Chapter 4 #2
The soft creak of her father’s study door opening startled her. She froze, turning to glance back down the hallway, and caught sight of her father slowly stepping inside.
Lord Bellington’s once powerful frame had grown leaner over the years, his shoulders slightly hunched as though carrying the weight of time.
His dark hair was streaked with silver, and deep lines had settled into his face, particularly around his eyes—eyes that had once been sharp and full of life but now seemed distant, burdened by years of loss and responsibility.
He closed the door gently behind him, moving with the careful deliberation of a man who was no longer as young as he had once been.
He had not attended the ball with Minerva and Chastity; he rarely attended such events anymore.
His time was now largely spent in his study, poring over estate matters or retreating into his own world of quiet contemplation.
Minerva had long since taken over the responsibilities of running the household, and her father, though present, had become a more distant figure.
But tonight, as he looked up and saw his daughter standing at the end of the hallway, his expression softened. There was a deep concern in his eyes, a quiet understanding that Minerva had not expected.
“Minerva,” he said softly, his voice gravelly with age. “I heard you and your sister arguing.”
Minerva hesitated, caught off guard by his sudden interest. “Yes, Father,” she replied, her voice quieter than usual. “We just got back from tonight’s ball.”
Lord Bellington moved slowly down the hallway toward her, his steps measured. When he finally reached her, he placed a hand on her shoulder, the touch gentle, but solid enough to offer comfort.
“What is amiss, my dear?” he asked, his voice low and filled with quiet understanding.
Minerva nodded, trying to hold back tears.
“Chastity... she won’t listen to me,” she started, but her breath caught in her throat.
Lord Bellington let out a slow breath and reached out for his daughter.
Giving her a tight hug, he told her, “ Chastity... she has your mother’s spirit.
But she will find her way in time. She is angry now, but that will pass.
But I feel there is something more than just your sister being upset with you? ”
Minerva shook her head, her emotions finally breaking through the carefully constructed walls she had built around herself. “I do not know if I am helping her or making things worse. She is pushing me away, and every time I try to protect her, she accuses me of trying to control her.”
Her father’s eyes softened, and he gave her shoulder a light squeeze.
“You have been doing more than anyone could ask of you, Minerva. I know I have not been as present as I should be. As such, you should know, you are not her mother. And perhaps... perhaps she does not need you to be. Likely, she needs you to be her sister. As I am sure, you need her as well.”
Minerva swallowed hard, her throat tight. “If I do not protect her, who will?”
Lord Bellington’s hand slid from her shoulder, and he stepped back slightly, his expression thoughtful.
“You have always taken after me—steady, responsible, knowing what must be done – for others. And if in my fifty some odd years I have learned anything, it is that sometimes it is acceptable to put your needs and wants first.”
Minerva’s eyes stung, and she blinked quickly, refusing to let the tears fall.
She had spent so long trying to be strong, trying to fill the void their mother had left behind.
But standing here, in the quiet of their home, with her father’s words echoing in her mind, she realized how heavy the burden had become.
“I do not know how to let go,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
Her father’s face softened even more, and he reached up to gently cup her cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear she had not even realized had fallen. “You do not have to let go completely. But you have to let her grow up. And allow yourself to let go a little, as well.”
Minerva closed her eyes briefly, leaning into her father’s touch for just a moment, allowing herself to feel the comfort she had long denied herself. When she opened her eyes again, she found his gaze steady, warm with understanding.
“You have done well, Minerva,” he said quietly. “Maybe she is right, and you ought to trust her.”
“I will try,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “But it is hard.”
Her father smiled faintly—a shadow of the man he had once been, but still a father who cared deeply for his daughters. “It always is, my dear. But you are strong. Stronger than you know.”
Minerva nodded, though the knot in her chest did not fully unravel. Still, there was a flicker of something she had not felt in a long time—a small spark of hope that maybe things could change. That maybe, with time, she could learn to let go.
Lord Bellington gave her shoulder one final squeeze before stepping back. “Get some rest,” he said softly. “Tomorrow is a new day.”