“I suppose after all these years of being deprived of motherly roles I rather enjoy doing something for my son.”
“I’ll help you to your chamber.”
“I would not sleep anyway.” She must have sensed he was close to her, for she reached out and brushed his chest first, then his arm, then down to his hand. She squeezed. “Sir Walter told me of your impetuous reaction today. I know the will must have been a shock to you.”
He bit back any response, lest resentment escape. Father was dead. No good would come in speaking harshly of him now.
“My dear, you realize I have promised to sell Sowerby House.”
“Sir Walter said as much.”
“And this does not trouble you?”
“It troubles me more to marry a woman I do not love.”
“Pshaw.” Mother dropped his hand. “I had hoped, with as many years as you have been away from us, that you would have matured to some degree.” Was that Father’s voice coming out in her?
Of course it was. Had she not always sided with him and taken his part?
“You have a responsibility, and I simply do not know what I shall do if you fail us this time too.”
Simon took her arm. “Let us not speak of it tonight.”
“We have not time to speak of anything else. Within two months, all of this will be lost to you, and your father’s dream will be extinguished.”
“That is not my fault.”
“Yes, Simon, it is. All of this is.” Her voice shrilled. “You disappeared from us once, and I do not think I can bear it again. For once in your life, you must think of someone besides yourself. You must think of your father, you must think of me, and you must think of those children sleeping upstairs.” She stomped her cane onto the marble floor, the thud echoing. “What is to become of them if you fail to accept your inheritance?”
“I will provide.”
“I may be blind, but I can see how well you have provided thus far.”
“Mother—”
“Do notmotherme, Simon Fancourt. I made a vow to your father that if you did not follow his instructions, I would not impart one shilling to you, nor housing, nor support. Do you not realize that in two months’ time you and your children shall be on the streets? Likely, you have not adequate funds for ship fare back to America—even if you did wish to return to that savage, forsaken land.”
Tightness crept along Simon’s chest. The same urge to run, to disappear, swamped him just as strongly as it had years ago.
Only now it was not so simple.
He didn’t know what to do.
“Let me help you to your chamber.” His voice was low, a near whisper, but she shuffled away from him and shook her head.
“You have never worried after me before, Son. Do not pretend to now.”
Swallowing hard, he turned back to the stairs and hurried his way up. The empty halls, the faint musty scents, the squeaky floors, all suffocated him with their familiarity and memories. The same loneliness he’d known twelve years ago burrowed deep inside him.
Ruth, I need you.
When he reached his bedchamber, he froze.
Bundled together in a white blanket, John held Mercy in his arms outside the door, their breathing soft and measured in the quietness of the hall.
Simon bent next to them. “John.” He nudged his shoulder. “Wake up.”
John stirred, blinked hard several times, then pushed himself up on one elbow. He mumbled something incoherent.
