3. An Interview With Dowager Lady Sinclair
An Interview With Dowager Lady Sinclair
The carriage wheels churned through the mud, splattering the sides of the vehicle as the coachman urged the horses away from Harrington Manor to the neighboring Sinclair estate.
As the haze of inebriation began to dissipate, Alex felt mortified by his conduct.
The hours that ensued after the disastrous proposal were decidedly sobering.
In the formality of the Sinclair drawing room, Benedict Thomas was fortified by generous quantities of coffee and the gentle presence of the Dowager Lady Evelyn Sinclair.
He sipped the sobering liquid repeatedly while concocting a polished account of how he and her son amused themselves throughout the year in London.
By the time Alex’s carriage was heard pulling up outside, Benedict was quite clear-headed.
“Is that my dearest boy?” asked Lady Evelyn.
“I shall find out for you, ma’am,” was Benedict’s eager reply.
In the hall, Alex was greeted by his friend, clear-eyed and poised to extend his felicitations. Yet the sentiments were swiftly curtailed by Alex’s glowering countenance.
“I‘ve made a right mess of things, Benedict,” Alex confessed, “I was a fool to propose in such a state. Why did you let me drink so much? The look of horror on Lucinda’s face…” He trailed off, covering his eyes as if to banish the vision of hurt.
“I…I kissed her. I crushed her soft arms in my hands, and forced myself on her,” he groaned. “Oh, what possessed me?”
Ben whistled surprised “You were in rare form!”
A sense of dread settled heavily in Alex’s stomach.
He knew his mother would be waiting, eager to hear of his success in securing Lucinda’s hand.
How could he bear to disappoint her? The Harringtons were invaluable allies to Lady Evelyn.
They weren’t just friends of the family; they were neighbors, confidants, and an immense support when the sudden death of Lord Sinclair left the widow in despair.
Without the need for solicitation, kind Sir John had stepped into the breach to oversee the funeral arrangements. Simultaneously, her sister-in-law, Lady Arabella Marlstone, and Lucinda had stayed by his mother’s bedside with smelling salts and comfort.
Tormented by the thought that his actions might have jeopardized the alliance, Alex heard his mother’s voice calling.
“My dear boy!” Lady Evelyn exclaimed, unmindful of her son’s disposition. “Pray, how did you leave darling Lucinda?”
“In ruins, ma’am.”
The Dowager’s smile faded. “Alexander? What happened? You look positively wretched.”
“Lucinda has rejected me, out of hand.” The words fell bitter and terse.
“Rejected you?” Lady Evelyn echoed, her brows knitting together in perplexity. “But why?”
“Mother,” Alex interjected, “I am not inclined to dissect my shortcomings.”
Lady Evelyn’s consternation was clear. Having drawn near enough to her son to place a reassuring hand on his arm, she was assailed by the alcohol clinging to his person. “Alexander?” she said with a pained expression in her eyes.
“I don’t deserve sympathy or understanding, I’ve been a fool.” He flinched away towards the staircase and put one foot on the first step. “I did my duty and honored father’s will. The outcome is, if nothing else, liberating.”
In full sympathy for his friend, Benedict made a suggestion. “The packet sails at low tide provided there’s a favorable wind. Shall we head to the port first thing to see if it is in our favor?”
“That would be one of your more astute suggestions. Though nothing’s in my favor, it will have to be your luck that holds for us.” Alex continued his climb.
Lady Evelyn was left in a rare state of discomposure, her gaze drifting to the portrait of her late husband that adorned the mantelpiece in the entrance hall. In moments of family crisis like this, she wished she was not alone.
“But what of Lucinda’s birthday ball, dearest?” she called out. “We are all expected at eight. I cannot discern if it would be in very poor taste for me to attend, now.”
Alexander was more preoccupied with his escape from Kent, but at the sight of his mother’s wringing hands, he turned on the landing and added, “Don’t worry Mother, your attendance without me will be a cause of great relief at Harrington Manor.”
“Alexander, stop this instant!” demanded Lady Evelyn. “You cannot simply vanish without so much as a civil word! We have scarcely exchanged pleasantries.”
“I cannot conceive of a topic that would not induce immense discomfort, mother.” He turned in retreat to his room, while Benedict, ever the loyal companion, raised a brow and followed with an easy stride.
At eleven o’clock the following morning, Lady Evelyn, poised at the base of her staircase, watched her son descend, his travel cloak slung over an arm.
Alex’s troubled eyes met hers. “She truly wept through the entire party ? In front of all her friends?” he asked, recalling his mother’s account of the birthday ball at the breakfast table.
Softened by his distress, Lady Evelyn brushed away an invisible speck of dust from his shoulder and left her hand there. “She was devastated, Alex. But tears are sometimes necessary to wash away the hurt, my darling.”
Benedict descended the stairs to farewell his hostess.
“Mr. Thomas, you have a mother’s gratitude for befriending my poor boy,” said Lady Evelyn, seeing her son’s slumped shoulders. “Joining you abroad for a space will no doubt do him good.”
“My pleasure, ma’am. I’m most pleased to have your son as a traveling companion.” With a curt bow, Benedict was gone.
On the point of departure, Lady Evelyn drew her son into a fierce embrace, committing his sandalwood scent to memory. It reminded her so forcibly of her late husband.
Alex disengaged himself and, with a final reassuring smile, he turned and strode towards the waiting carriage.
“Be safe, my dear. And come back soon,” she whispered after him.
With Ben’s luck holding, the packet departed eastward with the tide, heading to France a mere three hours after the gentlemen reached the port. Thus, within a week, Ben and Alex were in a Parisian tavern, attempting to drown their recent woes and forget all their worries.