Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Winston stepped into his father’s study and saw that he was hunched over his desk, a lone candle burning and providing barely enough light to read the ledgers strewn out in front of him.

His father looked up as Winston walked further into the room, his eyes weary. “Now, pray tell, why did you take off so suddenly during dinner?”

Winston walked over to the drink cart and picked up the decanter. “Isaac was at Lord Wythburn’s cottage this evening.”

With a baffled look, his father straightened, setting his quill down. “Whatever for?”

“He is playing a game, and I don’t like it,” Winston replied before taking a sip of his port. “I spoke to Isaac briefly this afternoon and the conversation did not go in his favor.”

His father leaned back in his seat. “It is best if you do not antagonize Isaac. He is unpredictable and dangerous.”

“He knows we are keeping Sarah and Matthew from him, despite my insistence that we do not know where she is,” Winston said.

“We suspected that would be the case,” his father responded with a sigh, “but now we just have to bide our time until he gives up and leaves.”

“I do not think he will go quietly,” Winston said as he brought the glass to his lips.

His father nodded, a solemn expression on his face. “That is why Sarah is somewhere safe, where Isaac can’t get to her.”

“But what about Lord Wythburn and Miss Bawden?” Winston asked, his voice filled with worry. “I do not know why, but Isaac has decided to involve them in this.”

“I shall speak to Lord Wythburn about this tomorrow when we meet.”

Winston lowered the glass to his side and revealed, “I assigned a Bow Street Runner to watch over Lord Wythburn and his family.”

“Do you think that is necessary?” his father asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I do,” Winston responded firmly.

His father considered him for a moment before asking, “Dare I presume that the footman who interrupted us during dinner was a Bow Street Runner?”

Winston saw no reason to deny it. “He is,” he confirmed.

“How many more Bow Street Runners are in our household?” his father asked, his tone holding a hint of amusement.

Winston grinned. “Grady was the only one, and he served his purpose,” he replied. “In fact, he has come in handy a few times.”

His father closed the ledger in front of him, the sound echoing softly in the quiet room. “I am pleased that you directed White to hire additional footmen to stand guard. The more eyes we have to look out for Isaac, the better.”

Walking over to the settee, Winston sat down, the leather creaking under his weight. “We do have a problem.”

“Another one?” his father inquired, exasperation creeping into his voice.

Winston clenched his jaw. “Apparently, Isaac claimed that he is residing at the Stewarts’ old cottage,” he revealed. “Is there any truth to that?”

“Well, Mr. Stewart did move out, but I did not realize that the cottage had been let out again. I shall have to speak to our man of business about this,” his father said, rising from his chair and walking to the window, looking out into the darkness.

“If Isaac is, in fact, renting out one of our cottages, we will need to evict him,” Winston stated, his voice steely with resolve.

His father winced. “That is easier said than done,” he replied. “If he has a contract?—”

“Forget the contract!” Winston shouted.

Coming to sit across from him, his father said in a calm voice, “We have only recently started to rebuild the trust with the villagers. If we evict him, it could spell trouble for us.”

“Are you somehow implying we let Isaac stay in the cottage, just a short distance away from Brockhall Manor?” Winston asked incredulously.

“All I am saying is that we need to be careful how we handle this,” his father advised. “We must proceed with caution and ensure that whatever action we take does not bring further harm or suspicion upon us.”

Winston leaned forward and placed his glass down onto the table. “I understand the legal implications of breaking a contract, but we can’t in good conscience let Isaac remain underfoot, not with Aunt Sarah being so close.”

His father rubbed his temples. “Perhaps we should revisit me paying Isaac off to leave Sarah alone.”

“That won’t solve anything,” Winston asserted. “He does not strike me as a man who will leave well enough alone.”

“What are we to do then?”

Winston turned his attention towards the crackling fire. “We do what you suggested. We bide our time and hope Isaac does not do anything too stupid.”

His father huffed, settling back into his seat. “From what Sarah told me, he was constantly doing rather stupid things, especially when he was drunk.”

“Even if Isaac went to the constable, it would do him no good since Sarah is not residing with us,” Winston said. “I just do not like waiting.”

“But you are a barrister,” his father pointed out.

Winston smiled wryly. “There are ways to prolong a case if one so desires, but for the most part, we proceed in a timely manner.”

“That has not been my experience,” his father grumbled. “I do think the judges like to sit around and try to inconvenience everyone around them.”

“I assure you that does not happen.”

His father grew silent, his gaze thoughtful. “May I ask why you assigned a Bow Street Runner to watch over Lord Wythburn’s household?”

