Chapter 2
It was a gray day at the edge of the graveyard near the Harcourt estate.
Roderick stood tall, his almost black eyes focused on the moss-covered gravestone.
He ran a hand through his dark brown hair.
The strands were starting to curl up at the ends as the clouds threatened rain but never quite followed through on their threat.
His eyes traced over the name on the stone.
Elspeth Vale
No matter how many times he read his mother’s name, it never made it any easier. He hated that she was gone.
Behind him, he heard the crunch of ladies' shoes on the gravel path. The sound continued until Lady Millicent Harcourt was next to him. For a few moments, she did not speak. The pair stood in gentle quiet with the umbrella she was holding covering them both.
“You have been coming out here often.” she observed gently. He looked up at her. Millicent’s blue eyes had seen many sorrows and hardships over her fifty-five years of life, her graying curls pulled tight against her head. Even in her old age, she was not allowing herself to look unkempt.
“Of course I do,” he said, wiping a single tear away from his eyes. “Even after two months, the absence of her presence remains.”
He was deeply aware that he had not been a kind man in the days following his mother’s death. There was a day where his temper had frightened even him. A shout had left him before he’d chosen it.
Roderick remembered the way Millicent’s face had fallen, and the way he had spent days apologizing, aware of how deeply unfair it had been of him to act that way. Despite that, she had been nothing but good to him. He did not deserve her.
“Grief for those we love never fully passes,” she said gently.
“I still feel the loss of my husband daily. Even though I lost him in your childhood. It is not wrong to feel that loss. You will simply learn to carry it differently. You will learn to live alongside the loss and eventually feel grateful for the time you were given with her.”
“I do not wish to simply carry the weight,” he said quietly.
“Then you can keep her alive, through memory and through stories,” she replied. He nodded and reached for a handkerchief, only to find his pocket empty. His brow furrowed briefly before Millicent quietly reached into her own pocket and offered him hers.
He accepted it without a word, pressing the linen to his eyes as he tried to steady himself. Despite his efforts, his shoulders began to shake, the grief he had been holding back finally breaking through.
“You are allowed to cry, my dear,” she murmured. He nodded and leaned into her embrace, keeping his eyes covered. He could feel the fabric of the handkerchief dampening.
For a few moments, they stood in silence.
“There is so much about her that I never knew,” he whispered.
“I know,” she replied.
“I…” he pulled back and looked up at her with damp, red eyes. “I am aware that you know more about her past than I do. Please, Millicent…”
She nodded and took a breath.
“I knew this day would come,” she replied. “We shall talk. I promise.”
***
That afternoon, Roderick was sitting in the drawing room.
The room was draped in soft velvet, lit by bees wax candles, and smelled of tea and tobacco.
The clouds had not shifted outside, the light pouring into the room meek and soft.
Roderick looked out the window. Even as he tried to let his body project confidence and calm, his mind was distant and despondent.
After a moment, Oswin stepped inside. Oswin was Millicent’s son and had been Roderick’s brother in every way but blood.
He had his mother’s eyes and his father’s blond curls.
Roderick smiled weakly as Oswin walked over and squeezed his shoulder.
Warmth flowed through Roderick and he nodded mechanically.
The comforting gesture helped, but it did not replace the ache in his chest. Oswin sat across from him, his body relaxing into the seat.
A moment later, Millicent appeared with a tray, teacups, and a steaming teapot.
She set the tray down onto the table between them and took the open seat next to her son.
She patted Oswin’s leg, and he smiled at his mother before turning back to Roderick.
“You wish to talk,” she said softly.
“I do,” Roderick replied.
“What do you wish to speak about?” Oswin asked.
“My mother…” He took a breath. “She revealed something to me, just before she died. I have not known how to discuss it until now,” he explained. Looking up at Millicent, he could see that her smile was soft and sad. “Have you known all along?”
“I have,” she replied with a nod. “I thought that she might have told you something.”
“Why did you never tell me?” Roderick asked.
“It was never my secret to tell. It was Elspeth’s. I honored that until the end. And I will continue to honor it,” she confirmed.
