Darlington pressed his lips together. “I don’t find him to be in a pleasant mood at all. He is rather ornery if you ask me.”
Helena patted her husband’s sleeve. “We were teasing, dear.”
“Why can’t you just speak plainly then?” Darlington asked as he led her into the dining room.
Greydon saw that his father had claimed his spot at the head of the table and he was placing his napkin onto his lap. He went to sit to the right of him and hoped that his father would be in a better mood. But he was not so lucky.
His father leaned to the side as a footman placed the first course in front of him. “Are you increasing yet?” he asked Helena.
“I am not,” Helena replied, her eyes turning downcast.
“You have one job as a wife,” his father remarked.
Darlington cleared his throat. “You do not need to concern yourself with that,” he said, his voice taking on a warning.
Greydon hid his smile behind his napkin. Good for Darlington, he thought. The man did have a backbone and he was standing up for his wife. His respect for the man had just gone up immensely.
His father frowned. “At least Helena did her duty and married well.” He shifted in his seat to face Greydon. “I hope to say the same about you one day.”
“You have no say in who I choose to marry,” Greydon said.
After his father picked up his spoon, he remarked, “At least your mother isn’t here to see what a disappointment you turned out to be.”
Greydon tensed. “You have no right to mention Mother.”
“Whyever not?” his father asked, his voice rising. “She was my wife, after all.”
“If anything, you are the disappointment, Father,” Greydon said.
“How dare you—”
Greydon continued. “You have forgotten Mother. You are a shell of the man you once were.”
His father shoved back his chair and jumped up. “I have not forgotten Abigail. She is all that I think about.”
“While you are wallowing in your grief, you have turned your back on us,” Greydon said. “You don’t even know who we are anymore.”
“I know who you are!” his father exclaimed. “You are a man that only lives for himself.”
“No, that is you,” Greydon contended.
His father tossed his napkin onto the table. “I do not have to take this from you. I loved your mother dearly.”
“I don’t dispute that, but it is time to move on. You must accept that Mother is gone.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” his father asked. “Every morning, I wake up to disappointment when I remember that she is no longer with us.”
Rising, Greydon said, “We miss her, too.”
His father’s face softened and his eyes grew moist. “Not as much as I do,” he said softly.
As he went to respond, his father walked out of the room without saying another word. The silence was deafening as Greydon stared at the empty doorway. Why couldn’t his father realize that they were all hurting since their mother’s death?
Darlington’s voice broke through the silence. “Should we eat before our soup gets cold or are we expected to wait until your father returns?”
“I do not think my father plans on returning,” Helena replied softly.
Greydon gave them an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. I should have never pressed Father.”
