“Eh, lass,” Mr.Dickson said, sitting back in his chair. “You loved her, and that is as it ought to be. And you loved your papa, I daresay. The last thing we want to do...”
“Leonard,” his sister said. “She needs to know some things from our point of view. It isonlya point of view,Maria. People can have vastly different views of the same set of facts. So I will tell you this. Lilian was indeed very beautiful. She was also restless, and she was obsessed by the story of Aunt Bertha, who met Sir Cuthbert Maple at an assembly in Harrogate when she was a girl, and so took his fancy that he offered her carte blanche then and there. He intended to make her his mistress, in other words. She was not alady, after all, and no one could have expected him to marry her. But Aunt Bertha held out for marriage anyway and got it. This is the story as the family knows it, at least. It may not be true in all its details. She turned herself into a lady and distanced herself from her family in Yorkshire. She did not cut herself off entirely, however. She used to descend upon us once in a while. Her visits were legendary. She always brought us gifts. Do you remember, Leonard? During one of those visits, when Lilian was barely seventeen, she begged to be taken to London and made into a lady. Our father tried to forbid it, but he was a bit intimidated by his sister and gave in without much of a fight.”
“My grandfather?” Maria said.
“He was not a well man,” Mr.Dickson told her. “He did not come here for your mother’s wedding. He died just before you were born. Your grandmother died six years before him.”
“I did not know that.” Maria was still examining her hands. “Whose version of the meeting of my mama and papa is the correct one? The version Mama always told me and everyone else? Or the one Lady Maple told a few days ago?”
“Oh, Maria,” Mrs.Dickson said, and she leaned forward in her chair as though to cover one of Maria’s hands with her own. It was out of reach unless she got to her feet, however. “None of us were there. Except Aunt Bertha andLilian herself, that is. But it was a long time ago—more than twenty years. Does it really matter who was right? Your mama and papa were very fond of each other, weren’t they?”
Maria said nothing for a while but continued to frown at her hands. Her aunts and uncles were looking quite distressed, Estelle could see. It was obvious to her that they did not want to speak freely. Maria was their niece, after all, and they were clearly fond of her.
“Tell me about the quarrel,” Maria said.
Mr.Dickson sighed audibly before drawing breath again. “Lilian’s task when she married your father was... colossal, Maria,” he said. “Our aunt had taught her to speak like a lady and to behave like one. But suddenly she was acountess.She had so much else to learn. After the wedding she took us all aside—Patricia, Sarah, Margaret, and me—and explained that it would be best if we kept out of the way for a while. She—”
“She was ashamed of us, Leonard,” his sister said bluntly. “She did not want her new associates to see what she had come from. Or tohearwhat she had come from. I beg your pardon, Maria, but—”
“I did ask for the truth,” Maria said. “So, according to your perception, it wasMamawho quarreled withyou?”
“Let us not call it a quarrel,” Mrs.Dickson said. “It was more of anagreement.”
“Margaret the peacemaker,” her sister-in-law said, shaking her head. “There was nothingagreeableabout it. We were given our marching orders, and we marched.”
“There was no further communication?” Maria asked.
“Your father wrote a very kind letter to each of us when your grandpapa died,” Mr.Dickson said, “and then again when you were born. His solicitor informed us of hisdemise. We all wrote to commiserate with the new Earl of Brandon, his son, and with Lilian, your mother. We did not hear back from either one. I learned just this week that Brandon—your brother—was gone from home for years before his father died and for a while after. That would explain why he did not answer our letters.”
“Because he stole all of Mama’s most precious jewelry,” Maria said sharply.
“Perhaps,” Mrs.Chandler said with a sigh. “We know nothing about that, Maria. And we did not know of your move with your mother to that other home. She did not inform us. We did not know of her illness or of her passing until Brandon wrote to us. We would not have let you bear the burden of all that alone, my dear. Our letters of commiseration came to you very late, I am afraid. We just did not know that our own sister had had a lingering illness and died.” Her voice shook a little and she blinked away tears as her husband took out a large handkerchief and handed it to her.
No one spoke for a while.
“Papa wrote to you but Mama never did?” Maria asked at last.
“The earl your father was a very kind gentleman, Maria,” Mrs.Dickson said, evading the second part of Maria’s question.
“And a very honorable man,” Mr.Dickson added. “He never for a moment made us feel during the week we were here for the wedding that we were inferior in any way. He was interested in our lives. I can remember him shaking my hand and calling me brother after the wedding.”
“His son, your brother, is like him in a number of ways,” Mrs.Chandler said. “Maria, are you quitesurehe took Lilian’s jewelry? He must have been a very wealthy youngman. One cannot imaginewhyhe would have done such a spiteful andwrongthing. And he seemed a very pleasant boy when we were here. He was only thirteen or fourteen, I seem to recall.”
“Of course I am sure,” Maria cried. “And of coursePapawas sure. He sent him away, never to return. He never mentioned his name again.”
“Your father gavetheftas the reason for what he did?” Mrs.Chandler asked.
“I was eight years old,” Maria said. “Papa saidnothing.He would not say why Jus— He would not say why hissonwas gone. And Mama would not say in his hearing. But I think it killed him. He changed after that. He was sadder. And thinner. He spent more time than ever with me, and he smiled a lot and was always kind. But he was not...funany longer. He did not laugh.”
“Oh, Maria.” Mrs.Chandler got to her feet, closed the distance between them, and drew her niece up and into her arms. “I amsosorry you lost your papa when you were so young. And that you went through all you did with your mama without any of us to help you. I am so sorry.”
They were weeping then in each other’s arms, and Mr.Dickson was blowing his nose loudly into his handkerchief while Mr.Chandler stood and went to stand in the gap between the windows and looked out.
“You loved her all the time, then?” Maria asked when she could. “You loveme?”
“Aye, lass,” Mr.Dickson said as he stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket. “You are our niece. Our flesh and blood. We won’t let you be all alone ever again, even if you go and marry a duke. You are stuck with us from now on, whether you like it or not.”
Maria was laughing through her tears. “Oh, I like that,”she said as her uncle got to his feet to enfold her in his arms.
