Page 14 of The Widower Without a Will
Martin stood out of good manners.Jacques—who, of course, had heard the whole exchange—waited at the entryway with Caroline’s cloak.Eddie bowed his head—kowtowed?—to Martin.“I’m sorry things got unpleasant.We’ll see you soon.”
And then they were gone, their meals half eaten.Martin looked at Mrs.Bellamy, tried to find some apology or excuse, and found all he could do was let his hands tremble against the table.
Marthadidn’tquiteknowhow to hide her shock.In her decade living in Thatcham, she had heard all kinds of gossip about the Preston family, but never had it been suggested they erupted into this kind of violent conversation.It was unseemly; it was lowbrow; it was upsetting.
She couldn’t quite say how it had come to be.She had expected tension between Lord Preston and Mrs.Caroline Chow, since he had confided in various ways how his relationship with his daughter was fractured.Yet one minute they were having a perfectly cordial conversation about the family, and the next, Caroline and Lord Preston were trading nasty barbs.
Her heart pounding in equal parts surprise and sympathy, Martha felt helpless as she watched Lord Preston, mumbling an apology for his manners, stalk to the fireplace.There, he took up the iron poker and stabbed at the fire a few times.
Martha knew what it was to have a child storm out—a child over whom one no longer held dominion.How many times, in those last few months before he eloped with Lady Imogen, had Lucas run out of the house as if chased by the devil?How many times had Martha regretted raising her voice ornotraising her voice or calling him a brute ornotcalling him a brute?How many times had she wished him home so that she could take him in her arms like a babe and promise him that all would be well?
Lord Preston bent over the mantel and cradled his face in his forearms.Martha watched his shoulders heave as he sucked in breath.The sight of him—a man she knew to be steady and wise—so overcome by emotion snapped her into action.Turning to Jacques, the footman, who waited on the threshold for direction, she said, “You may clear the table, then take a half day.The rest of the household may take their half day, too.”It was Sunday, after all.
Then, approaching Lord Preston as carefully as she would a skittish horse, Martha said, “Come, sir, let’s retire to your study.”
He didn’t respond immediately, so she dared touch a hand to his back, between his shoulder blades, which still heaved violently.
“Please, Lord Preston, come along.”
At his name, he lifted his head.Martha was relieved to discover he wasn’t crying, just red in the face from catching his breath.He nodded and let her lead him out of the dining room, across the entrance hall, and into his study.
She locked the door behind them and, for good measure, folded her shawl across its bottom.The people of Northfield Hall were good people, but even the best people could be tempted to listen at the door after witnessing such a scene.
Lord Preston seated himself not at his desk but in the little clump of rococo settees near the bookshelves at the other end of the study.Martha joined him there, daring to sit beside him rather than on her own settee.She put a hand on the cushion between them in case he wanted to take it.
“I’m sorry for our terrible manners,” Lord Preston said.
“Come now, I don’t mind.It makes me feel as if I am part of the family.”
“And eager to get out of it, I’m sure.”He scrubbed a hand across his face, as if smoothing out his wrinkles would erase the conflict.“I let my temper get the best of me.I always seem to do that with Caroline.”
Martha wished to touch him again, but she held back her fingers.Years ago, her sister had counseled her that falling a little in love with a person was not so bad a thing to do, so long as one didn’t act on it.She could enjoy the excitement she felt in his company and embrace the energy it gave her each day, but as soon as it started tempting her to steal moments with him or to see if she could earn his esteem, then she must recognize the devil trying to lead her astray and resist.
Always before, Martha could rely on her marriage to keep her from giving in.Whether herpetit amour(as she and her sister referred to it) was for the dairy farmer or the schoolteacher or the visiting dancing master, Martha had only to put her hand in Kenneth’s to remember with whom her loyalties lay.And her heart—she had loved Kenneth, especially during their years in Tolpuddle.
But now he was gone, and Martha had no one to save her from temptation except herself.Which meant that she wouldnotbe grateful for this opportunity to sit next to Lord Prestonnorrelish the chance to earn his esteem.
She would feel only the sympathy of a friend who harbored no secret fantasies.She rebutted his self-rebuke: “I daresay Caroline wanted you to let your temper get the best of you, otherwise she wouldn’t have provoked you so.”
“Still, I am her father.I should be able to remain stalwart, especially when I can see her provocations as clearly as arrows.”
“I did not know a father was not made of flesh and blood.Why, no wonder our government is full of fathers, if you are all able to remain stalwart even when greatly provoked!”
Her mirth earned her a little smile—and his eyes, connecting at last with hers.“All children provoke their parents.It is the parent’s duty not to react.”
“Yes, but when they are truly children, their attacks cannot wound us.Caroline is a fully grown woman now.She can wound just as deeply as any other adult.”Thinking of that last time Lucas had slammed the door in Martha’s face—after she had begged him not to write any more poems about Lady Imogen’s perfect body—she added, “Perhaps even more deeply.”
Lord Preston inhaled slowly, his eyes falling a little away from hers.“I am struck by how strange it is, Mrs.Bellamy, that we have only known each other for a handful of days.You seem to understand me as if we had been confidants for decades.”
It was wicked, how her heart leapt.She forced herself not to beam.“I feel the same, sir.”
“I’m not sure I have experienced such a…” His gaze lifted again as he searched for a word.
Hardly breathing, Martha volunteered, “Connection?”
“Connection.Yes.Have I ever experienced such a connection before?”
His words, meaningful as they were, hardly mattered to Martha, not compared to the way his whole being seemed to lean towards her.