“But—” Roderick started, but Millicent held up her hand. She reached into her pocket and took out a small, brown, leather-bound book, handing it to him. The spine was worn and starting to flake.
He took the small book and frowned, slowly opening . up the front cover, his heart racing in his chest.
May 12th, 1785
His heart stuttered. That was his mother’s handwriting. He snapped the book shut and swallowed hard. He could already feel his eyes blurring with more tears, and he blinked them away.
“I will read this alone,” he whispered.
“I believe that would be best,” Millicent replied. Oswin looked between them, deeply concerned and confused. His mother patted his hand again. “It is not for you to worry about my dear. Come now, I believe we are all in need of some tea.”
“Yes,” Roderick whispered and nodded.
Millicent started pouring tea into the different teacups. The three of them sat together, and Roderick spoke gently, but did not speak as freely as he might have done before. The journal rested on his leg, a small, ordinary book that somehow felt impossibly heavy.
***
The warm glow of the fire surrounded him. It had been a few hours since Roderick had left Oswin and Millicent ,and ever since, he had been sitting in his cottage, looking at the book in his hands. He had not had the courage to read it. Finally, he forced himself to open the book
May 12th, 1785
I have met the most amazing man! The Duke of Alderwick. He is so sweet, attentive, and kind. He is everything I could have hoped for in a man. He is looking for a wife as we speak. I wish to endear myself toward him, and perhaps he will choose me!
Roderick frowned. His mother had told him his father was a duke, but she had not named him at the time. He had heard of that duke. However, he had not heard of him spoken in such glowing terms before.
June 30th, 1785
It has happened; we are engaged! We are keeping the engagement quiet for the time being, but the duke has promised it is only temporary.
He knows that he is marrying beneath his station, and he wishes to give society time to adjust to us both.
Until then, he is allowing me to use a cottage on his land.
I visited it today. It was ever so charming!
As much as I know I will enjoy living there, I cannot wait to live in his home.
Roderick smiled softly, hope flickering in his heart His mother had never told him about those memories and some part of him wished she had shared them sooner. He turned the page and continued reading.
October 19th, 1785
It has been a little over a month since we married in secret. I am missing the balls and tea parties I used to go to, but Horatio has promised I shall only be here for a short time. I do hope that I am allowed to join the household before Christmastide. I should love to see my friends then.
December 15th, 1785
Horatio came today to apologize. He has not been able to finish preparations for me to join him yet. I tried to argue, but he raised his voice. He has never done so before. When I tried to argue again, he grabbed my shoulders hard.
He apologized instantly, but it has frightened me so. He has promised to make it up to me; to give me a proper present, but I still cannot go inside the hall. I do not understand why he insists on hiding me away when we are legally bound.
I suppose I shall be celebrating alone.
Roderick turned the page and frowned. Ink bled over the next few pages. One of the pages had been stabbed through with a quill or something similar.
February 13th, 1786
I have wonderful news to tell Horatio when he next visits me! Perhaps now I am with child, he will see sense and bring me into Briarwood Hall.
February 17th, 1786
I was wrong.
March 9th, 1786
Maids came to check on the cottage today and clean it out. We did not speak of my condition. I saw one maid glance at me, but she said nothing. I had to wear my winter dresses. The sleeves are long, and they hide the bruises from where he grabbed me and pushed me into the wall.
He did not apologize.
He said it would be a disgrace if the maids were to see the marks.
May 20th, 1786
I cannot do this another day. I finally gathered the confidence to ask if Horatio would acknowledge our child. He lost his temper. I do not believe I will be able to sensibly use my wrist or my leg for some weeks. I shall attempt to leave soon.
There is a ball happening at Briarwood Hall in a few days. I can leave while everyone is enjoying the night. There is an estate not too far from here. I believe the Harcourts live there. Perhaps I can convince them to hide me, at least for the night.
I cannot allow my child to be raised by that monster.
The next entry was smudged, near past reading. Water? Tears? He was not sure. Then, several pages after it had been torn away entirely, leaving only a ragged edge. Whatever had happened, his mother had chosen, or had been forced, to destroy the pages
May 22nd, 1786