“Thank you,” he responded, genuinely touched by her gesture, though his mind was still a storm of conflicting emotions.
Once he retreated to his bedchamber, Winston closed the heavy door behind him, shutting out the world. He sank into the leather armchair by the fireplace, the flickering flames casting shadows that mirrored his troubled thoughts. He needed the quiet, the isolation, to sift through the chaos in his mind.
Isaac’s taunting words echoed endlessly, stirring up memories he had tried to bury. Johnny’s tragic fate and his mother’s death weighed heavily on his conscience. Winston clenched his fists, the pain of his earlier punch throbbing in his knuckles, which was a small penance for the guilt gnawing at him.
He stared into the fire, trying to find solace in its warmth, but the flames only reminded him of the hell he felt trapped in. How was he to seek any form of redemption? He had been sending money to Johnny’s aunt to provide for him, but that had been in vain. Johnny had been sent away, and he hadn’t known.
In the flickering light, he resolved to find out everything about Johnny’s fate. He would contact his sources in London and insist on an investigation. Until then, he would protect Mattie with every ounce of his being.
Winston reached for the bottle of whiskey that sat on the table next to him. He shouldn’t drink, but he wanted to forget,even if it was just for a moment. The familiar image of Johnny staring up at his mother as she hung right in front of him, the tears of anguish that flowed down his cheeks as he was led away, haunted him. The scene replayed in his mind, relentless and unforgiving.
He needed a drink.
The clock on the mantel chimed, alerting him to the time. He was supposed to depart for Mattie’s cottage for dinner soon.
But he couldn’t go.
Not now.
Removing the top of the whiskey bottle, Winston took a long drink, hoping that for tonight, he could forget.
The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, casting deep shadows across the room as Mattie gazed out the window. Her thoughts were consumed with worry for Winston. They had planned for him to dine with her family this evening, with the hope that he would speak to her father afterwards.
She wondered what could have detained him, her mind racing with possibilities. Winston was many things, but he was not one to disregard others so easily.
Emma let out a loud, dramatic sigh, breaking the tense silence. “I am starving,” she declared, rising from the settee with an exaggerated stretch. “Can we please go eat?”
Her father, seated comfortably in his high-backed chair, looked up from his book and glanced at the long clock ticking softly in the corner. “I must agree with Emma. It is late, and I do not believe Lord Winston is coming.”
Even Franny glanced her way with a hopeful expression, her eyes reflecting the warm glow ofthe candles.
Mattie reluctantly rose, her heart heavy with disappointment. “Very well,” she said, forcing a smile. “I would hate for our food to grow cold.”
“Perhaps he misunderstood your invitation to join us this evening?” her father asked, placing the book down.
With a weak smile, Mattie responded, “Perhaps.”
Emma ran a hand down the pink gown that she had insisted on wearing this evening, despite being in mourning. “If I had extended the invitation to Lord Winston, I promise you that he wouldn’t have misunderstood,” she declared confidently.
They walked towards the dining table and sat down. The table was elegantly set, with polished silverware and delicate china gleaming under the chandelier’s light. Mattie couldn’t help but notice the extra plate setting, a glaring reminder that Winston had broken his promise to come.
Her father took his seat at the head of the table, his expression thoughtful. “Lord Winston is a busy man, and I am sure that something came up,” he said, trying to reassure her.
“More important than dining with us?” Emma asked skeptically as she took her seat. “No, I do think the problem lies with Mattie.”
“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” Mattie muttered under her breath.
Franny claimed the seat next to Emma and reached for her cup. “I am glad that Lord Winston didn’t come. I am not up to visiting with a stranger.”
Emma waved her hand dismissively. “Lord Winston is not a stranger, at least to us. He is tall, handsome and very intelligent. He is a barrister in London,” she shared with a hint of admiration. “And I have read about many of his cases in the newssheets.”
Her father gave Emma a look of mild displeasure. “You read the newssheets?” he asked.
“Just the parts that interest me,” Emma declaredunapologetically. “I do not care much about most of the drivel that is reported on.”
“I would prefer it if you didn’t read the newssheets,” her father said. “It is uncouth of you to do so.”
Emma shrugged, brushing aside his criticism. “Can I at least read the Society page?” she asked.
