Maria’s hand trembled, the needle slipping. Her lips parted, and she looked to her husband, then back to Theo. “No,” she whispered. “I do not want both of you so far from me. Not at once. Not after—” Her voice broke off, and she clutched her handkerchief.
Theo’s heart sank at the expression on his mother’s face. The deaths of both of her parents the year prior in a tragic carriage accident had caused Maria to be overly anxious about travel and distance of any kind.
Nathaniel, who had been lounging in the corner with a restless air, gave a bitter laugh. “Of course,” he said, “I must stay home. I am the spare, after all. Always kept on hand in case something happens to the heir. How noble of me.”
Maria’s eyes brimmed with tears.
“Perhaps,” he added darkly, “I shall go join the militia, or the regulars. That would defeat the purpose, would it not? If I diein some skirmish on the continent, no need to keep me polished up and waiting. Maybe you will all get lucky and no longer need to provide for me.”
Maria buried her face in her handkerchief, weeping openly now.
“Enough!” Timothy thundered, rising from his chair. “That is not the kind of talk allowed under this roof. You are distressing your mother.”
A slight expression of remorse flickered across Nathaniel’s face, but then it quickly returned to petulant. He huffed as he rose from his seat and stalking over to the window, staring out at the home farm in the darkening twilight.
“I will not go to Cambridge unless Natty comes with me,” Theo said quietly.
Nathaniel’s head snapped up. “What?”
Theo turned to face him. “If you stay, I stay. I will not go without you.”
Something sharp and feral sparked in Nathaniel’s eyes. “Stop trying to drag me behind you like a pet dog, Theo.”
The felt as if he had been struck. “That is not what I’m doing—” he protested.
“Oh, is it not?” Nathaniel’s voice rose. “Who says I want to take holy orders and live in Meryton for the rest of my life? Who says I want to be a boring little clergyman under my brother’s thumb—living in your village, beholden to your charity, at your beck and call like some glorified servant?”
“I never said—”
“I am not your burden,” Nathaniel snarled, stepping forward. “But you make me one every time you act like I cannot breathe unless you breathe first.”
Silence slammed into the room like a fist. For one suspended moment, all Theo could hear was the ticking of the longcaseclock against the wall and the dull roar of blood in his ears. Maria was still sobbing quietly in her chair.
Then their father stood.
The older man’s face was dark with a fury Theo had only seen once before—when the old steward was caught embezzling from the estate. His voice was low and dangerous. “You ungrateful little wretch.”
Maria gasped from her chair, her embroidery falling forgotten to the floor.
Theo opened his mouth—to say what, he did not know—but the words would not come.
“I have worked every hour God gives me to keep this estate in good standing—for your future, and your brother’s—and you dare stand there and spit poison in our faces like a tavern brute?”
Nathaniel said nothing. He stood stiff and silent, but Theo could see the flicker in his brother’s eyes—the brief flash of hurt before the shutters slammed down again.
“You sneer at the very roof over your head, the food in your belly, and the name you bear. You dare to speak of charity as though it is a leash, when it is a gift given in love—and you shame your mother by throwing it back in our faces!”
Maria flinched, and Theo’s fists curled at his sides.
“If you think so little of your family,” Timothy said, voice like thunder, “then go. Join your blasted militia. Let them beat some humility into that arrogant skull. But do not expect a penny from me if you do.”
Theo’s breath caught. He looked from his father’s furious glare to his brother’s white face. Nathaniel’s mouth tightened, but he did not speak.
Theo wanted to stop this—wanted to grab Nathaniel by the shoulders and shake the pride out of him, to beg him not to saythe next awful thing. But he was rooted to the floor, helpless, as if watching a horse bolt into a raging river.
Nathaniel turned sharply and strode from the room without another word. His boots struck the floor like gunshots.
The door slammed, and Maria let out a sob. Then in the distance, a door banged again—Nathaniel’s boots thudding down the back steps as he vanished into the dusk.
