She crumbled it in her grip. She did not understand anything—except this.
The man from the graveyard had been in her chamber.
Simon halted within the drawing-room doors. “Forgive me. I didn’t realize you had company—”
“Do not go, Son.” Mother sat in the Egyptian-style chaise lounge by the window, late morning sun streaming around her and illuminating dust motes in the air.
Simon had hoped that by morning, some of the bitterness and anger toward him would have subsided—that they might have returned to loving mother and son.
Her pinched lips and narrowed eyes, however, told him otherwise. “This conversation, I fear, involves you as much as it involves me.” She flicked her hand to where a grim Sir Walter sat beside her. “Will you join us?”
Simon nodded and moved behind a wingback chair but did not sit.
From the mantel, a lean young gentleman swished his glass of port and smiled. “So this is the notorious wanderer at last. I have heard much about you, sir.”
“Who are you?”
“Do not be uncivil, Simon.” Mother tapped her cane to the drawing-room rug. “This is Mr. Alexander Oswald, the man to whom I am prepared to sell Sowerby House.”
Mr. Oswald bowed. “At your service, sir.”
“I have invited him and Sir Walter here today to discuss the change of plans. As you have made your decision concerning the inheritance, I see no advantage in prolonging the inevitable.” Mother sniffed, patted a handkerchief to her nose. “The house shall be sold to Mr. Oswald as soon as Sir Walter can switch the deed, and I shall move to the hunting lodge in Hertfortshire within a fortnight. It is much smaller and of greater comfort to me, as some of the dearest memories I have with your father took place there.” A vein bulged in her forehead with that last phrase. She lowered her face. “I wanted you to be aware, Son, as this affects you too.”
“Mrs. Fancourt, I stand by my conviction that this is all rather sudden—”
“There is nothing sudden about it, Sir Walter. My son has made his decision.”
“Which he might have changed, had you given him a chance to acquaint with the idea.” Sir Walter stood, his height towering, and Simon understood the gratitude prisoners might have felt when the barrister argued their case in court. “With all due respect, marriage is no trivial matter. One can hardly expect a man to succumb to the notion as easily as he might succumb to wearing a new suit of clothes or taking home a new book.”
“You always speak with precision, Sir Walter. An attribute my Geoffrey always admired in you.” Mother leaned forward, both hands folded over the top of her cane. “And though I am not so insensitive as to deny Geoffrey’s will requires sacrifice, I am still conservative enough to believe in duty—something my son has the tendency to shirk.”
Simon gripped the back of the wingback chair. His duty was not to Mother or Father or this house or even to himself. His duty was to his children.Ruth, please.In the name of mercy, what was he to do?
“At least allow him a day longer.” Frowning, Sir Walter nodded to the gentleman by the mantel. “Surely our gracious Mr. Oswald will not object to that.”
“I object to nothing except disregarding Mrs. Fancourt’s wishes. If she is determined to move the process forward, I shall not approve of prodding her to wait.”
“Very kind of you, dear boy.” Mother nodded. “You are right, in any event. Unless you wish to speak now, Simon, we shall proceed as planned.”
Pressure grew inside his chest, intensified by each distinct pound of his heart. Marry Miss Georgina Whitmore so he could attain a life he had never wanted in the first place? So he could finally acknowledge, in the end of things, that Father had gained his way after all?
Simon shook his head. “I am sorry, Mother. Proceed as planned.” He started from the room, then hesitated as his reason for entering the drawing room struck him. He turned back long enough to spot Baby under a small table and snatch the doll from behind the claw-footed legs.
Then he hurried from the room, unease warping through him, as too many thoughts attacked at once. Hadn’t he done the right thing?
Then why was his stomach unsettled?
“Papa, you found her!” In the wide corridor, Mercy threw herself against his legs, squealing.
John grinned in his new gray skeleton suit. He’d never worn something tailored specific to his size, and the hearty meals of late seemed to have increased his thickness and height. Indeed, even his dimple had deepened.
Mayhap here his son could be happy. Mayhap one day he could stop worrying over guns and fighting and that painful need to protect the people he loved.
They were safe here.
Fed.
Clothed properly.
