Page 38 of The Widower Without a Will
“I’m sure there’s no need for such a rush,” Caroline said, pouring Martha more rose hip tisane.“Even if arrangements are made, you must stay for the assembly.Uncle Maulvi would want you there.”
A kind sentiment, if untrue.Martha had barely even known the man.Even in these times of grief, people’s lies were not always kind.
Chapter Fourteen
Therewasatwistin Martin’s stomach that would not go away no matter how much ginger tisane he drank nor how many meals he reduced to clear broth and toasted bread.In Martha’s company, it made his head perspire as he tried to balance the necessity ofnottaking her hands with his desperate desire to do just that.Out of her presence, it gave him the chills, almost as if he had a fever, as he braced for another accusation of impropriety.
He had batted away Caroline’s as if he had the moral superiority of never so much as noticing that Martha Bellamy was a woman.He had survived that lie—but barely.The next time someone raised their eyebrow at the widow in his household, Martin was afraid he would confess to the truth of it all.
And then how would Caroline look at him?
How would everyone at Northfield Hall who had heard his warnings against licentious behavior listen to him?
How would Thatcham turn on him, the London papers pillory him, the respect he had worked so hard to earn disappear?
Martin would have to lie.But first, he could shore up his behavior.Starting that very evening after Caroline’s visit, he distanced himself from Martha.Claiming stomachache—the beginnings of his terrible twist indeed already working upon him—he ordered supper in his private sitting room and declined her offer to join him.He did not go to her after the household went to bed.The next morning, he claimed he had business with Mr.Chow at the carpentry and insisted she remain behind to avoid the endless drizzle.
He kept finding excuses like that until, two days later, Martha carried a tea tray into the study and locked the door behind her.“Have I done something to offend you, sir, or is it the tales Caroline carried that have set you against me?”
His stomach twisted in the opposite direction, now a knot instead of a simple tangle.“I am not against you.”
“You would not like to be alone with me, either.”
“I am sensible of your reputation.”Martin rose from where he sat and pulled shut the curtains on his bay window in case a groom or gardener was passing by.
“Fine.I should like to know what suddenly made you so ‘sensible’ and whether I have any say in the matter.”
“You heard Caroline.There is already talk.I want to be your friend, Mrs.Bellamy, not the man who ruins your life.”
Her fingers fisted so tightly that her knuckles turned white.“So it is back to Mrs.Bellamy, then.”
It was the right thing to do.Yet Martin couldn’t bear to see her retreat behind the stalwart mask she wore so carefully against the world.He rounded the desk and unwound her fingers so they entwined with his.“My heart beats the same for you no matter what name I call you.”
Her lips softened ever so slightly.“That sounds like poetry when I am asking you to speak plainly to me.”
Another accusation that landed all too true.Martin loosened his hold on her hands—but she gripped him tightly back.“It was fine when we were living quietly.With Maulvi’s death and the upcoming assembly, there are eyes upon us now.When my daughters arrive, they will notice immediately any changes to my routine.Do you really want to invite everyone into our affair?”
“Then this is not the end?This is only until the assembly is over and no one is thinking of us again?”Martha softened a little, so that if he wanted to, he could have swept her into his arms.In fact, hedidwant to, but he resisted.
“I could not bear for this to be the end,” he answered honestly.
She smiled, and he smiled, and they did kiss, since the door was already locked and the curtains drawn.
Martin sent Sophia a banknote in London, where she had been staying while John attended a family in Yorkshire, and she arrived within a matter of days.A week after that came Ellen, also on her own, as to travel with Max and their five children would have required too much preparation for them to attend the assembly.Northfield Hall went from being a quiet house for Martin and Martha to sneak around to a bustling household, with visitors calling on the family and Caroline coming to stay for several nights to maximize time with her sisters.Suppers now lasted over an hour, and the dining room resounded with lively conversation as Sophia tortured Ellen by playing devil’s advocate.It was not the same as it ever had been, yet Martin almost had the sense that the clock had turned back and he had been restored to a younger self, to when he had known more firmly what kind of man he was.
“Your daughters are as different as different can be,” Martha commented one morning when, by chance, it was just the two of them at breakfast.“I knew they did not have the same looks, but I did not realize their personalities were so different.”
Martin had heard the comment dozens of times over the years from visitors and family friends.He knew what they meant: Ellen was sensible where Sophia was reckless, Caroline was headstrong where Ellen was principled, Sophia and Caroline both upset the apple cart of order to which Ellen clung.At the dining table, Ellen was well mannered, Sophia was witty, and Caroline expressive.And that was after one considered that Ellen was a slender, red-headed countess; Sophia a plump, brunette wanderer who happened to have an accoucheur husband; and Caroline the sturdy, blond wife of a glazier.
Yet to his eyes as their father, they were strikingly similar.They had strong opinions, and they weren’t afraid to tell him when they disagreed.They had specific visions for their lives, and not even Ellen’s was quite what Martin had expected for her.They carried their mother’s heart—courageous, impatient, singular—while suffering his weakness of holding themselves to too high a standard.
They were Prestons, through and through.
“They are each determined to live as they see fit,” he said to Martha.“To both my chagrin and my deep pleasure.”
Her eyes crinkled with the hint of a smile.“It is clear they are very fond of each other, too, and you as well.Not all families can claim that.”
With a pang, Martin remembered the terrible afternoon at Hope Hall, some three years ago, when his children had turned on him, accusing him of being unreasonable in trying to keep Caroline and Eddie apart.
