Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Winston took a sip of his tea as he listened to the conversation going on around him. He knew his mother meant well in wishing that he should marry, but it wasn’t that simple. He had made the mistake of being vulnerable with Mattie, and she had betrayed him. The pain of that experience had left him resolute in his decision: it was better to be alone.

Quite frankly, he deserved that after what he had done with his life. He didn’t deserve to be happy.

Grady stepped into the drawing room, his usually composed face shadowed with an uncharacteristic solemnity. He caught Winston’s eyes. “May I speak to you for a moment, my lord?” he requested, his tone grave.

Winston nodded, placing his teacup back on the tray. “Yes, of course,” he replied. “Excuse me, ladies.” He rose and followed Grady into the entry hall, his mind racing. For the Bow Street Runner to interrupt him like this, something significant must have occurred.

Once they were alone, Grady turned to him, keeping his voice low. “Isaac is in the study, waiting on Lord Dallington, but his lordship is in a meeting with the vicar and the solicitor of the village. ”

“I shall handle it, then,” Winston stated.

Without waiting for a response, Winston strode towards the study, determination in every step. He would confront Isaac and speak his mind, father or no father. Just as he was about to enter the room, Grady stopped him by placing an arm on his sleeve.

“Before you go in,” Grady began, his voice steady but urgent, “remember to not give anything away.”

Winston frowned, feeling a twinge of offense at such an insulting remark. “I am a trained barrister. I assure you that won’t be a problem.”

Grady withdrew his hand. “Would you like me to accompany you?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Then I shall wait outside the door,” Grady informed him, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Winston acknowledged Grady’s words with a brief nod before he stepped into the study. His eyes sought out Isaac, who stood near the fireplace. Isaac was tall, heavy-set, and had his black hair slicked to one side.

Isaac’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “I asked to speak to Lord Dallington, not you, my lord,” he grumbled.

“You know who I am?” Winston asked.

“I do,” Isaac responded, offering no further details.

Winston straightened his posture, exuding authority. “Then I am at a disadvantage, as I do not believe we have ever been introduced.”

Isaac gave him a smug smile. “We haven’t, but I am more than aware of who you are,” he said.

Winston’s expression remained impassive. “That will save us a considerable amount of time, then. What is it that you want?”

With a scoff, Isaac stated, “As if you don’t already know. I want my wife. ”

Winston spread his arms wide. “I don’t know where your wife is,” he replied.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“It is true,” Winston said. “In fact, I have never even met my father’s younger sister. His family disowned her after she eloped with you.”

Isaac took a menacing step closer. “If Sarah isn’t here, then where is she?”

Shrugging, Winston responded, “I cannot answer that. I don’t even have a wife to lose yet.”

“I did not lose my wife,” Isaac declared. “She ran away with our son! I want them back home where they belong.”

Winston walked over to the drink cart, keeping his movements deliberate. “That is unfortunate, truly. But what does that have to do with me?”

Isaac pointed a finger at him, his frustration palpable. “You know where she is, don’t you?”

As he picked up the decanter, Winston replied, “I told you. I do not know where my Aunt Sarah is.”

“Do you expect me to believe that?”

“I do, because it is the truth,” Winston said, pouring himself a drink. “Now you can depart and leave us be.”

Isaac lifted his brow, defiance etched on his face. “I am not going anywhere until I have my wife.”

Winston placed down the decanter and picked up his glass. “Then you shall be waiting a long time for nothing,” he said. “And I hear that the rooms in the coaching inn are less than stellar. It’s the rats, I’m afraid.”

Glancing at the door, Isaac’s face darkened. “Where is your father? I came to speak to him, not a lowly second son.”

Winston met his glare with a calm demeanor. “I’m afraid my father is in a meeting, and he is unable to meet with you,” he revealed, bringing the glass to his lips. “I agreed to speak to you out of the goodness of my heart.”