Winston’s smile dimmed. “Why would I not?” he asked. “They are innocent in all of this, and we do not know what Isaac has planned.”

“Yes, but has Isaac implied that he intends to do harm to Lord Wythburn or his daughters?” his father inquired.

“No, but his presence at their cottage was very disconcerting,” Winston argued. “It suggests he has an interest in them, and we cannot take any chances. We must be vigilant.”

His father bobbed his head. “You are right, of course, but I wonder if this has to do with Miss Bawden more than her father.”

Winston frowned. “I do not know what you are inferring…”

Putting his hand up, his father said, “I am not inferring anything. Your mother has mentioned, on multiple occasions, that you and Miss Bawden have grown closer the last few days. Is she mistaken in her assumption?”

Rising abruptly, Winston walked over to the mantel over the hearth, his mind racing with thoughts and emotions. “Miss Bawden and I have come to an understanding—” he began, choosing his words carefully.

“Oh, is that so?” his father interjected.

“Not that kind of understanding,” Winston declared. “We have decided to call a truce of sorts between us.”

His father’s expression remained skeptical. “Is that all it is, Son?”

“It is,” Winston stated firmly, hoping to end this line of uncomfortable questioning. His father had no right to pry into his personal affairs.

“I will take you at your word, but your mother,” his father hesitated, “she will be a different story. You know how she is.”

“I can handle Mother,” Winston responded.

His father’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “I used to think that as well, but I have since learned otherwise,” he said. “But enough of that. How is your sheep farm going?”

Winston winced inwardly, not sure if this topic was any better than the last. “It could be better,” he admitted. “Fortunately, I have a steward that is tending to the sheep farm’s day-to-day activities.”

“That is good. The right employee can make a big difference in any business.”

“I bought the land that the sheep graze on, and there is a small cottage there where I plan to reside when I am overseeing things,” Winston shared. “I have been told the roof leaks, but I can fix that with some work.”

His father lifted his brow. “You do not intend to do the work yourself, do you?”

“Surely it cannot be too hard,” Winston replied.

“You are a barrister. What do you know about fixing roofs?”

Winston shrugged. “I don’t, but the coffers are not exactly full, considering I am living on a barrister’ s income,” he responded. “I have discovered being a barrister is not as lucrative as I thought it would be.”

Rising, his father walked over to his desk. “How much do you need to repair the cottage?” he asked, pulling out a drawer.

“Father, I do not need your money,” Winston protested.

“This is not the time to be prideful. I have the funds to help you.”

Winston gave his father a knowing look. “I thought Mr. Stanley embezzled a large sum of your money.”

His father pulled out another ledger. “He did, but we are not destitute, and I do not want to see my son fixing a roof like a common laborer.”

With a shake of his head, Winston responded, “If it helps, fixing the roof wasn’t even my first priority. I have other things that will take up my time and money.”

“No, that does not help,” his father said flatly, closing the ledger.

Winston reached down for his glass and tossed it back. “Let me worry about my sheep farm and you worry about your estate.”

“My father helped me establish my household and I saw no shame in that.”

“We are vastly different people, Father,” Winston said. “I want to prove that I can do it all on my own.”

His father returned the ledger to the drawer. “You are stubborn, just like your Uncle Richard, but he was a good man.”

“As are you,” Winston said.

“Now I wonder if your head is bottle-weary,” his father joked.

Winston smiled as he walked the glass over to the drink cart and placed it down. “I am tired, and I think it is best if I retire for bed. ”

“Before you go, you might want to stay far away from the drawing room,” his father advised. “Your mother and sisters are engaged in an intense game of whist.”

“Duly noted,” Winston said as he headed towards his bedchamber, being mindful to avoid the drawing room. The last thing he wanted was to be pulled in to play games this evening. He just wanted to be alone.

With the morning sun streaming through the window in her bedchamber, Mattie stared up at the ceiling. She’d had a restless night of sleep, her thoughts constantly drifting back to the moment Winston had brought up their kiss. What did that mean? Did it mean anything? Or was she just overthinking it, as she always did?

Even if Winston thought about the kiss as much as she did, it didn’t necessarily indicate any affection on his part. They had only recently declared a truce in their constant bantering. Surely, if he held any feelings for her, he wouldn’t have insulted her so harshly just the day before.

The sound of the door slamming could be heard echoing throughout the cottage, followed by her sister shouting, “I’m home!”

Mattie sat up in her bed and let out a sigh. She should be happy that her sister was home, but Emma always made everything about herself. It had been that way since she was little. Mattie couldn’t recall meeting anyone as self-absorbed. Hopefully, her time away at boarding school had done her some good.

