As she pondered these questions, she knew one thing for certain: despite the changes ahead, she would miss the familiarity of her life here, and perhaps even the sparring matches with Lord Winston.
The door of the cottage flew open and her father stepped out onto the covered porch, frustration etched in his face. “Where have you been, young lady?” he demanded.
Young lady?
Her father only used that term when he was truly upset with her.
Mattie came to a stop in front of him. “I was just taking a walk through the woodlands,” she said. “Is everything all right?”
Tossing up his hands in exasperation, her father replied, “No, everything is not all right. Franny is crying… again.”
“That is not unexpected,” Mattie said gently, “considering she just lost her parents.”
“I know, but she was crying into her bread,” her father replied, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I don’t know what to do to help her. She is inconsolable.”
Mattie placed a comforting hand on his sleeve, offering a small, reassuring smile. “Shall I join you for breakfast? Perhaps together we can manage to coax a smile out of Franny.”
Her father’s eyes were sad. “I spent many years as a vicar consoling others, drawing upon my own experience after losing your mother. But I was not prepared for the loss of my brother,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly.
“We will get through this,” Mattie encouraged. “One step at a time. Let us start with breakfast and see if we can bring a little bit of comfort to Franny.”
Her father nodded, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “Thank you, Mattie. I do not know how I would manage if you weren’t here.”
“You would do just fine,” she assured him.
“No, you are special, Child,” her father said. “Mother would be very proud of the young woman that you have become. I know that I am.”
Mattie was touched by her father’s words and blinked back the tears that were threatening to form. “Thank you, Father,” she responded. “Come. Let us go to the kitchen and eat our breakfast.”
Together, they walked into the cottage and headed towards the kitchen in the rear. Mattie’s heart sank when she saw Franny hunched over in a chair, tears streaming down her face.
In a soft voice, Mattie said, “Good morning, Franny.”
Franny gave her the briefest of glances before her gaze dropped back to the table.
Mattie wasn’t about to give up. Not yet. She sat down next to Franny and asked, “Have you eaten breakfast?”
Franny shook her head silently.
Mrs. Watson stepped closer and handed Mattie a plate of food. Mattie placed it gently in front of her cousin. “You need to eat and keep your strength up,” she encouraged.
In a barely audible voice, Franny asked, “What is the point? My parents are dead, and they are never coming back.”
Mattie’s heart lurched at the raw pain in her cousin’s voice. “You may think that your life is over, but it is not. You will have to discover a new normal.”
Franny sobbed into a white handkerchief. “I am all alone now,” she declared.
“You are not alone. You have us,” Mattie assured her. The fact that Franny was speaking proved that they were making some progress. Healing this wound would take some time.
“I want to go home,” Franny said, her voicebreaking.
Her father stepped closer, his voice gentle yet firm. “In due time. Once a new vicar is brought on, we can depart for Darlington Abbey. Until then, let us grieve together without household staff being underfoot.”
Franny lifted her tear-stained cheeks, her expression one of pure anguish. “What is the point?” she asked. “I will never stop grieving.”
“Give it time…” her father began.
Jumping up from her seat, Franny shouted, “No! My parents left me behind. I was supposed to go on that trip to India, but they felt it was best if I stayed behind. I should have died right alongside them.”