Isaac’s eyes narrowed. “You think you are so clever, but your vain attempts at bamboozling me won’t work.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Winston remarked. “I am just a lowly second son, as you stated earlier. Why should I know anything of importance?”

“I will bring back the constable and he will demand that you turn over my wife and son to me,” Isaac threatened, his voice rising.

Winston lowered the glass to his side. “That would be a waste of your time and the constable’s, considering your wife and son are not here.”

“But you know where they are!” Isaac exclaimed, his voice edging towards desperation.

Sighing, Winston said, “Now we are just going in circles, and we are not getting anywhere. Perhaps if we try again later.”

Isaac took a commanding step towards him. “You will tell me where my wife is or?—”

“Or what?” Winston demanded.

Grady stepped into the room, standing guard by the door, his presence a silent warning.

Isaac glanced at Grady, shaking his head in disdain. “You think you are better than me.”

“I have never once thought that, partly because I don’t know you,” Winston said. “Nor do I care to, especially if the rumors about you are to be believed.”

Isaac’s lips tightened into a white line. “I do not know what you heard, but I love my wife,” he spat out.

“Then how exactly did you lose her?” Winston mocked.

His words hit their mark, evidenced by the flare of Isaac’s nostrils. “This is not over,” he shouted. “I will be back, and you will give me my wife and son.”

Winston smirked. “It almost seems like you believe you would be welcomed back into our home a second time.”

Isaac’s hands balled into tight, white-knuckled fists. “This conversation would have gone much differently if you didn’t have your servants here to protect you.”

Placing his glass down on the tray, Winston approached Isaac and came to a stop right in front of him. “I do not need my servants to fight my battles for me,” he said, his voice firm and unyielding. “Nor do I hit women for pleasure.”

“Sarah is my wife, and I will discipline her however I see fit,” Isaac retorted.

Winston leaned closer, his eyes boring into Isaac’s. “It is a shame, then, that you are no longer in possession of her,” he stated. “And if I do ever see my aunt or your son, I promise that I will ensure they go nowhere near you ever again.”

Isaac glared at him, his eyes sparking with fury. “I wouldn’t be so quick to promise that,” he sneered.

They continued to stare at one another, neither one willing to back down. Winston wasn’t afraid of Isaac, and he was determined to make that abundantly clear.

His mother’s voice came from behind them. “Dear heavens, what is all the yelling about?”

Isaac turned to face his mother, a cruel smile spreading on his lips. “Good afternoon, Lady Dallington?—”

Winston cut him off. “You will not speak to my mother,” he demanded. “It is time for you to leave.”

Grady took a step towards Isaac and gestured towards the door, his expression stern.

Isaac tsked. “I will get my wife back, one way or another,” he declared before he departed from the study with a huff. Grady followed him out of the room.

Winston took a moment to collect himself, his thoughts still swirling from the encounter with Isaac. He glanced at his mother, her expression expectant, and sighed inwardly. “That was Isaac—Sarah’s husband,” he revealed.

His mother’s eyes flickered with understanding. “I gathered as much from the raised voices.”

“It was unwise of you to intervene,” Winston gently chided.

She met his gaze with unwavering resolve. “And what would have happened had I not?” she asked. “After all, it appeared that you two were about to engage in fisticuffs.”

Winston walked over and picked up his drink from the tray. “It would have been no less than he deserved.”

His mother’s disapproval was evident as she shook her head. “I know you box during your time in London, but I do not condone hitting of any kind,” she admonished, her voice laced with concern. “I think it is rather barbaric.”

Winston remained silent, the weight of her words sinking in. “I understand, Mother,” he conceded.

White entered the room and informed him, “Mr. Blythe has departed from the manor.”

“Isaac is not welcome in our home. If he returns, deny him entry and send for the constable,” Winston said.

“Very good, my lord,” White responded.

“And send in Grady,” Winston ordered. “I wish to speak to him.”

White’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Is there something I can assist you with?” he inquired.

