“I have no doubt, but that doesn’t mean I do not feel remorse for it,” he admitted. “I am saddened bythe fact that you were forced to grow up far too early after your mother’s passing.”
There was some truth to her father’s words. She had taken on more responsibilities at the young age of two and ten years old, but she did not resent it.
Squaring her shoulders, she assured him, “You need not worry about me. I am prepared to take on whatever responsibilities come our way, just as Mother would have wanted.”
As her father’s gaze lingered on her, Mattie sensed his unspoken worry but remained determined to reassure him of her strength and resolve.
Mattie offered him a faint smile. She could do this. Shehadto do this. But first, she needed a moment alone to collect her thoughts. “Excuse me for a moment,” she said before she swiftly departed from the study.
Alone in the corridor, she rested her back against the wall and allowed the tears to come freely. Her heart ached for the loss of her aunt and uncle, who had always treated her with such kindness. Now, she was in a position to return the favor by ensuring Franny was always loved and cared for.
Mattie reached up and swiped at the tears streaming down her face. She didn’t have time for this. She needed to speak to the dressmaker about commissioning mourning gowns. Until then, she could dye a few of her gowns black.
A thought occurred to her.
Lady Dallington would be able to assist Mattie since she had only recently stopped mourning her brother-in-law, the late Lord Dallington. Mattie knew calling upon others was discouraged during the mourning period, but she hoped Lady Dallington wouldn’t chide her for it. She doubted she would, as she almost considered the marchioness a second mother, having spent so much time around her and her family.
Mattie thought about Franny, wondering if she should go to her instead of escaping to Brockhall Manor. But what was the point? She couldn’t fix this, no matter how hard she tried.And she needed advice on how to best help herself and Franny.
Coming to a decision, Mattie resolved to seek Lady Dallington’s counsel. She needed guidance and support, not just for herself but for Franny as well. She departed from the rear of the cottage and, with purposeful strides, approached Brockhall Manor. She stepped up to the door and knocked.
The door promptly opened and the solemn butler greeted her. “Good afternoon, Miss Bawden,” White said, standing to the side to allow her entry. “Do come in.”
“Is Lady Dallington available to receive callers?” Mattie asked.
White’s eyes crinkled around the edges. “Wait here, Miss,” he replied.
As the butler walked off, Mattie caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Red-rimmed eyes stared back at her and stray locks of red hair had escaped her carefully arranged coiffure, framing her face in disarray.
Taking a moment to compose herself, Mattie inhaled deeply, her chest rising and falling with the effort to steady her nerves. Lady Dallington had always been a pillar of strength and wisdom, and Mattie found solace in the thought of seeking her counsel. The weight of her newfound responsibilities bore down on her, but she was determined to bear it with grace.
Did she even have a choice not to?
Chapter Two
Winston was descending the grand stairs when he saw Miss Bawden staring at her reflection in the mirror. He huffed. Why in the blazes was she here? It wasn’t time for dinner. Could she not read a clock?
He would rather chew glass than deal with Miss Bawden. He had picked a lousy time to sneak down to the kitchen for a biscuit. Perhaps if he walked swiftly, Miss Bawden wouldn’t notice him.
But as he stepped onto the marble floor, she turned her head, and he saw something unexpected. Miss Bawden’s eyes were red-lined and hairs from her elegant coiffure had escaped, cascading down her back. She looked disheveled and sad, which surprised him. He had always believed she was incapable of such emotion.
She turned her head and her eyes widened slightly. “Lord Winston,” she greeted, her words lacking any warmth.
“Miss Bawden,” he acknowledged.
Winston wanted nothing more than to be far away from her, but he had been raised to be a gentleman. And a gentleman did not ignore a young woman in distress, no matter how maddening she might be.
With compassion in his voice, he asked, “Is there something you are in need of, Miss Bawden?”
He expected a curt response, but to his surprise, she shook her head. “No, thank you, my lord,” she replied without the slightest hint of annoyance.
Now he was worried.
Miss Bawden was not one to be polite to him—for any reason. Yet, she spoke to him in a civil tone, as if they didn’t dislike one another.
Did he press her? It wasn’t his place, but something stirred deep within him. He almost felt bad for her… almost. After all, he was still working on the assumption that she was the spawn of the devil.
Miss Bawden reached up and tucked a piece of errant hair behind her ear. “Will you stop looking at me like that?” she asked.
