“They’re outside,” Emma called from the window.
The three sisters huddled together there, watching their father and brother argue again. Or still? It was hard to tell. After a while, their father walked away into the darkness—for what purpose, they didn’t know, but Alexander came back toward the manor.
Arabella rushed into the foyer.
“Alex,” she called, but their brother walked past them and hurried up the stairs.
“Alex!” Hanna called now. “Where are you going?”
He stopped at the top of the stairs and turned around, his face red. “I’m leaving,” he said.
Silence filled the foyer, and the three sisters stood still, shocked. Arabella saw her own surprise reflected on her sisters’ faces. She sat on the grand staircase of Hayward Manor, a spot that had once been the center of their childhood games and laughter. Here, they used to chase one another and wait for their mother to return from riding with Alexander. Now, it was a place of somber reflection, a stark reminder of all they had lost.
Emma and Hanna joined her, and after a moment, Alexander, ten years older than Arabella, sat with them, his face etched with sorrow. The silence was heavy until Alexander finally spoke.
“I can’t remain here any longer,” he said, his voice steady but filled with a deep sadness. “Father and I come to blows daily. I can’t bear it. Everywhere I go, I’m reminded that I’m his son. This is not a badge of honor anymore, for his drinking is known to the ton now.”
Arabella had heard from some of her friends that her father’s habit of drinking too much had become known to the world when he’d been thrown out of Almack’s, then Bootles, and then White’s, all within the space of a fortnight. She knew these places were gentlemen’s clubs, but she didn’t know just how bad this was. Not until now.
“Because of what they wrote in the scandal sheets?” she asked.
Alexander nodded. “Everyone knows. People give him grace because they know he’s mourning our mother, but one day soon, they will find out what he is really like. His ugly nature will be revealed to all of the ton. I cannot be here for that. Who will go into business with me when it is known that he drinks his life away and is a tyrant at home?” he ranted, which was unusual for him because he generally didn’t talk a lot. He was a sullen, quiet man at the best of times, the product of their father’s treatment of him.
Arabella’s heart clenched. “But you can’t leave us here,” she whispered. The idea of being left alone with their father was terrifying. “Take us with you, Alexander. Please.”
Alexander shook his head, his expression pained. “I want to, Bella. Believe me, I do. But legally, you are Father’s. I can’t take you. If I did, he would come after us and bring you back. You know that.” He cupped her face in his right hand, and her lip wobbled. Her chest was heavy, and she longed to cling to her brother, to make him stay.
Hanna, always the pragmatic one, looked at him with tears in her eyes. “What are we supposed to do?” she asked, her voice breaking. “How can we stay here without you?”
Alexander sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Do what you’ve been doing—keep out of his way as much as you can. Once I am settled somewhere, I’ll write to him, try to convince him to let you stay with me. That is not a guarantee, of course. I will also speak to Uncle Lester and Aunt Marie,” he said, referring to their mother’s siblings. “But your best chance is to grow up and find husbands at a young age and leave this house. Of course, should something happen to Father and I inherit the county, I’d return sooner. However, for the time being, marriage is your best option.”
The words hung heavy in the air, a bleak prospect for the future. Emma, who had been quietly crying, suddenly spoke up, a determined edge to her voice. “We’ll run away and find you,” she declared. “We won’t stay here with him.”
Alexander shook his head sadly. “You can’t. That is not any better than me taking you with me. If you do, he’ll just bring you back the moment he finds you, and then he won’t let us communicate anymore. He hates me, and he won’t let me have you. I already asked him several times to let me take the three of you to London, to live in Mayfair.”
Arabella felt a chill run down her spine at the thought of being left alone with their father. She had seen the worst of his rage, and without Alexander’s protection, she felt utterly exposed.
Hanna tried to be brave, but tears were streaming down her face. “We need you, Alexander,” she said. “What if he gets worse?”
Alexander’s expression softened, and he reached out to hold her hand. “I hope that if I’m not here, he won’t be as bad. His rage seems to be directed at me, most of all. Maybe without me, things will be better for you.”
Emma and Hanna continued to cry softly, their shoulders shaking with the weight of their sorrow. Arabella, however, was silent. She knew in her heart that their father would be terrible, regardless of whether Alexander was there or not.
“Promise you’ll write to us,” Arabella finally said, her voice small but steady. “Promise you’ll come back if things get too bad.”
Alexander nodded, his eyes filled with unshed tears. “I promise, Bella. I’ll write to you as often as I can. And if things get unbearable, I’ll find a way to help you. I swear it.”
They sat together in silence, the weight of their reality pressing down on them.
As the shadows lengthened and the house grew colder, Alexander stood up, his resolve hardening. “I leave tomorrow at first light,” he said, his voice firm. “But remember, you’re stronger than you think. You’ve survived this long, and you can survive until we find a way to be together again.”
He hugged each of his sisters tightly. Arabella felt his warmth and strength, and for a fleeting moment, she believed that they could endure whatever came their way. But as she watched him walk away, the sense of abandonment and fear crept back in, settling heavily in her chest.
Arabella lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling. The day’s events had left her mind racing. The darkness pressed down on her, and no matter how tightly she closed her eyes, sleep would not come. Every creak of the old manor, every gust of wind rattling the windows, seemed amplified in the silence of the night.
Her father returned a few hours after he’d left. She knew because she heard him stumbling down the hall, bumping into the wall as he cursed under his breath. His chamber door at the end of the hall opened and slammed shut, then silence once again enveloped her.
She tossed and turned, her small frame tangled in the heavy blankets. The conversation on the staircase replayed in her mind, each word from Alexander echoing with a sense of finality.
