He did not wait for me to settle into the opposite chair to begin speaking, and so I was still wiping the bark from my hands when he said: “I’ve arranged for the children to be married.”
I stopped and stared at him, astonished. “To whom?”
He cleared his throat and looked into the fire. “As their guardian, it is my job to see them taken care of, and we cannot support you three forever.”
I blinked. Were we nothing more than a drain on resources? Could he not manage to see his own flesh and blood in the granddaughters who looked so much like his son? Finally, I managed: “Henry has not been dead a year. They are seven and eight years old!” My voice wasratcheting up, and I lowered it, suddenly nervous the girls would hear. I repeated: “To whom?”
Still, he stared into the fire. “A pair of brothers.”
“Brothers,” I echoed, feeling weak.
“Your girls will be close to one another. They’re not of marrying age yet, but they will be soon enough.”
Both had had birthdays since Henry passed. Both were still children. “They are seven and eight years old,” I repeated, in a hiss. I could feel my body tightening, the muscles that wrapped my ribs so tense I began to ache.
Finally, Errol turned to me, looking not apologetic, but withdrawn. Certain. “They will move soon—so they can get used to the new locale.”
“New—” I sputtered. “You cannot—”
“They’ll leave in the spring, when the ice has melted and the ship can make its way. I’ve made all the arrangements.”
“They?” I repeated.
Errol looked at me plainly, answering the question I hadn’t been able to put into words. “The girls’ marriage settlements do not provide for you.”
“I am theirmother!”
“Your father did not negotiate a jointure when you married—and is not here to support you in your widowhood. Dower rights might entitle you to land, but you well know the only land Henry had was the landIleased to him. There is no one to provide for you if you go with the girls—and they’re quite lucky we were able to negotiateanymarriage given the circumstances. I’ve provided the dowries, but they are not enough to include a stray mother. You’ll remain here.” He looked around. “Under my roof.”
I was completely powerless, with little in my arsenal to contradict such bleak facts. “Sir, please.” I felt my eyes fill with tears and willed them away, to no avail. “Could we not wait until they are a little older?”
“You should be grateful.” Errol stood, signaling the conversationwas over. However he felt, whatever he thought, the deal, to him, was as good as done. “I do not believe the brothers are keen to wait.”
“Sir!” I cried out, and then clapped a hand over my mouth, both to quiet myself and in horror. My daughters would need to marry, but I couldn’t stomach it at their age, couldn’t stomach the thought of the distance. Rosie still made up songs that she sang under her breath. Mathilde slept with a wooden animal she’d carried around for years. I wanted to tell Errol about all these little facts, but he stared at the fire impassively. Unflinchingly. The flames had grown high, and I could feel their heat on my face.
It took but an instant: I resolved to remarry. It was the only way to protect them.
CHAPTER NINE
Rosamund’s wails had been drowned out by the thick stone of the tower keep, but when I descended the stairs, they arose once more, increasing in volume with each passing step. It is difficult for a mother to feel immune to her child’s tears, but after a certain volume, after a certain number of years, the innate response becomes, at the very least, muted.
I found Mathilde in the study, sitting in front of her ledgers.
“I wanted to check we had paid all the appropriate levies,” she said, without looking up. When she did, her brow was furrowed with worry. “We have.”
“I don’t doubt it.” I sat down across from her. The room was one of the many we had stripped of valuables. There were darkened squares on the walls where paintings used to hang. The shelves sat empty. But the account register on the table in front of my daughter was filled with meticulous notes. She explained: “I thought if I found an error, perhaps we could fix it.”
I felt the weight of my secrets and looked down at the desk. “I doubt it would be that simple.” The surface was covered in organizedpiles of Mathilde’s things: half-written letters, neat stacks of old books, a writing quill, and a dried inkpot. Noticing a familiar volume beneath her register, I reached out and nudged the ledger aside. An open book, bound in green. I knew it well. “Mathilde,” I said, in exasperation.
She stuck out her chin. “There is no prohibition on women hawking.”
Down the hall, Rosie’s crying reached a new intensity. As with all musical arrangements, crescendos must naturally, and eventually, find diminuendo. I waited a moment for this softening before responding. “Just as there is no approbation for a lady hunting. If you’re looking for a pastime, I could suggest ten other things worthy of your attention.” I picked up the volume—Henry’s edition ofPractical Falconry—and pulled it toward me, running my fingers along the spine. “Your father did not even use the book—it just sat on his shelf.”
“Youcared enough to keep it.” Mathilde reached for the manual, but I moved it to my lap, and she widened her eyes in frustration. “He would have allowed me if he were alive! He taught you.”
The small tome sat heavy on my knees, and I closed my eyes at the exhaustion of a repeated argument. “Please, Mathilde.”
She scowled. “If I am not introduced this year, we will have to wait until the following season. I will be one-and-twenty. And even then, there is no guarantee of a happy outcome. I may never find someone you deem worthy of marriage, and there is not infinite time. You might be willing to leave everything to chance, but I am not. And it ismyfuture we are discussing.”
