Lady X

He smiled fleetingly before his face took on a grim expression. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am for what you had to endure at Jerry’s hands. I am very ashamed we did not try to do more to stop him.”

“You probably couldn’t have, Sir Jacob. If I may remark, I don’t think he is the sort to make you a reliable friend. The sooner he is out of your life, the more comfortable I think you will be,” Exerilla said softly.

“You are quite right. I am heartily sorry that I was a party to the entire escapade,” he said seriously. “I do beg your pardon.”

“You have it, Sir Jacob,” she said brightly trying to fit into the mold of a woman of the times.

“As you have allowed me the liberty to address you as Exerilla, please do call me Jake,” he said shyly. “My father called me, Jake, much to my mother’s dismay. I find I miss hearing it.”

“Okay then, Jake,” she said with a smile and thought that just maybe she might get through the next few months reasonably well.

~ Six ~

HORWICH HOUSE HAD never, even in its heyday, been a grand estate. Its design was confused and its style erratic. Now with its lands left unmanaged it had fallen into sad disrepair; not from lack of funds, but from a lack of concern.

The late squire had left his estate to his nephew because he had no choice. It was an ancient codicil of the will that the family estate be passed on to the next male in line.

The new Squire Samuel Horwich had little affection for his late relative and even less concern for the land. He saw Horwich House as a roof over his head, its lands were naught but a minor source of income, and he had absolutely no ambition to improve the property.

His wife, Mary Horwich, eyed her husband as he moved across the sitting room and poured himself another shot of brandy. She wondered what had happened to the man she married. The man she thought he was.

He had become a slovenly bully of a man. His indistinct brown eyes were always bloodshot, his gray hair unkempt, and his belly resembled a barrel.

“Mary, damn you!” he shouted across the room as though she were in another part of the house. “This bottle is nearly done and there isn’t another on the sideboard. Haven’t I told you to keep more within my reach? Go on, woman, and fetch me another from the cellar!”

She put down her sewing, avoided meeting his eyes, and quietly withdrew from the room. It was easier to just do his bidding than to get into a battle of words. She did not want to provoke him. Her late cousin’s ward, the American named Exerilla, was due to arrive. He had been pleasant enough about this when she had told him she would like to invite the child. When he looked at her, his smile was the one she remembered from another time when he said, “Aye then Mary, you need a companion. I know it hasn’t been easy for you. Go ahead then; tell them she can come here.”

Those moments never lasted long. Now, all she could hope for was that the drink would not send him off into a tirade the moment the child arrived.

She felt a wave of guilt as she wished he might drink himself into a stupor and not be heard of for the rest of the evening.

The Fates are wicked creatures forever playing games. He was still very much awake when she returned to the sitting room, but she smiled. She found that her grown son, David had arrived. David turned as he heard her enter the room.

David had been the light of her life. She adored him, but he was turning into his father. There didn’t seem to be anything she could do about it.

She sighed as she regarded her tall, nice looking son. He was only four and twenty with soft gray eyes and neatly cropped dark blond curls. She had recognized that he was spoiled beyond repair. He, also like his father had a propensity for hard drinking, hard living, and secrets.

David smiled warmly as he welcomed his mother. If he had one redeeming quality in his spoiled dark nature, it was his open and sincere affection for her. His father’s behavior had not been able to crush that.

“There you are!” David greeted jovially. “Father and I were just wondering what was keeping you.” He moved forward and relieved her of the four bottles she was carrying. He set them on the sideboard, put an arm about her shoulders, and gave her an affectionate squeeze.

As the squire grumbled a complaint, David poured his father a drink, effectively silencing him.

Mary marveled at her son’s ability to avoid ever taking sides. She returned to her chair to continue her sewing.

“Where is your late cousin’s ward?” David asked curiously as he moved to take up a chair near the low fire in the grate. “This is a very late time of night to be arriving, I would think. How is she getting here? Papa said that Michaels returned here an hour ago, saying that the stagecoach had not yet arrived.”

“Yes, well I wish we had not told Michaels to stable the carriage and go to bed. What an awful thing for her to arrive with no one there to greet her and bring her here.”

“Hmm, she probably won’t arrive till morning,” David suggested.

“No. Michaels said the coach depot man said that he had no idea what was keeping them,” Mary answered as she clasped her hands.

“Don’t fidget woman!” her husband commanded.

She looked away. “It can’t be the child’s fault as your father would have it. I mean if the stage is late, it is late.” She eyed her son. “I don’t suppose you feel up to taking a quick trip into town and looking into the situation?”

He took immediate umbrage. “The devil I will! Why should I? She can hire something to bring her out here when the stagecoach arrives.”