“No,” Winston responded.

With a nod, White departed from the study to carry out his instructions, leaving Winston alone with his mother once more.

She gave him an expectant look, her eyes searching his for answers. “Will you tell me what is going on?”

“I will, in due time,” Winston assured her.

Her expression softened slightly at his reassurance, but the underlying worry remained etched in the lines of her face. “Do not wait too long, Son,” she urged. “If you will excuse me, I shall return to the drawing room.”

Once he was alone again, Winston released a heavy sigh. He didn’t think he had helped the situation by his confrontation with Isaac, but he sure hadn’t made it worse.

Before he could dwell further on the matter, Grady’s voice cut through the silence from the doorway. “You wished to see me, my lord.”

“Yes,” Winston replied, his tone serious. “I want you to follow Isaac. I need to know where he goes and what he is up to.”

Grady inclined his head in understanding. “I was hoping you would say that,” he acknowledged before turning to leave.

Mattie stepped into the kitchen through the back door of her cottage, a familiar scent of herbs and simmering broth greeting her. She had spent the afternoon with Lady Dallington and her two daughters, where there was never a dull moment.

Mrs. Watson stood at the hearth, her back turned as she stirred a pot. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled warmly. “Welcome home,” she greeted. “Your father returned home over an hour ago. I was wondering when you would be back.”

“I did not intend to stay with Lady Dallington as long as I did,” Mattie admitted, closing the door behind her and stepping into the warmth of the kitchen.

“I am glad that you feel so comfortable there,” Mrs. Watson remarked.

Mattie pulled out a chair at the table and sat down with a soft sigh. “I am hoping my father agrees to let Lady Dallington host me for the Season.”

Mrs. Watson wiped her hands on her apron and sat beside Mattie. “That is a big ask,” she said thoughtfully.

“I know.” Mattie sighed again, this time more deeply.

With a knowing look, Mrs. Watson said, “I never said that it was impossible.” She reached over and took Mattie’s hand. “I wanted to talk to you about me staying behind when you leave for Darlington Abbey.”

Mattie frowned. “Well, I do not like it one bit.”

Mrs. Watson squeezed her hand tenderly. “This is not about you, my dear. I have always thought of you as a daughter, having watched you grow up. But my son needs me now. His wife is about to have a baby, and they have no one else to help them.”

“I understand,” Mattie responded, though her voice was filled with sadness.

Mrs. Watson’s eyes softened with kindness as she reassured her, “I will still see you, you know. Darlington Abbey is not so far away. I can take the mail coach to visit you.”

Mattie blinked back tears. “You would come visit me?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Watson said. “I need to ensure that you are taking care of yourself.”

“I would like that,” Mattie expressed.

Mrs. Watson released her hand and stood up. “Now, you better go speak to your father before you wash up for supper,” she said. “He was asking about you.”

“What do you think he wants?” Mattie asked, rising.

The housekeeper shrugged. “It could be any number of things. Who am I to say?”

Mattie moved over to the hearth and peered into the pot. “Do you need any help with supper?”

“Absolutely not!” Mrs. Watson declared with mock sternness. “You are the daughter of a viscount now. I can’t have you helping in the kitchen.”

“But you would let me when I was the daughter of a vicar,” Mattie protested.

“That was different, and you know it,” Mrs. Watson responded. “You are a lady and should not be concerning yourself with the ins and outs of the kitchen. ”

Mattie glanced around the familiar room, a place where she had spent so many happy hours. She knew she would miss this place dearly when she left for Darlington Abbey.

Mrs. Watson gave her a knowing look, as if she could read her thoughts. “You will make new memories,” she assured her. “It will be different, but that doesn’t mean it won’t be a good thing.”

Mattie nodded, taking comfort in her words. She took a deep breath and turned towards the door, ready to face whatever her father had to discuss with her.

Once she arrived at his study, she knocked gently before pushing the door open. “Father, you wished to speak to me?” she inquired, stepping inside.