Rising, Mattie slipped her wrapper on and headed down the stairs. She stepped into the drawing room just as her sister was instructing the driver as to where to place her trunks.

“Emma,” Mattie greeted.

Her blonde-haired, blue-eyed sister turned towards her with a bright smile. “Mattie!” she exclaimed, rushing over to her. “You didn’t have to come down so disheveled on my account.”

Mattie smoothed back the red hair that had fallen out from her cap. “I wanted to be the first to greet you.”

“And you succeeded, but aren’t you worried to be seen in such a state?” Emma asked, taking a long look at her.

“It is good to see you, too,” Mattie muttered, her enthusiasm waning.

Emma’s eyes roamed over the drawing room. “This place has not changed one bit,” she said.

“Why would it?” Mattie asked. “You know how particular Father is.”

“Yes, but Father is a viscount now. He can’t live in such squalor anymore,” Emma remarked dismissively. “I heard that Franny is here.”

“She is, but I do believe she is still sleeping,” Mattie confirmed.

Emma glanced over at the stairs. “Shall we go wake her? I have no doubt she wishes to see me.”

Mattie mustered up a smile, hoping to distract her sister. “Have you had breakfast yet?”

“No,” Emma said, placing a hand to her stomach. “I have not. The companion Father sent to accompany me refused to wait a moment longer at the boarding house this morning. She claimed an insufferable headache.”

“Well, why don’t we have Mrs. Watson prepare something for you to eat?” Mattie suggested. “That is far preferable to waking up our cousin at such an early hour.”

Emma’s eyes lit up at the prospect of food. “I suppose you are right,” she said, walking towards the kitchen. “Is Father not awake? ”

“I heard him leave for a meeting with Lord Dallington a short time ago,” she informed her sister.

Perking up, Emma said, “I would have liked to accompany him. I think very highly of Lady Dallington and her daughters. I read in the Society pages that Lord Dunsby was recently married. What of his brother, Lord Winston?”

Mattie entered the kitchen behind her sister and shared, “Lord Winston is not married and is residing at Brockhall Manor for the time being.”

Emma smiled. “Lord Winston has always been very kind to me.”

“Yes, he has that effect on most women,” Mattie remarked as she looked around the empty kitchen. “I am not sure where Mrs. Watson has gone?—”

Her words stopped when Mrs. Watson stepped through the back door with a basket of food in her hands.

“Mrs. Watson!” Emma shouted. “I am home.”

The housekeeper smiled warmly at her. “Yes, I can see that. How was your journey?”

“Finally, someone asked me about that,” Emma said, casting a frustrated glance at Mattie. “It was dreadfully boring, and I did not like the way the men stared at me at the coaching inns. It made me rather uncomfortable.”

“Don’t concern yourself with that. The men at coaching inns are notorious for admiring beautiful young women,” Mrs. Watson said.

“It is true,” Emma responded. “I suppose I did them a service since many of them have such pathetic lives.”

Mattie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Mrs. Watson, would you mind making something for Emma to eat?”

“I would be happy to,” Mrs. Watson said, placing the basket down. “Just give me one moment to start the fire.”

Emma turned back towards Mattie. “I think we should wake up Franny so we can all eat breakfast together.”

“And I think that is a terrible idea,” Mattie countered.

Walking towards the corridor, Emma asked, “Is she staying in your bedchamber?”

“No, we put Franny in your bedchamber since your room is larger than mine,” Mattie replied.

Emma looked put out. “I cannot wait until we reside at Darlington Abbey and I have a bedchamber befitting my new status,” she said. “Then I won’t have to share a room with anyone.”

“Franny is having a hard go of it right now. We should try to be as compassionate as possible,” Mattie encouraged.

“Why?”

Mattie frowned. “Her parents just died.”

“Was that not weeks ago?” Emma asked with a furrowed brow. “Surely she is over it by now.

“Her parents did die weeks ago, but she didn’t receive word until recently when the letter arrived from India,” Mattie explained.

Emma pulled out a chair and sat down. “Is she upset because her father died before our grandfather, meaning she won’t inherit a title?”

Mattie’s mouth dropped. “Emma, why would you say such a thing?” she chided.

“Is it not true?”

Taking a deep breath, Mattie said, “I think that is the least of Franny’s worries right now. Perhaps you should work on saying something nice when you see her.”

Emma shrugged one shoulder. “It is not that I can’t say something kind, but don’t you think she would prefer the truth?”

“Sometimes, people need kindness more than they need the truth,” Mattie responded.

