Page 19 of The Secret Identity of the Lord's Aide
Nathaniel peered up at Richard for a long time, still seated at his desk chair. Richard’s eyes were grey and hazy, almost far away. Nathaniel realised he hadn’t given the man much thought, throughout the year since his father’s death.
“You must miss him, like I do,” Nathaniel said. He drew up from his chair, dotting each tip of his finger across the desk and leaning heavily against them. “He must have been a friend of yours, while he was only a father to me.”
“Oh, he was incredibly proud of you, Nathaniel,” Richard offered. He took a small step forward, spreading his hands wide. “He spoke of you at length. Wondering why you were content remaining in the woods when it was so clear you could be working for the people, out there.” He paused for a moment, seemingly wondering if he’d overstepped his bounds.
But Nathaniel wanted nothing more than to hear what his father had said about him. He gaped at Richard before pressing his lips together tight. He didn’t want to appear needy.
“She really does expect you for breakfast, Nathaniel,” Richard said. “She made me promise.”
Nathaniel shoved the pages of the speech into the top shelf of his desk, his father’s desk, before taking long strides towards the staircase. From the top, he inhaled the smell of a traditional English breakfast—beans, bacon, eggs, toast. It was true he’d been avoiding his mother, that he yearned for some time apart from her to cultivate whatever “look” he wanted to offer the people of England. He didn’t want her opinion, although, perhaps, he needed it.
She was the only family member left in his life. His mother, and Richard, and a few friends here and there: that was all he had. How lonely it was running for Parliament. It made you realise that the people you needed to speak with the most—the voters—could never truly be your friends. You were always on a pedestal, pretending to be something more.
Lady Eloise was seated at the head of the table, scraping butter over her toast. When Nathaniel entered, she took a long moment before batting her eyelashes up at him. She gave him a small grin.
“Well, here he is. My son, who’s been avoiding me for the better part of the past week,” she said, arching her brow.
Nathaniel bowed his head. “I’m terribly sorry you got that impression, Mother …”
“Nonsense,” Lady Eloise said, snapping her fingers. “You were absolutely avoiding me, and that’s clear. However, now my question is, why? Please, sit.”
Lord Linfield did as he was told. Immediately, one of the maids arrived and placed a platter of beans, toast, eggs, and bacon before him. The food steamed, filling his eyes. He blinked rapidly, before reaching for his mug of tea and sipping it. He felt his mother’s eyes upon him like daggers.
“Nathaniel, today is yet another of your speeches, no?” his mother began.
Nathaniel stabbed a fork into his egg, watching as the yellow of the yolk rushed towards the beans. “What of it, Mother?”
“Well, it’s just that it’s getting terribly late in the season,” his mother continued. “And I really think, if this speech doesn’t go—necessarily as planned …” She trailed off. Her eyes seemed to burn brightly.
Nathaniel felt his cheeks flash red. “Mother, I cannot possibly tell you how much I’ve been preparing, upstairs. In fact, I was up half the night, practicing.”
“I might have heard you stuttering away up there,” Lady Eloise said, her voice stern. “As I’ve mentioned several times, I want you to have a home. A family. A wife, who will love you and support you …”
“But, Mother, I’m my father’s son!” Nathaniel said. He stuffed an egg into his mouth and chewed wildly, frowning. “You can’t think that that’s enough for me. I’m meant for bigger things, Mother. I’m meant to carry on where my father left off …”
“Perhaps I don’t want you to have that kind of difficult life!” his mother cried, smashing her fist on the table.
The table plonked around beneath her hand, seemingly lacking stability. Nathaniel gaped at her, always surprised when she exhibited such strength.
“Mother, don’t you think what Father did was worth it?” Nathaniel said, his voice low.
“I don’t know, Nathaniel. All I can tell you is I haven’t seen my one and only son more than a few minutes the past week, and that’s despicable. You’re the only family I have left, and I …”
Nathaniel bowed his head, recognising the terror in her voice. How he wished he could wrap his arms around her, tell her it would be all right. But there was an entire wooden table between them—six feet of it, in reality—and he felt powerless to her sadness.
“I’ll be careful, Mother,” he said, unsure if this was the proper response.
“Your father wasn’t necessary careless,” Lady Eloise said. She shoved her platter, turning her eyes to the far corner of the room. They glittered with tears that Nathaniel felt sure she wouldn’t allow to trail down her cheeks. It seemed she had a power over them. “He wasn’t careless. And yet, look at what happened to him! You’re going to leave this world, Nathaniel. Leave this world and allow me to grow into a decrepit and anxious old woman. Is that what you want?”
Nathaniel felt unable to answer. He remained at the table for a long, gaping silence before following suit and shoving his platter away from him. When the cook arrived to the dining room, seeing the essentially untouched food, her jaw dropped. Nathaniel read the glittering fear in her eyes. Perhaps she feared for her job—the job she’d held at the estate for the previous ten years, long before Nathaniel had considered anything more than flirting with girls and running around the woods with his mates.
“Don’t worry, Natalie,” he told the cook, shaking his head. “It’s not your cooking. It’s only our stomachs. We can’t possibly handle the world, today. Unfortunately, that looks like a complaint against your cooking.” He paused for a long moment before adding, “Please, see to it that all the leftover food is given to the poor on the streets. I can’t have this going to waste.”
Lord Linfield shot up from his chair, swiped a napkin across his lips and tossed it back atop the table. Lady Eloise remained staring into her beans.
“Good luck, today,” she told him, her voice scratchy. “I wish I could be there.”
Nathaniel believed nothing of what she said, now.
