Page 36 of The Widower Without a Will
Mrs.Bellamy’s hand twisted the doorknob.“I could bring it up to your rooms, if you prefer?”
Martin knew two things: he wanted to be with her, and he couldn’t bear to invite her into Lolly’s bedroom.He descended the steps.“It’s mostly my stockings.If it won’t offend you, I’ll hang them to dry by the fire in the study instead.”
She rewarded him with a soft smile.“It won’t offend me.”
The tray of food waited on the table by the hearth, but Martin wasn’t hungry.When the door latched behind them, he entwined his fingers through hers.Human touch—but it was more than that.She was no mere human; she was Martha, a friend like no other he had ever known.She didn’t need him to say in words the bewildered loss that waited to swallow him whole.She sat him down on the sofa where they had first made love and unrolled his stockings one at a time.Hanging them on the elegant metal screen protecting the room from leaping embers, she selected a blanket from a nearby chair and draped it over his lap and around his bare ankles.
He had not earned such kindness from her.“I didn’t want to leave you behind at Widow Croft’s.”
Mrs.Bellamy shook her head.“It was the proper thing to do.”
“What is proper is not always right.”
“And there isn’t always right or wrong.There’s just whatever happens.It has been a difficult day.Let us set it aside.”She sat with him at last, having finished fussing over him.Martin wrapped his arm around her shoulders so that she snuggled against his chest, her head resting just below his chin.
It was not a surprise that his body had been so eager to enjoy hers these past weeks.He was, after all, still a man, and a man who had been denying his carnal needs for over a decade at that.What he didn’t like to admit to himself was how much he craved the moments when he held her close without any eroticism at all.These were the embraces he had cherished with Lolly; he hadn’t realized he could find them with someone else.
“Do you grieve your husband?”he asked, a question he should perhaps have asked a long time before.
“Of course.He was my partner for forty years.Even if I had hated the man, I’m sure I would grieve him in some way.One grieves what one is accustomed to.”
“But you didn’t hate him.”
“No.I loved him.”Her fingers ran along the edge of her hair, a nervous habit.“Our love was not soul-consuming.I am not heartbroken.But in losing him, I lost the person who knew me best, along with all that held my life together.To lose a husband is to lose everything.”
“And to lose a wife is only to lose your heart.”
She settled her palm on his chest.“Lucas certainly felt that was the same as losing everything.”
“I suppose you have things you wish you could say to him.”
“Oh, yes.”She burrowed her cheek a little further into his rumpled cravat.“Things I wish I could say to him now.Things I wish I could have said to stop him from taking his life.Things I wish I could have said to keep the whole tragedy from happening.But he didn’t listen to us when we warned him off Lady Imogen.Why would he have listened to me had I promised him I would forgive him no matter what?”
Martin remembered the terror that had seized him when Lady Charlotte informed him that Caroline had vanished with Eddie into the London night—and how that terror had transformed him into a desperate, furious man.If she had not come back alive…but even now, Martin couldn’t contemplate that possibility.He asked Mrs.Bellamy, “Have you forgiven him?”
She tightened her hold on him.“Most days.Some days, I am furious with him all over again for taking his life.He should have come home, no matter the consequences.”
“He forgot his duty to you,” Martin said, trying to comfort her.
She broke into a choked sob.“I failed him, that’s what it is at the end of the day, and I can never make it right.”
Martin knew all too well what it was to fail the people one wanted most to help.He held Martha close, kissing her hair every now and then, and counted his failures as the fire leapt around the coals in the hearth.Caroline and Eddie, who had deserved his support.The Widow Croft, who he judged instead of supported.Maulvi, whom he had for too long treated as a servant while calling him a friend.
Oh, how he would miss his friend Maulvi.The tears he had waited for at last came, on a wave of grief as pure as it was intense, and Martin let them fall, though they dripped from his chin onto Martha’s silver hair.She turned her head to look up at him, revealing wet eyes of her own, and placed a warm hand on his cheek.He mimicked her, holding her soft and strong cheek in his palm, and they stayed in that strange embrace for as long as they needed to let the day end.
Thebeautifulpartofdeath, in Martha’s mind, was how it brought out the kindness in everyone nearby.Those who didn’t say more than “good day” to one on a regular day stopped to express their sympathy; a pantry that ordinarily stood embarrassingly empty filled with gifts from households all around; a lonely parlor filled with visitors.At Northfield Hall, Mr.Maulvi was celebrated with a beautiful outpouring of grief as every man, woman, and child paused to remember him.They left notes of remembrance in his office until his desktop couldn’t be seen for all the little papers adorning it.When the rain cleared a day or so after the burial, they lit a bonfire and spent an evening raising drinks to anecdotes of Mr.Maulvi.A group of children recited a poem in his memory.
Martha learned that Mr.Maulvi had been kind to newcomers yet firm about estate rules.He had prioritized safety over production, and he had always been happy to see family members reunited.
Lord Preston featured in many of the anecdotes shared.He dipped his chin whenever his name came up, and Martha could read from that expression that he wanted to duck away but held himself to a standard that required him to bear the story manfully.Invariably, he was the hero—or accessory to the hero—of each anecdote: a lord so benevolent, so generous, so selfless that he put all men around him except Mr.Maulvi to shame.
She had heard stories like these a dozen times during her life in Thatcham.Everyone lauded Lord Preston, and for good reason.But now that she knew him, she saw the flaws in the stories.Yes, he was generous—but he weighed his gifts carefully, always concerned that they might end up being a mistakes.Yes, he believed in dignity for all—but he did not always know what made a person feel equal.He was no god, only a man.
A man she loved.
She remembered this kind of love from her early years of marriage.It was a love that made one stupid.She didn’t want to eat unless it was beside him.She didn’t want to think of anything except him.Even though everyone around her was grieving, Martha was full of joy because shelovedLord Preston.
When Caroline arrived two days after Mr.Maulvi’s death to discuss the assembly, Martha did her best to snuff any hint of her feelings.She tried to excuse herself from the discussion entirely, but Caroline entreated her: “Please, Mrs.Bellamy, you know as much about a Thatcham assembly as I do.I would value your guidance.”
