The house came into view, and as they came closer, Elizabeth swallowed a rush of unexpected sadness. Her home, so welcoming in the past, now appeared cold and stark, as if warmth never penetrated its walls. Not even the glorious orange of the setting sun could brighten the gray slate, dull, and soiled from years of neglect.
The carriage came to a halt, but she continued to sit in the plush interior, preparing herself for the upcoming confrontation she was sure to have with her father. She considered briefly going for a walk first. It would simply be putting off the inevitable. She gathered her cloak about her and allowed the coachman to help her out.
Elizabeth breathed in the damp air, she walked up the front steps of the once noble house. She was greeted by their butler, George. He had been a fixture at Waverley Park since her father’s youth, and his old body was as warped as the door he leaned against.
“How is my father?” She handed him her hat, smiling at him with great affection.
“The doctor left an hour ago. Bradley spoke with him quite extensively,” George said.
With a sigh, she went up the stairs, shivering involuntarily at the chill in the air. The temperature inside the house wasn’t much different than the outside. She was glad for her heavy traveling cloak. Her father’s stingy ways forbade even the smallest fire anywhere but in his own chamber, of course. She swallowed her resentment and knocked at her father’s door.
His manservant, Bradley, a bulky man with a shallow face, answered. He looked down his long nose at Elizabeth. “Your father’s been asking for you.”
Elizabeth raised her brow at the servant whose penchant for rudeness was only overshadowed by her parent’s. She kept him for that very reason. No milksop could handle a man with Sir Nigel’s nasty temperament.
“What did the doctor say?”
“He’s the same. The weakness is seeping into his heart, and he bled him,” Bradley said in a high-pitched voice that was in direct contrast to his stern visage.
“Elizabeth?” a weakened voice asked from under the bed’s drawn drapes.
Although the doctor prescribed medication and bed rest, her father refused the medication during the day and against the doctor’s advice, insisted upon sitting in his favorite chair. That he was in his bed told Elizabeth he was not doing well.
“Yes, Father.”
Bradley pulled back the heavy blue fabric, exposing a little man with a sharp face and piercing green eyes lined with age and disease. Staring down at her sickly father, his once robust frame small and frail against the pristine white linens, she wondered how she ever feared him.
“Cook is stealing food. You were supposed to be back to keep a watch on the thief, but I received a letter from your uncle instead,” he said, his voice picking up in strength now he had someone to berate.
Fingers digging into the fabric of her redingote under the cloak, she mentally prayed for patience before answering. “They insisted I stay, and Cook is not stealing, Father. If you keep accusing her, she will leave our employ.”
It was already a challenge to keep the staff from quitting. The promise of a large payoff from Zander’s endeavor was the only thing anchoring Cook to the estate. Elizabeth had been forced to take her into her confidence in order to continue on with her lie.
“Humph, they steal, all of them.”
“Perhaps you should count the silver again?” She suggested with barely concealed sarcasm.
“I did, after you left for London.”
“And?” She raised her chin, daring him to lie to her.
After a telling moment, he simply harrumphed. He shifted in his bed and motioned to the servant to fluff his pillows. With a smirk, he eyed Elizabeth. “I supposeNorawanted you to remain in the city with her?”
The way he sneered her aunt’s name made her grit her teeth. Nora had been her governess at the time of the accident. Her father had dismissed her without telling Elizabeth. She’d kept in touch with Nora and had been thrilled to find out she had married Coburn. Of course, her father was jealous of his stepbrother and had contempt for anything associated with him, save for one person. Anthony. “She thought I might enjoy a bit of entertainment before I returned home.”
“Home?” he asked with a vile grin. “I will be dead soon, Elizabeth. Then where will your home be?”
“Aunt Nora has offered....”
He snorted, cutting her off. “Your old governess wants to make you her charity case, does she? Bring you to London and offer you to the highest bidder? Doesn’t she realize you have no dowry? Any man worth his salt does not marry a girl with no dowry.”
“Uncle married Aunt Nora without a dowry.” The two had fallen in love late in life while Nora was acting as a companion to Anthony’s sister. If nothing else, Elizabeth would be forever grateful for the way they took her in and made her feel welcome in their home.
“Coburn is weak, but he is rich as Midas. He can well afford to pick from the bottom of the litter.” He narrowed his eyes; the look was one she knew well.
She girded herself for the upcoming lecture, one she could repeat in her sleep.
“You should have married the baron’s son like I told you. Instead, you settled for the third son, a poor boy who had the indecency to get himself killed.” He shook his head. “You’re too bull-headed by far.”
