Widow in White

Chapter Twenty-Three: A Bad Mother

The London season came to an end, and Richard prepared, with more happiness than usual, for his return home to Albroke at the end of it. Anything more than an hour or two in a coach was sure to make his bad leg ache with stiffness, and riding was even worse, so the full day's journey was tiring, painful, and generally put him in a bad mood for a week, but there was something about the idea of taking the journey with Laura by his side that made him somehow look forward to it. Then there were the further pleasures he anticipated, of showing her once more around Albroke and letting her see what he'd done since he'd inherited the vast estate from his father, of the novel pleasurableness of company in what was often an echoing, empty manor, even of the possibility of nostalgia: she'd spend some time in Albroke as a child, and though he hadn't particularly cared about her then, he rather thought those memories would now have greater importance to him.

His happiness, however, was disappointed when at the last minute a sudden business matter delayed him in town three more days, and, as most of the rooms of his townhouse were already closed up and most of his servants already sent home, he decided that it was best for Laura to go on ahead without him, while he stayed in a hotel for two nights. They were two long nights and three long days. It was the first time he'd been apart from Laura in several months, and he missed her more than he had expected. Then, for the long and painful journey home, over dry, dusty roads, he had only the consolation that at the end of it, Laura would be waiting to greet him home.

As his carriage rolled up the sweep under a blazing afternoon sun, he looked hopefully out for her on the steps to the manor, but when the front doors opened they revealed only the butler, and as he went, limping rather more than usual for his leg was cramping, into the hall he could tell there was something wrong. It was too silent. Then there was a footstep on the mezzanine, and he looked up to see Laura standing at the head of the stairs. There was something grim about the twist of her mouth and she was making no move to descend. Richard's first thought was that she was in one of her moods. But before he could take the stairs to greet her, there was another footstep from the drawing room, and he turned, confused, to see Elizabeth stepping out of it, her youngest child in her arms.

There were servants in the hall still, so Richard could not say the words which rose to his lips. Instead, he turned, rather surprised, back to Laura, and saw her shake her head.

"Richie," Elizabeth said, before he could say anything. "How lovely to see you."

"And what a surprise to see you." He stared at the infant. "And — Margaret, is it?"

"Catherine," his sister said reproachfully. "Margaret is my second daughter."

All of his sister's children were well behaved, and Catherine only stared silently at him from incurious blue eyes as he carefully took her from his sister and joggled her in his arms. She was not quite two, but getting to be leggy, and would probably be as tall as his sister.

"Give your uncle a kiss, Catherine," her mother ordered, and Catherine politely, dutifully, kissed Richard on the cheek, much the same way, Richard thought, as she would have kissed the king, or a sweep, or a marble bust. Not that Neil's children weren't more trouble but it was a trouble that was somehow endearing.

"Thank you, Catherine dear," Richard said. He glanced upwards and saw that Laura had disappeared from the mezzanine. In a way, that made it easier. "Let's go into the drawing room. Hup. You hold my cravat, Cate, because I must use my stick."

"Catherine," Elizabeth corrected, leading the way.

In the drawing room, they sat, Catherine very properly beside Richard with her legs straight across the couch and her hands in her lap. Doll-like, she glanced up at him occasionally, but said not a word nor made a motion.