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"How do you know of her?" Lord Beckham asked, strolling to the window near the staircase. He approached slowly, letting the light filter into his muddied mind bit by bit, so as not to overwhelm his constitution, rendered fragile by a night of drink, all at once. Ms. Cauthfield sighed dismissively.
"Again, I apologize for mentioning these sorts of frivolities, I know how you feel about them," Ms. Cauthfield said by way of disclaimer. "A letter arrived from the Havenshire Manor this morning. Apparently, word passed to the duke there, a lovely but ailing old man, that you had spoken a fair few words of conversation to his daughter." Lord Beckham sighed in response.
"Word passed to him, did it?" he scoffed. Both he and Ms. Cauthfield knew just who had 'passed word'.
"You know just how much Lady Henrietta enjoys hearing herself speak, m'lord, particularly when it comes to matters of gossip at dinner parties. I hadn't known she would be at that particular event last night, m'lord, elseways I would have known some manner of gossip as this would get out, and would have advised against your attendance," Ms. Cauthfield lamented. "I'm certain it's simply Lady Henrietta making mere introductions and pleasantries out to be some grand manner of conspiracy or affair, as she is often willing to do. I apologize for even broaching the subject, m'lord. I simply worried for your health this morning."
"No, you needn't apologize," Lord Beckham responded, considering deeply the possibilities before him. No doubt Lady Henrietta had exaggerated what had happened between he and Lady Havenshire. It struck him with poignancy the predicament Lord Havenshire suffered - he realized the ailing man's desire to marry his daughter off, so as to keep the inheritance of wealth and estate within his family. He gazed across the grasses, watching the farmers work their lands; watching life bustle along the roadways in the small town, off in the distance, on the edges of Berrewithe estate. "What manner of meeting does the Lord Havenshire request?" Ms. Cauthfield seemed taken aback by the question, not having expected her master would be at all interested in the letters and gossip of women like Lady Henrietta.
"I'm... not quite certain, to be honest, m'lord, I didn't think would ask on its contents," Ms. Cauthfield replied. "James, I believe, mentioned words about an inheritance, or a discussion thereof—"
"Of course," the duke responded bitterly, his heart stung.
"I've... well, I've heard rumor that Lord Havenshire's health has... failed, quite rapidly, in the passing months, m'lord," Lady Cauthfield added, standing loyally attentive near the stairwell. Her own thoughts began to suddenly turn on the
matter of the inheritance, and the duke's daughter - and she began herself to see an opportunity for her master. "Perhaps, you... could hear him out? I know it's a trivial matter, likely inflated by the impetuous chatter of Lady Henrietta, but... well, I think it might be good for you to speak to him, and to speak again to his daughter. She may be quite a lovely woman."
"She is," Lord Beckham sighed, much to Ms. Cauthfield's wide-eyed surprise. "She's worldly, capable, intelligent, stunning. She's what one would want and expect of a true noblewoman," Lord Beckham lamented. Surprised to hear words such as those coming from her master, Ms. Cauthfield's voice grew urgent.
"So, it's not simple hearsay or gossip from Lady Henrietta? M'lord, certainly you'll go and see the duke and his daughter, then?" she asked, hopefully.
"No, I shan’t," Lord Beckham said in disappointment, deflating his servant.
"And why is that? You've just spoken highly of the woman, and her father clearly needs your assistance," Ms. Cauthfield insisted.
"I've offended her, and I certainly don't deserve a second chance by speaking with her dying father behind her back. She shall certainly regard me then as up to no good, looking to steal from her agency and her fortune without regard for who she is," Lord Beckham reasoned. "No. I've failed already in regard to lovely Lady Havenshire."
"Oh, come now," Ms. Cauthfield chastised. "You've earned the interest of her father, and no matter what sort of offense she's taken from you, she'd be foolish not to recognize your merits as a gentleman."
"But I'm not a gentleman, am I?" Lord Beckham protested. "A gentleman doesn't fail his love as I have. A gentleman doesn't estrange his sister, offend women like Lady Havenshire."
"M'lord, I've held back from speaking so cross as I wish about Lady Anna in the past, but if I must I shall be blunt as a blacksmith's hammer," Ms. Cauthfield said, full of fire. "You did not fail Lady Anna. She failed you. You treated her as angels deserve, yet she left you suffering on what should have been the finest day in Berrewithe Manor's history. And why? Why, m'lord?"
"I wasn't enough," Lord Beckham insisted, brooding as he watched the sun through the windows.
"She used you, m'lord. She used you for her own selfish ends, and when she had no more a need of you, she abandoned you. You had far more to offer than she was ever worth," Ms. Cauthfield roared. Lord Beckham hesitated. He wouldn't hear it; he wouldn't face that thought.
"Ms. Cauthfield, I'd ask you to mind your place," he said defensively.
"At least listen to the old man. He's dying, m'lord," Ms. Cauthfield pleaded, at the edge of her patience.
"Prepare a carriage," he muttered. "I suppose I shall at least hear him out... if only for the reputation of the manor. Of Berrewithe," he tried to rationalize.
Truly, all he wanted was to her see her face again.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"I don't believe I've ever taken you this far from the manor, have I?" James, the old butler, asked, driving the horses along the roadway. Lord Beckham had requested a simple carriage, and for James to accompany him, expecting the trip would be short; he would speak to the ailing lord, perhaps ask on the matter of inheritance, politely refuse the ailing lord's offer, and board the carriage back to his manor. Instead the trip had been long, dull; James had spent much of it trying, full of hope, to pry from his master the events of the past evening. Lord Beckham knew all of his servants hoped to have a new woman at the manor - and he deftly avoided the subject at every encounter, not wanting to let down his loyal butler by informing him that Lady Havenshire had left rather upset.
"I'm not certain," Lord Beckham said lackadaisically, looking on the moors and thinking.
"I recall taking your sister all the way to London," James laughed, before an uncomfortable feeling settled across the both of them. The duke watched the roadway, troubled, taking deep breaths as he considered his own past. "I do... sometimes quite miss your sister, m'lord. Begging your pardon, of course, her manner of leaving us was..."
"It was perfect justified, James," Lord Beckham rumbled, the self-loathing flaring once more as he recalled the last few days he spent with his sister.
"We... we simply had to follow the law of the land. For the better of the estate, and the memory of your father. None of us wanted to," James recalled, "but... there was little we could do, after the magistrate demanded you inherit, over Leah."
"Does that not trouble you, James?" Lord Beckham asked, confrontational.
