Chapter 1 #2
The ticking of the mantel clock grew louder with every passing minute, its rhythmic beat filling the room like a distant drum of judgment.
Sarah yawned and curled against the arm of the sofa, her small body sinking into the cushions before slipping into sleep.
Maryann did not have the heart to wake her.
The four-day journey had been long and trying for them all.
Vi and Lizzy sat together near the fireplace, their heads inclined close in quiet conversation. Only a year apart in age—Vivian, sixteen, and Elizabeth, seventeen—they were more than sisters. They were each other’s constant companion and dearest friend.
Maryann patiently waited. She refused to let fear root itself in her chest before she knew the decision of Lord and Lady Hardwick. It was useless to shatter her nerves before it became necessary. Experience had taught her long ago that worry did not alter an outcome. It only robbed one of strength.
One hour passed. The anxiety she had locked away began to creep through the cracks, slicing through her composure with a swiftness she hated. At last, she rose from her seat.
“Wait here,” she said gently. “I shall make some inquiries of the housekeeper or the butler.”
Her sisters nodded, obedient and subdued.
Maryann slipped from the room and stepped into the quiet hallway, following the muted murmur of voices echoing from somewhere deeper within the manor.
A slightly ajar door along the corridor revealed a drawing room bathed in soft lamplight, its furnishings rich with brocade and velvet.
She slowed her steps and tilted her head toward the voices.
“…a rather inconvenient responsibility,” the countess was saying, her voice polished and cool.
“Truly, I cannot understand why Lord Winton named you guardian of his daughters. And now Miss Winton arrives with a fourth. Did she presume we wouldn’t know the circumstances of the youngest? It is outrageous and beyond the pale!”
“My dear—” came a deeper voice, wearied and calm. The earl, no doubt.
“If Sir Percival left no sons, then the cousin ought to have taken them in! That is what cousins are for.”
Maryann laced her fingers tightly, pressing until her knuckles ached. The pain in her hands was a faint distraction from the sharpness of each word. How deep they wounded.
“That cousin cares only for the estate,” the earl replied. “And you know I was once a close acquaintance of Winton. In truth, I suspect it was your friendship with his wife that prompted him to write to me, asking us this years ago. We gave our word then. How could we refuse it now?”
“That was before the eldest bore a child out of wedlock,” the countess returned coldly. “The scandal and disgrace of it is more than I can bear! I will not have it touch our family in any regard.”
Tears stung Maryann’s eyes. She bit down on her lower lip, hard, to keep them at bay.
“Perhaps it is not as it appears,” the earl said.
The countess released a sound between a half-sigh and a half-scoff. “What other explanation is there? The child appears to be about four or five years old. Sir Winton did not remarry and made no effort to bring out his eldest to his society. The reason is that she has a bastard!”
“I understand your anger, my dear. I can see the notion of turning them away pains you,” he added.
A glimmer of hope flickered in Maryann’s chest. She could not bring herself to step away. She knew she should. It was most improper and shamelessly rude to eavesdrop on a private conversation. But she remained frozen, listening.
“There is a part of me that cannot bear to turn away Linnet’s girls.
At least two of them are quite pretty,” the countess went on.
“Elizabeth has a charming face and a fair complexion. If presented properly, she may attract someone respectable. Vivian has a sweetness that many will find appealing. She is young, only sixteen, and there is room yet for growth. Their mother had been the daughter of a viscount, so their family connections were far from insignificant.”
There was a pause before the earl asked, “And the eldest?”
“Even without the blot upon her reputation that came from bearing an illegitimate child she is already three-and-twenty and only moderately pretty with a far too improper figure. I would not dream of launching a spinster. She is better suited to life as a companion or governess. We shall see what can be done, but the eldest Miss Winton is not the priority.”
“Then what must be done concerning her?”
“She must leave and take the little one with her.”
Maryann did not flinch. There will be no shelter for us.
Though her eyes burned, she refused to let the tears fall.
If her sisters would be sheltered and safe, that was more than she had dared hope.
Her chin remained high, her shoulders square, but somewhere deep inside her, something fragile and unspoken cracked.
“I’ve never perfected the art of eavesdropping,” a voice drawled behind her, smooth and lightly mocking, “and it seems neither have you. One should, at the very least, pretend to be discreet.”