Chapter 45
The following morning, Cynthia had been summoned to her grandfather’s study and made to wait outside while Freddie had gone in first. Half an hour later, Freddie came out with his shoulders slumped and stomped over to the stairs where Cynthia was sitting. She stood as soon as she saw him approach.
“Don’t go in there, Cynthia. If you know what you want in life, do not enter the study,” Freddie said to Cynthia at the foot of the stairs in the grand foyer.
“Why?”
“Just trust me for once. You may be older than me, but I know a thing or two about living life, especially if you’re in love.”
“I can’t defy mother or father,” Cynthia said.
“You could if you had the courage.”
“I have courage,” she said indignantly.
Freddie shook his head and trudged up the stairs like he was walking to his doom.
Torn between Freddie’s warning and her need to please her parents, she whipped her head back and forth between the closed study door and the landing of the first floor where Freddie was waiting. He leaned over the bannister, staring her down.
“Cynthia, come into the study,” her father called from the door.
She hadn’t heard it open while locking her eyes with her brother. He looked like he was going to cry. The need to run to her little brother had her stepping towards the stairs.
“Now, Cynthia. You can coddle your brother later,” he bellowed.
Cynthia mouthed her apology to her brother, and he shook his head. A moment later, he walked along the corridor and out of sight. She straightened her cardigan, hurried across the foyer, and slipped into the study. There was no sight of Bailey, just her father and grandfather standing solemnly at the cold fireplace.
“What’s going on?” Cynthia asked.
“How was last night?” her father asked.
“The dinner?”
“Yes, the dinner. What else do you think I’m talking about?” Cynthia’s father snapped.
“The dinner was fine. Cook out did herself with the beef wellington.”
“I’m not talking about the bloody food, girl. I’m talking about Sullivan.”
“Oh. Well, Sullivan was nice enough. He’s a lot older than me, so we don’t have much in common.”
“Good. You’ll be married within two weeks.”
Cynthia put her hands on her hips, digging her fingers into the waistband of her tweed trousers. “What the…”
Her Grandfather stayed quiet but stared at her with a look of disapproval.
Her father cleared his throat and stood feet apart with his hands in his suit pockets. He took a stance that made her feel like a child, looking down his nose with an air of disappointment.
“He is to be your husband. You’re thirty and getting on. We can’t have a spinster in the family.”
Cynthia spluttered without saying any words and then fisted her hands at her side. Now she found her courage, but she knew deep down it was far too late. “I’ve found my husband. I was going to tell you all at dinner, but then you invited Sullivan.”
Her Grandfather laughed humourlessly, “Are you referring to Jonathan Cranford?”
Cynthia stood there speechless, switching from both men, trying to work out if this was a sick joke at her expense.
“Oh, I know all about your whoring ways with that man. Pete Boyle told me all about your trysts. You will marry Sullivan to save the family name. No daughter of mine is going to marry a teacher.”
“But I love Jonathan. We’re going to live in the town.”
“Has he knocked you up? Are you carrying his child?”
“No, don’t be absurd,” Cynthia cried.
“Good, because the Turner inheritance doesn’t go to a bastard child conceived out of wedlock. Are you sure you’re not pregnant? Is that why you’re in a hurry to marry the interloper?”
“Jonathan and I are in love, father. We are to be married very soon.”
“I couldn’t care less who you love,” he bellowed. “Do you think I loved your mother when I married her? The Turners marry for position, not love.”
“I don’t want to marry Sullivan.”
“You don’t have a choice. Start finding a wedding dress. Reverend Sheldon has been notified. You’ll be married in the Turner chapel. No guests, just family.”
Cynthia stood open-mouthed at them, feeling thoroughly betrayed. Where was her mother? She truly regretted ignoring Freddie’s warning. But why wasn’t he here to fight with her? Had he given in and agreed to marry a woman of their choosing?
“What about Freddie?” Cynthia asked.
“What about him?”
“Are you arranging his marriage, too?”
“I don’t care who he marries. He’s not the heir. You are,” her father snapped. “Now get out of my study and see your mother. She’ll know how to prepare you for your wedding and marriage.”
Cynthia stormed out of the study, but it wasn’t to go in search of her mother. There was someone else she wanted to talk to first.