Emma sighed dramatically. “Very well. I shall try to be more considerate since Franny is an orphan now. But it is so difficult when everyone around me seems so… delicate. ”

Mattie turned towards Mrs. Watson and mouthed, “Help.”

Mrs. Watson gave her an amused look. “Emma, would you care for some bread?”

“I would,” Emma replied. “The bread at the boarding school was terrible. By the time I arrived for breakfast each morning, only the burnt pieces remained for me.”

“Why didn’t you come down earlier?” Mattie asked.

Emma blinked, her expression incredulous. “Why on earth would I ever wake up that early?” she asked in disbelief. “It is not as if I had to collect the eggs for our breakfast. No offense, Mrs. Watson.”

“None taken, Miss Emma,” Mrs. Watson responded kindly. “Speaking of which, would you care for an egg with your breakfast?”

“I would,” Emma said.

As Mrs. Watson went about preparing breakfast, Mattie’s father stepped into the room with the newssheets under his arm.

“Good morning, my dears,” he greeted, coming to kiss Emma on the top of her head. “I am happy that both of my daughters are home, where they belong.”

Emma beamed. “I understand you went to speak to Lord Dallington this morning.”

“I did,” her father confirmed. “Lord Dallington is helping me with estate management since I will be running Darlington Abbey for the foreseeable future.”

“I understand that Grandfather is on his deathbed,” Emma remarked.

Her father shook his head. “We have since received word that he is doing much better. With any luck, he will be home soon.”

A look of disappointment flashed in Emma’s eyes, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. “Wonderful news,” she said, her words lacking any emotions.

Mattie never quite understood her sister and how she cared so little for other people’s misfortunes. She watched as her father sat down next to Emma at the table, unfolding the newssheets.

“What do you ladies have planned for today?” he asked, looking from Emma to Mattie.

Emma’s hands grew animated. “Well, I wish to take a bath and get this layer of dirt off of me,” she said. “Then I was hoping to go to the village and purchase some new ribbons for my hair.”

“We are in mourning,” Mattie reminded her sister. “The dressmaker should be bringing by a black woolen gown for each one of us today.”

“I look terrible in black,” Emma remarked, pouting slightly. “What if we forgo mourning, just this once?”

Mattie couldn’t help herself and finally rolled her eyes in exasperation. “That would be a great insult to Father, and especially Franny.”

Emma reached for her father’s hand. “You wouldn’t mind, would you?”

Her father tenderly encompassed his daughter’s hand. “I know mourning is not exciting for anyone, but we do not wish to tarnish my brother and his wife’s memory by dishonoring them.”

“What if I wore my mourning gown and went to the village?” Emma asked hopefully.

Mattie opened up her mouth to reply, but her father spoke first. “I suppose that would be all right, assuming Mattie goes with you.”

“But, Father—” Mattie started.

With a wink at Emma, her father said, “Just one time will not be an issue. Will it, Mattie?” He turned his attention towards her, a smile on his face.

Her jaw grew tight. “No,” she said through clenched teeth.

Her father’s smile grew. “Perhaps Franny would like to accompany you,” he suggested. “Every young woman enjoys looking at ribbons.”

“I doubt Franny will accompany us since she refuses to leave the cottage for now,” Mattie stated.

His smile disappeared. “You make a good point. It might be best if you brought her back some ribbons. Something pretty.”

Emma bobbed her head. “I will find her something that she will like.”

Mattie turned her back towards her sister and father and took a deep breath. How had Emma so easily manipulated Father to do her will? They were supposed to be in mourning, not traipsing around the village without a care in the world.

Mrs. Watson approached her with a cup of tea, her eyes holding compassion. “I thought you could use this,” she said in a hushed voice. “I made it extra strong, just for you.”

“Thank you,” Mattie whispered as she accepted the cup and saucer.

After she took a sip, letting the warm drink calm her, she heard Emma telling Father all about her journey home and how it was utterly unbearable for a myriad of reasons.

Mattie was tired of being around her sister, and she had only just arrived. She put the teacup down on the table and said, “Excuse me. I feel like I need to go on a walk.”

Emma looked at her with wide eyes. “You aren’t going out looking like that, are you?”

Mattie ran a hand down her wrapper. “No, I shall change first.”

“And do your hair,” Emma advised. “It looks as if a mouse made a nest in it.”

Not bothering to respond to her sister, Mattie departed from the kitchen and headed up the stairs. She had just turned the corner when she saw Franny sticking her head out of the door.

“Did I hear Emma?” Franny asked.

Mattie nodded, trying to be positive. “You did.”

Franny acknowledged her words with a brief smile before she closed the door. It would appear that Mattie was not the only one who was less than excited about her sister returning home.