Her father rose from his seat and gestured towards a chair. “Yes, please take a seat.”

Mattie sat down, giving her father an expectant look. She sensed that this conversation held more significance than a mere inquiry about her day.

He returned to his seat. “Did you enjoy your time with Lady Dallington?”

“I did,” Mattie replied.

“Good, good,” her father muttered, seeming preoccupied.

Mattie settled back in her seat. “Did you have a productive meeting with Lord Dallington?”

“I did,” her father replied. “He is very wise in the ways of land management, despite having only inherited his title a few months ago.”

“That is good.”

“Yes, it is,” her father remarked before abruptly rising. He walked over to the window and looked out for a long moment. “Lord Dallington and I spoke briefly about his wife hosting you for the Season.”

“Yes, and?” Mattie asked, her heart hopeful.

Her father turned to face her with a solemn look. “I’m sorry, but I do not think it is a good idea.”

Mattie’s heart sank. “Whyever not?”

“Franny is not in a good place right now, and Emma…” His voice trailed off. “We both know that Emma can be a handful.”

“But it is only for the Season. I shall return and…”

He raised his hand, stilling her words. “I need you at home, Mattie. It is where you belong, for now.”

“Father…” she started, her voice trembling with emotion, “I want to participate in a Season. I am one and twenty years old. To many, I am old enough to be considered a spinster.”

“God willing, you will have next Season,” her father attempted to reassure her.

Mattie bit her lower lip, fighting back the tears. “I have not asked for much over the years, but I am asking for this. Please reconsider.”

Her father’s face fell, his expression heavy with regret. “I’m sorry. I have made my decision, and I would ask for you to respect it.”

“And if I don’t?” Mattie’s voice quivered with defiance.

“Mattie, be reasonable,” her father said sternly. “I don’t want you traipsing around London when you are needed at Darlington Abbey.”

Mattie felt her anger whirling inside of her and she attempted to bite her tongue. But it didn’t work. “No, you are wrong. I am not needed at Darlington Abbey. You just don’t want me to go and enjoy myself.”

“That is not the case,” her father insisted.

“Franny, although she is grieving, will be all right, and Emma will have a governess to tend to her,” Mattie said, her voice rising with each word. “I will be doing nothing but twiddling my thumbs or embroidering more handkerchiefs for you.”

Her father’s eyes flashed with frustration. “Mattie, this is not about depriving you of enjoyment. It is about the family and what we need right now. ”

“Sometimes I wonder if you even see me as part of the family,” Mattie retorted, tears welling in her eyes. “It feels like I am just a convenient piece to move around as you see fit.”

“Mattie—” he started.

She spoke over him. “I have done everything you have asked of me without complaint,” she said. “Just this once, I want something for myself.”

Her father stood silently, his resolve seemingly unwavering yet visibly pained by her distress. “I wish things were different,” he said. “But for now, my decision stands.”

Mattie stared at him for a long moment, her heart heavy with disappointment. Without another word, she left the study, feeling more trapped than ever in the confines of her family’s expectations.

She rushed out the main door and sat down on the bench under the covered porch, the cool evening air doing little to soothe her turmoil. She let the tears flow freely, not caring one whit as they rolled down her cheeks. When had her happiness become less important than the rest of her family’s?

A man’s voice broke her out of her musings. “Good evening.”

Mattie’s head came up, startled to see the man who had been watching her from the woodlands standing a short distance away. She jumped up from her seat and rushed over to the door.

“Please, don’t go,” he called out to her. “I mean you no harm.”

She paused, her hand on the door handle. “Who are you?” she demanded.

The man smiled, his expression warm and unthreatening. “I am Mr. Isaac Blythe. I am one of Lord Dallington’s new tenants.” He pointed towards the horizon. “I am staying at the Stewarts’ old place.”

