no! She was merely worried about him.