Page 55 of The Unforgiven
“Yes, I saw you wearing it, Constance. It’s absolutely charming,” Mrs. Roberts said, clearly relieved by the change of subject.
“That’s a lovely fan, Madeline,” Jane Clinton said as she held out her coffee cup for a refill.
“It was my mother’s,” Madeline replied, belatedly realizing that Jane Clinton was stirring up controversy once again. She must have overheard Madeline mentioning the fan to Daisy Roberts when she complimented her on it earlier.
“Really? Isn’t it strange how we never met your mother, or your father for that matter. What caused the great family rift? Do tell us, my dear.”
All eyes turned to Madeline, who wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole. She opened her mouth to reply, closed it again when the door opened. The gentlemen came into the parlor, smiling at their wives as if they hadn’t seen them in days. They seemed in good spirits, having likely downed a considerable amount of brandy, and their clothes gave off the repellent smell of cigars.
“George, please, can we go?” Madeline whispered, close to tears, as he came to stand behind her chair.
“Of course. Preston, Constance, we thank you for your hospitality. And Mr. and Mrs. Monroe, it was my pleasure to meet you. I hope we shall speak again soon, Clayton. Good night, all.” George bowed from the neck, and slipped his arm through Madeline’s. “Come, Maddy.”
“Good night,” Madeline said.
“We hope to see you again soon, Madeline. She’s charming. Isn’t she charming?” Jane Clinton exclaimed, loud enough for Madeline to hear, making her feel like a poodle that everyone wanted to pet.
“Pay her no mind,” George said as they waited for their carriage to be brought around. “Jane Clinton has a sharp tongue, and a dull mind.”
“She’s vicious,” Madeline said.
“She’s angry.”
“At what?”
“Her husband has a beautiful young mistress. The girl’s hardly more than eighteen. And everyone knows about the affair, which is the greatest insult of all.”
Madeline considered this information. Jane Clinton appeared to be in her late twenties. Despite her unpleasant personality, she was quite beautiful, with golden curls and wide blue eyes fringed with unnaturally dark lashes. Her husband had to be at least forty. He had a florid complexion that spoke of a fondness for drink, and was quite portly. His thinning dark hair made his forehead appear unusually large. What beautiful young girl would wish to be his mistress?
“She’s an actress,” George explained. “Harold has installed her in a fine house in New Orleans and visits her often, sometimes for several days at a time. Jane is livid.”
The carriage drew up and George helped Madeline in. She drew her shawl closer as she settled in, glad they had taken the closed carriage since the outside air had become chilly and the carriage was cozy and warm. George got in across from her, and the conveyance pulled away from the house. As the carriage rolled down the avenue toward the front gates, the lanterns affixed to its sides illuminated the great oaks but did little to dispel the darkness inside.
“Thank you for coming with me tonight, Maddy. I know it wasn’t much fun for you,” George said. He took off his top hat and set it on the seat next to him, then leaned back, finally allowing himself to relax after an evening of having to put on a performance.
“I was happy to help,” Madeline replied and meant it.
George sat up and looked at her across the dim confines of the carriage. “I’m sorry your father died, Maddy, but I’m not sorry that his death led you to me. I hadn’t realized how lonely I’ve been until you came along.”
“How can you be lonely? You have your grandmother and Amelia. They love you.”
George gazed out the window for a moment, his eyes following the dark outline of the trees. “Grandmamma’s expectations are non-negotiable. She’s the most unyielding person I’ve ever met, but I suppose that’s what has kept her going all these years, through the loss of her husband and both sons. I think there were other children who died in infancy, but she never speaks of them.” George sighed. Child mortality was normal and expected, but speaking of it was difficult in view of his recent loss.
“She came to Arabella Plantation when she married my grandfather. She was fifteen. The plantation has been her life for fifty years, Maddy, and it’s the only thing that truly matters to her. It’s her legacy, and the only constant in her life. The thought of losing it is enough to drive her mad. She might have loved meonce, but now she only sees me as a tool for keeping her dream alive.”
“And Amelia?” Madeline asked.
“Amelia and I were happy when we were first married. We had such dreams. But grief and loss take a toll on a marriage, and love often turns to resentment.”
“Do you resent her?” she asked, shocked by George’s candor.
“She resents me, Maddy. She thinks that I see her as a failure, and a disappointment.”
“Do you?”
“I see a young woman who’s suffered. I don’t blame her for the loss of the children. How can it be her fault? I just wish she’d recover something of her spirit, but that isn’t easy with Grandmamma lording it over her and reminding her every blessed day that I’m the last of the line.”
“George, what will happen to the plantation if you die without leaving an heir?” Madeline asked. It was an indelicate question, but since he’d brought up the subject, she wanted to know.