Mattie recalled that Mr. Stewart had recently moved, leaving the cottage vacant. She dropped her hand from the door, curiosity mingling with her initial apprehension. “May I ask what you are doing here?”

His eyes crinkled around the edges as he smiled again. “I am becoming better acquainted with my neighbors. You never know when you might need to borrow something.” He took a step back, giving her space. “But if I came at an inconvenient time, I understand.”

“No, you did not,” Mattie responded, wiping her eyes quickly. “I was just…”

“I know it is not my place, but you seem upset,” Mr. Blythe said gently. “May I render some assistance?”

“No, that won’t be necessary, but thank you.” She tried to muster up a reassuring smile.

The door opened and her father stepped out onto the porch, his gaze more curious than anything. “Mattie, who is this?” he asked.

Mattie gestured towards their neighbor. “This is Mr. Blythe. He resides in the Stewarts’ old cottage.”

Her father tipped his head in acknowledgement. “I am Lord Wythburn. I am the vicar of this parish, at least for the time being.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, my lord,” Mr. Blythe responded. “I was just speaking to your lovely daughter. Miss Bawden, is it?”

Mattie dropped into a curtsy. “Yes, it is.”

Mr. Blythe bowed. “Well, I should be going,” he said. “I do not wish to intrude during suppertime.”

Her father cleared his throat, and Mattie knew precisely what he was about to do. “Would you care to join us for supper?”

Putting up his hand in front of him, Mr. Blythe replied, “I could not impose.”

“Nonsense,” her father said. “It would be no bother, and I insist. It is, after all, the neighborly thing to do. ”

Mr. Blythe’s smile returned. “I am most grateful,” he said. “Thank you.”

Her father held open the door, indicating that she should go first. After she stepped inside, Mr. Blythe followed behind her as she led him to the kitchen.

When she stepped into the kitchen, Mrs. Watson’s eyes widened slightly, but only for a moment. She was used to guests joining them for supper by now. Mrs. Watson quickly went to collect another plate setting for the table, her movements efficient and practiced.

“Excuse me, I need to take a plate to Franny. She has opted to have her dinner in her bedchamber,” Mrs. Watson said, addressing Lord Wythburn.

Her father acknowledged Mrs. Watson’s words with a nod before he gestured towards a chair at the table. “Please have a seat, Mr. Blythe.”

Mr. Blythe waited until Mattie was seated before he did the same.

“What has brought you to this fine village?” her father asked.

“Family,” Mr. Blythe said firmly. “I thought it was important that my son grow up around family.”

“That is a fine reason,” her father praised. “I am familiar with most of the families in this parish. Perhaps I know of your family.”

Mr. Blythe’s eyes grew pained. “I am afraid it is my wife’s family that lives here, but we are estranged. I find that it is rather difficult to talk about, and I do not wish to bother you with my troubles.”

Her father bobbed his head. “I understand.”

Mr. Blythe leaned forward in his seat, his expression sincere. “From what I have gathered, I must offer my condolences on the loss of your brother, my lord.”

“Thank you,” her father said, his voice hitching slightly with emotion. “It has been a rather difficult time for my family.”

“I can only imagine,” Mr. Blythe remarked. “I, too, am familiar with the loss of family members. It is not for the faint of heart.”

Her father grew silent, the weight of shared grief hanging in the air. “No, it is not.”

Mr. Blythe clasped his hands together, as if to shift the mood. “But, enough of that. I would like to know more about the village. Do the rats truly outnumber the occupants at the coaching inn?”

Her father laughed. “I’m afraid so.”

“That is terrible news, considering I have eaten a meal or two there since I arrived in the village,” Mr. Blythe said with a grimace on his face.

“Well, if you are able, avoid the coaching inn at all costs,” her father suggested.

Mattie reached for her glass, content to listen to the lively exchange between her father and Mr. Blythe. Being the daughter of a vicar, she was quite used to having unexpected guests join them for supper on any given day. However, she suspected that would change once they moved to Darlington Abbey.