Chapter 1 #2
She attempted to smile but failed. “Yes. Just a…a misunderstanding.” She turned toward Jane. “My son,” she said. “I need my son.” She reached for him, attempting to convey a calm she didn’t feel as she held Dorian close to her chest.
She recognized her lack of decorum. Her temporary loss of sanity. It had happened before, but not in such a public display.
“She belongs in Bedlam,” a woman whispered from nearby.
“Aye.” Another agreed as they hurried down the street, their backward stares creating a fear in her she hadn’t known at his country estate.
She was shaking. The tremble traveling through her body, despite the outward calm she attempted to convey. Perhaps she did belong in an asylum, but she would not go. If she were ever put in an enclosed space against her will, she would go absolutely mad, and what would become of her son? The girls?
Her gaze strayed to the front door of her townhouse, where a middle-aged couple stared at her with an impervious expression of disapproval. An expression she never would have recognized before the violence on her wedding day.
William had never raised his voice, never scowled with fury…
And she suddenly knew, without a shadow of a doubt, his parents blamed her for their son’s death. William, who had survived the war and been granted a title for his heroism, had somehow not survived her.
His mother’s gaze went to Dorian in her arms, and her countenance softened.
Caillen stepped toward her, hoping to lift her grief with her grandson’s presence.
“Leave,” Mr. Griffith ordered in a cold and callous tone. “You are not welcome in this home, nor is your bastard.” He grabbed his wife’s arm and spun her around in a painful grip she bore without flinching.
“Mr. Griffith, this is the honorable Baroness Bredlebane, your son’s widow and your grandchild, Dorian Griffith.” Mr. Forrester announced with the authority of a magistrate.
Mr. Griffith’s nose rose in the air as if he held the title his son had been granted, and she was little more than a whore on the street. “Our son died a bachelor.”
Caillen closed her eyes. Breathing in through her nose and letting her breath out through her mouth, just as he’d taught her to do when she needed to calm her nerves.
She had thought her in-laws had gotten past the slight of William not advising them of his plans to marry.
It wasn’t as if he’d had a close relationship with his parents before his death.
Mr. Forrester’s voice grew cold. “Your rent will be due in a week.”
“This is our son’s home,” Mr. Griffith sputtered. “How do you expect us to pay?”
“If she is not your daughter-in-law, then I hardly see why the Baroness would pay your rent for you.” His tone exuded sarcasm.
“But she’s been paying it since—,” William’s mother began to plead in a shrill voice that was cut off with the jerk of her husband’s grip.
She winced and, in the worried creases of her brow, Caillen saw their relationship for what it was.
Her mother-in-law’s hollowed gaze immediately went to the ground as if those six words she’d uttered would cost her so much more than anyone else could imagine.
Caillen could imagine it. She thought of the attack and the beating she had endured when she’d dared to speak.
“Yes,” Mr. Forrester drawled. “Baroness Bredlebane is responsible for the new roof on her townhouse that you currently occupy. As well as the new wall and window coverings you’ve ordered, and the carpet, and the new furnishings within.
All done at your behest. All paid by her dowery to your son which is now hers to do with as she sees fit. ”
Mr. Griffith’s ruddy cheeks turned nearly purple with rage before he turned back toward the door, his meaty paw dragging his wife behind him as they entered the townhouse.
“You will have an allowance from this day forth, but nothing more. Have a care with your budget,” Mr. Forrester added before the door to Caillen’s townhouse slammed shut.
Caillen turned toward the carriage as she soothed her son’s soft crying.
“Thank you, Mr. Forrester,” she said as she lifted her chin and tried to convey a confidence she didn’t feel.
She turned and pulled herself up into the carriage with Jane’s guiding hand, and Dorian clutched closely to her chest. It was a routine she had adopted during the first part of their journey, when she couldn’t bear to have a footman take her arm or assist her inside.
The thought of a man’s hand touching her had nearly terminated their journey on several occasions.
It was at the suggestion of an innkeeper’s wife, three days back, whose daughter suffered a similar affliction, that Jane began helping her enter and exit the carriage.
That mother and daughter had changed her life.
“Where do you plan to go from here?” Mr. Forrester asked.
“I don’t know. I would rather not go to my sister’s home.”
Mr. Forrester’s eyebrows arched in surprise, but then he nodded in agreement. “Two small babes can be a handful, and with the duchess in a family way once again, it can all be a bit much.” He gazed at Dorian and smiled. “I have added your son to your will as requested.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about him sooner,” she said. “I didn’t know I should.”
“No apology necessary. Everything has been handled.”
“How did you know we were in town?” she asked.
“I didn’t. I was going to leave a message for you with your in-laws because something has happened.”
“Tell me.” She said as she steeled herself against the bad news she could see in his eyes. “Clearly, something dire has occurred.”
“It’s the Earl of Astley. He’s on his deathbed and he’s asking for you.”