Page 42 of The Widower Without a Will
“What could you have to discuss about your will that is so private?The land is entailed and the money…” Sophia suddenly frowned.“You are leaving us money, are you not?”
He was so relieved to be telling the truth that he continued to do so: “That is what I have been weighing.”
“You have been weighing whether or not we merit the family legacy?”In an instant, Sophia went from calm to angry, the old anger that Martin used to imagine shook the entire house.“Of course, why should we expect any money from you?We are only your daughters.We cannot inherit Northfield Hall.We cannot fight beside you in Parliament.I thought at least I could expect that being a Preston meant I wouldn’t have to worry about money to live a modestly comfortable life.But I should have known better.After all, you hardly even agree to send me the coach money to visit you.”
“This is not a question of your merit, Sophia.I must consider the legacy of Northfield Hall.”
“Oh, Northfield Hall will sustain itself whether you send me an extra few pounds for travel or not.”
Martin felt justified to rejoin, “You are the one who chose to marry a man without a fortune.You mustn’t be shocked that you must now make do with a different lifestyle than that to which you were accustomed.”
“And yet if Caroline were to ask you for that money, you would give it to her without a question.If Ellen needed it, you would send it immediately.It is only I you are stingy with because I am the one you have always found wanting!”To his surprise, Sophia’s eyes reddened with tears.“I should have learned my lesson when you left me to rot at Robin Abbey rather than come to my defense.”
The anecdote was from so long ago that Martin almost didn’t remember what she referred to.“Did I not send Max in my stead?”
“It should have been my father.”Sophia glared at him, the tears gone, replaced by her fury.“I don’t care that I am the thorn in your side who refuses to live by your rules.That doesn’t change the fact that I’m your daughter, Papa, and Iamworthy, and I will not let you treat me as a burden any longer.”
“Sophia!”
She whirled away, and he could not follow because Ellen remained, stiff as a rod.Martin said helplessly, “How am I to convince her none of that is true?”
“Perhaps by admitting whatistrue.”
Stuck on the accusation that he had not helped Sophia in her hour of need, he said, “I thought I had a chance at passing a bill to abolish slavery once and for all.If I had left, it would have lost all its momentum.”
“It didn’t pass anyway.”
“I didn’t have the benefit of knowing that.”
“You were not the bill’s only sponsor, but you were—andare—Sophia’s only father.”
He swallowed Ellen’s words, trying very hard not to drown them out with his own defenses.“She was always getting herself into scandals.I didn’t realize that was the one she would remember.”
Ellen gazed at him with hardly any emotion.“And what of Mrs.Bellamy, Papa?What is true now?”
Martin had no choice but to stick to his earlier denial.“None of it.I swear to you, Ellen, none of it.”
Oh, he hated himself for saying it.A part of him wished he could go back and admit to the affair as soon as Caroline had mentioned it in the garden drawing room weeks ago.Then, at least, his daughters could not accuse him of lying, though they would know all his other terrible deeds.
A sheen of tears fell over Ellen’s eyes.“I learned a long time ago that you were fallible, Papa, yet still I thought you were constant.But now—” She searched him with those heartbreaking eyes.“I don’t even recognize you.”
Martin reached out for her, but she, too, deserted him.
He did not have the courage to follow any of them.
He did not have the words to put anything right.
He did not even have the strength to make an honest man of himself.
And it was this terrible version of a man that Martha encountered when she entered the dressing room.
Chapter Sixteen
Marthahadonlygottenas far as removing her boots when she heard the raised voices in Lord Preston’s suite.Northfield Hall was not a house through which sound carried easily, yet Martha could distinctly make out Caroline’s voice, rising to a screech.And she could not ignore the thunder of feet rushing down the corridor, one pair at a time.She cracked open her door in time to see Ellen walking away, a hand pressed to her face.
Whatever had just occurred was not a happy family discussion.
She did not waste time lacing up her boots again before slipping into the corridor.Knocking softly on the door to Lord Preston’s apartment, she let herself in.He had never invited her into these rooms.The first chamber, a sitting room with a threadbare silk-upholstered settee and a bookcase, was empty.Martha crossed through its door and found herself in the bedroom.A massive, dark wood bed took up most of the room, its heavy posts rising towards the ceiling and cloaked in a dark velvet canopy.Looking at it pressed her lungs so close she wasn’t sure she could breathe; in any case, she turned towards the candlelight beckoning from the dressing room, where she discovered Lord Preston standing still.
