Bridget passed quickly by the drawing room, where Margaret was humming a tune while she stared intently at four vases each containing different flowers. She pointed toward each of them in turn and then took some marigolds from one vase and added them to the vase with the roses. She smiled, but shook her head, moving the marigolds back to their original vase. The happiness emanating from the room was almost contagious.
That happiness was slowly sapped as Bridget made her way to the east wing of the house. She found one of the guest bedroom doors closed, and she knocked on it. When there was no answer, she knocked again.
“I’ll eat later,” came the disgruntled reply from within.
“Father, it is me,” Bridget called.
“I’m trying to sleep,” Ralph called back.
“I need to speak with you, Father.”
There was silence.
“Father, I need to speak with you,” Bridget repeated.
There was another moment of silence, then Ralph said, “Give me a moment.”
Bridget looked over her shoulder to make sure no one else was approaching. She did not know what would be worse, Margaret joining her or the Duke.
“Alright, you can come in,” Ralph grunted.
Bridget tentatively opened the door and went into the room, which smelled of sweat and alcohol. She found her father sitting in a chair by the window, as if that was where he had been all along. He was wearing his trousers from the previous night and a plain cotton shirt that was partially untucked. He must have run a hand through his hair, which was slightly flattened but still unkempt.
“Good morning, my dear,” Ralph said pleasantly, as if the world were devoid of problems.
Bridget looked around the room. There was no second chair, and she did not want to sit on the bed. She remained standing by the door in case she needed to make a quick escape.
“Father, I am worried about you,” she told him, trying to be diplomatic.
She knew her father had a problem, but she had not yet been able to confront him about it.
“You care so much,” Ralph replied, as if he was ill and not an addict.
“Father…”
“Yes?”
“We have to speak about this, Father. The wedding is approaching, and I am sure you know how important these next two weeks are for Mother and Margaret.”
“As are they for me,” Ralph stated.
Bridget sighed and shook her head. “Father, you are not listening to me.”
“And you are not hearing me,” her father said confrontationally.
“Father, you came home drunk last night!” Bridget snapped.
“Whatever are you talking about, my dear? Is this because I accidentally knocked over the vase? Why did you come here? To speak to me or to accuse me of something?”
“I don’t want to accuse you of anything, Father.” She would rather he owned his mistakes. “We could all smell the alcohol on you. It was not just me.”
“Smell the alcohol?” Ralph asked, smiling wide. For a moment, he reminded her of the Duke, who always had a smile and a charming word. “My dear, you know nothing of business. Where do you think business happens? In stuffy rooms? No, in gentlemen’s clubs and other such establishments. I am out there trying to set this ship right, and you accuse me of going out to drink! I came home in a good mood last night, but you are spoiling it thoroughly. If you wish to say something, at least have the gumption to say it to my face.”
“So, you were out making business deals?” Bridget asked.
Birdsong drifted in through the open window leading to the side of the house, where a tall oak tree stood.
“I was,” Ralph replied.
