Silas opened his mouth to offer a quick rebuttal, but he faltered as he truly considered that. But he shook his head and pressed forward. “We complement each other quite nicely, don’t you think? I count you as a dear friend, and clearly, last night showed—”
“Mr. Byrnes,” she hissed as she glanced down the empty hall once more. “You think we ought to marry simply because you were lonely and hurting one night and found solace in my embrace? Whatever drove you was not love, or you wouldn’t have hesitated to say as much last night. Nor would your proposal be filled with words that hold no more affection than that of a friend.”
“Miss Delmonte—”
But she held up a staying hand. “Do not try to defend your position, sir. You’ve all but said you are desperate to marry and have been too busy to find anyone suitable, but I will do.”
Silas gaped, his mouth opening to defend himself, but reason held his tongue when it would’ve rushed forward with more harmful things. Given a moment to truly think through what he’d said, Silas leaned forward and rubbed at his forehead. There were not words enough for such a heartless man, though Silas unleashed every one he knew upon himself, yet they could not ease the flush of shame that took hold of him.
“I’ve been quite insulting, haven’t I?” he whispered.
Miss Delmonte did not speak, and the silence was far more disconcerting than if she’d merely agreed. But the hall rang with silent accusations as his own words resurfaced to condemn him. Silas could not bring himself to meet her gaze as he gave her a low bow.
“I offer my sincerest apologies, Miss Delmont,” he said. “You deserve far better than how I’ve behaved, and I hope you can come to forgive me on that front. I give you my word that I shan’t importune you further.”
“Certainly, sir,” she said with a bob, which cut as deeply as the silence before. Miss Delmonte’s tone was the cool deference that had not existed between them in some time, and her quick acceptance was precisely what was expected of a servant. Silas knew if he looked at her he would find the governess’s aloof expression looking back at him, and his heart ached at it.
Miss Delmonte turned to her bedchamber door, and Silas couldn’t help himself.
“If I promise to be on my best behavior, might we continue as friends?” he whispered. Shoulders hunched, he knew he had no right to ask anything of her, yet the thought of losing the connection they’d formed had his insides twisting.
Silence was all he received in answer, and Silas hazarded a look at her. Miss Delmonte stood in the doorway, gripping the jamb as though it was the only thing holding her upright. Their gazes connected, and for a brief but powerful moment, he felt the pain and betrayal eating away at her. Then it faded from view, hiding behind a placid expression as she schooled her emotions, and Silas was left with a dull emptiness in his chest.
“I do not think it wise, sir,” she said. “But if you command it, I will comply.”
The last of his strength failed him, and Silas knew there was only one reply to that. “No, Miss Delmonte. I will not demand it of you.”
“My thanks, sir.” With one more bob, she disappeared into her bedchamber, the door closing tight behind her.
Silas stepped backward until he connected with the wall and sagged against it. That had not gone as anticipated. But nothing in the past twenty-four hours had. How did one swing from ecstasy to sorrow again and again in such a short time? Reaching up, he rubbed his forehead, his hand drifting down to pinch the bridge of his nose as he considered the whole of it.
Great fool that he was, Silas Byrnes had ostracized his daughter and one of his dearest friends, and he couldn’t even blame them for the walls they’d erected to keep him at a distance. In examining all the missteps he’d taken in the past day, Silas felt certain he couldn’t have intentionally ruined things more.
He couldn’t even blame it on a single action. At any time, he might’ve salvaged the situation, but instead, he’d mistreated Miss Delmonte and insulted her to boot. Shaking his head, he dropped his gaze to his feet, though there were no answers to be found there.
With shuffling steps, Silas moved down the hall. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he considered all that had happened. As much as he longed to defend himself, was there a single accusation laid at his doorstep that wasn’t true? The only saving grace was knowing it all had been unintentional. It was of little comfort, but at least his sins were born of idiocy and not malice. Now, all he could do was honor Miss Delmonte’s decision.
His footsteps echoed in the empty hall, reverberating off the walls and fading into silence. Silas stared at the floorboards as he made his way to his study, shutting the door behind him. He collapsed into his seat and dropped his head back against the cushion.
In the darkness of the library, Silas would’ve sworn something more meaningful had driven his actions, but in the light of day, he remembered more gratitude than attraction. More loneliness than love. As usual, Miss Delmonte was correct, and Silas had acted a fool, adding to his sins by visiting her at her bedchamber. Had he truly thought a proposal of marriage was the proper course of action? She was a delightful woman, but the more he considered his feelings, the clearer it was that his decision had been more of convenience than delight.
Was he so quick to surrender his ability to choose his bride simply because it was easier to snatch up the first lady he’d spent any time with? Silas sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. The time was long past the time when he needed to take steps to find himself a wife.
Chapter 21
Churches maintain a uniformity of design throughout the country, leaving visitors with a feeling of familiarity no matter how far they may roam. Yet despite what some might consider architectural monotony, Judith thought they were beautiful buildings, and like so many things in life, buried beneath the surface similarities were details that made each unique.
Titchley’s house of worship sported carvings along the walls that immortalized scriptures and patrons (with more often an emphasis on the latter rather than the former) and stained glass decorated the edges of the clear windows, catching the light in a rainbow of hues. The benches were all that one expected of such things, narrow and straight-backed with nothing to relieve the pressure on one’s backside as the vicar droned on about all the very righteous and holy subjects at hand.
Columns rose upwards, serving not only the functional purpose of holding the roof aloft but the spiritual purpose of drawing the worshipers’ gazes towards the heavens. Judith’s own was fixed on the stonework itself; the shafts were simply carved, but the mason had adorned the bases and capitals with creatures great and small. Birds and bears, deer and fish all gathered together as though frolicking about their various spheres, living and growing as ordained. But in a fit of humor, the mason had hidden people among them whose behavior wasn’t the least bit pious.
There were men drunkenly riding an elk while a few were fast asleep (though Judith couldn’t see if the stupor involved strong drink or was a reflection of the patrons in the congregation below) and others captured in all sorts of mischievous antics. Judith’s favorite was the little imp who was positioned far too close to the pulpit to be anything but purposeful, his tongue stuck out at the vicar speaking beneath him. Though she searched every Sunday, Judith was certain she hadn’t located all the characters, and every time she discovered a new one, she sent a silent prayer of gratitude for the artist who had given the poor congregants some entertainment.
Judith knew she ought to feel ashamed for allowing her thoughts to wander so far from the vicar’s sermon, but she felt certain she would be forgiven. Having lived in many parishes during her life, she’d been granted the opportunity to experience many types of clerics, and while most were well-meaning fellows, too many were drawn to the profession for monetary reasons and not piety’s sake. Mr. Winston was just such a man.
The scriptures may warn against judging, but it was impossible not to hold the fellow in contempt. The position was an important one—a blessing and a boon to a parish—and it was clear from his lack of concern for his flock and the rambling, monotonous discourses he delivered every Sunday that Mr. Winston cared little for his position. If Judith were to wager, she’d bet he was more scholar than vicar, for his lectures were lengthy, conveying far more religious history than doctrines.
No doubt, he was one of many younger sons whose professions were chosen from necessity and not desire; his father likely had a connection in the church, which would secure him this living. Judith would feel more sympathy for the fellow forced into a situation not of his own making if his flock wasn’t made to suffer his interminably boring lectures every Sabbath.
