AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter 25
Baldwin wasn’t entirely sure why he remained on at the Thompson Estate. In truth, he simply couldn't imagine abandoning Marta and leaving her to the mercies of Aunt Margaret and the Duke. He stirred with anger, watching as Laura,Malcolm, and Walter stretched their legs across the grounds with manic energy. He wished he could unleash his own madness in this manner. He felt he had to remain upright and stoic and sure, if only to prove to Marta that he could handle this. He could handle her, and he would keep her safe.
He simply didn’t know how to manage it.
As they sat at the edge of the garden with the sun beating down upon them, Baldwin was struck once more with Marta’s beauty. Her blue eyes looked sombre, sad, as they traced up and down with the children and Laura, following their action. He willed them to look towards him. They didn’t.
Perhaps this was proof that he’d already lost.
Moments later, Aunt Margaret appeared behind them. She’d bustled about all morning, frantically attempting to prepare the house for the Duke’s arrival. Now, she articulated Baldwin’s name and gestured for him to come inside with her. Baldwin was surprised. His first inclination was that perhaps Aunt Margaret wanted him to conduct some sort of operation for him. It wouldn’t have been the first time that she’d requested him to carry a bookshelf or rearrange some tables.
However, when they arrived within the shadowed halls of the mansion, Aunt Margaret led them into Uncle Everett’s study and latched the door behind them. Uncle Everett was nowhere to be found. Baldwin marvelled that this was perhaps one of the first and only times he and Aunt Margaret had been in such a small space together.
Her eyes told him that this was trouble.
“Baldwin, darling,” she began. She drew her thick fingers together contemplatively, then bustled to the other side of the desk, as though the act of sitting in the same place in which her husband conducted business might instill within her more confidence.
Baldwin remained standing until she ordered him to sit. He wasn’t the sort of man not to obey a woman in her own house. He placed his hands on his bent knees and waited. The tension in the room mounted.
“Baldwin, it’s come to my attention that we may have encountered a sort of problem,” Aunt Margaret began.
“I don’t understand,” Baldwin said. He was well-versed in the act of business speak, able to pretend something was real or unreal until the moment he had to turn himself in. He didn’t perceive this to be anything more than proper business etiquette, not honest or dishonest, exactly, but somewhere in between.
“I believe—shall we say—you have something of an affinity for my Austrian niece. Now, before you insist that you don’t, hear me out,” Aunt Margaret said. She stretched her palms wide and continued. “Marta is a darling girl. Beautiful, intelligent, worldly. I think it stands to reason that you would find fancy with her. But Baldwin, I think it’s also fair to say that I know you better than you know yourself.”
Baldwin arched his brow. He hadn’t anticipated this level of conversation.
“With that, I mean, you’re a rather serious man. You’re a man of goodwill and business. You don’t ordinarily dally about at such parties and balls. You find them frivolous and wastes of time, and you’d much rather spend your time over your ledger. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Perhaps this had been so in the past. Already, though, Baldwin recognised the darkness that lurked behind her words. It seemed she wanted to ban him back to that life.
“I know that you and my niece are friendly with one another. That pleases me. After all, I’ve loved you as a son for many, many years. You know that,” Aunt Margaret continued.
“And I’ve been grateful to your warmth,” Baldwin returned.
Aunt Margaret gave him a sly smile. “That’s delightful to hear. I suppose you won’t detest me too much to say that… if you get in the way of the budding relationship between my niece and the Duke, I will require you to leave this house. I won’t know when to invite you back.”
Baldwin’s heart thudded. He felt twisted with anger, resentment, and confusion. Still, he knew he had to act this out, press forward, pretend. He had to say anything he could to ensure that he could remain at the estate, within reach of Marta Schnitzler.
He would not let her go without a fight.
“I have very little interest in your niece beyond friendship,” Baldwin asserted. “Forgive me for saying so. It’s entirely true what you say. We’re quite different from one another. I’m here mostly because my work has hit a stall in these summer months. You know how difficult it is for me to remain at my family estate throughout the day, without anything much to do. It’s lacklustre, and it drains me. Forgive me for being so forward about the current predicament.”
He knew he’d hit precisely where he’d needed to. Aunt Margaret’s face drained of colour. She leaned back in her chair and collected her fat fingers together and breathed a heavy sigh. “Oh, goodness. Baldwin, I’m terribly sorry. I hadn’t a clue. I suppose you must think I’m so selfish for assuming that your intentions were anything but pure.”
“It’s really nothing to worry about. Things are a bit different this year,” Baldwin said, grateful to his mind for brewing up such a lie so swiftly. “But I hope that once autumn begins, we’ll be on a better track.”
“You’re entirely too clever for your own good, Baldwin. I know that you’ll be prosperous once more,” Aunt Margaret said. Still, she seemed strained, aghast at her own staggering rudeness. “Frankly, I cannot believe that I…” She studied the empty desk between them, seemingly unable to muster the strength to go on. “You know that I care for you. You’re on my list next, Baldwin. I will find you a beautiful wife. A woman to bear your sons. Someone who will appreciate your sturdy and stoic nature.”
“Thank you, Aunt Margaret. It’s not necessary,” Baldwin said.
“If I waited for anyone to find me necessary, I would be waiting a long time,” Aunt Margaret returned.
These words rang through Baldwin’s mind as he returned to the garden. He supposed it was quite lonely to be Aunt Margaret. Her heyday had ended years ago; she worked with other people’s borrowed time while her husband ignored her.
At that moment, Baldwin resolved that if he were able to marry Marta—somehow, someway—he would never treat her the way ordinary husbands treated their wives. He would remind her every day of how grateful he was to know her. He would take her to the mountains and whisper her name as they made love and make her tell him the greatest secrets of her mind.
Aunt Margaret did, in fact, love him. Baldwin knew this to be a fact. He simply had to pray and hope that one day, she would regard him as an appropriate match for Marta.
But he wasn’t willing to stoop low, to grovel.
Whatever happened, he would sit through this assuredly horrendous lunch with Lord Remington. He would smile, make jokes, banter, and he would do it all with heavy optimism.
He only wished he could dig into Marta’s brain, perceive her thoughts. Such an outpouring of honour from a Duke, a man of incredible title, was certainly nothing to ignore. Perhaps this was the sort of thing that would sway Marta’s mind.
