He tried to recall things they’d discussed previously, but too many conversations surrounded the weather or other polite subjects, and they blended with so many others until he couldn’t recall anything particular about Mrs. Talley. Other than she’d enjoyed the serial he’d suggested. What had preceded that?
So Silas latched onto another innocuous question concerning her reading preferences, and the lady was quite willing to speak at length about such things. Though she tended to dominate the conversation, Mrs. Talley asked a great many questions in return, and soon, a genuine discussion began in earnest, though Silas felt Helen’s regard as they drove alone.
How is one to set about getting to know a lady while one’s daughter witnessed the wretched business? Not that courting—or attempting it at any rate—was wretched, but Silas certainly wasn’t enjoying it as he’d expected.
Mrs. Talley was a kind lady and seemed genuine enough. Educated and intelligent, to be sure. But something was lacking. Silas hated thinking of her in such terms, but there was no spark of joy accompanying their discussion. It was pleasant, true, but he didn’t crave for it to continue indefinitely.
As much as he tried to banish her from his thoughts, Miss Delmonte emerged, following the phaeton like a phantom. Conversation with her was always stimulating and a highlight of his days. There were few people in this world whom he enjoyed more, and each minute with Mrs. Talley only served to highlight the differences between the ladies.
Silas glanced over his shoulder at Helen, and she stared back, unblinking, her brow pulled low in a scowl.
“I fear the air is far colder than anticipated,” he said, guiding the horses down the road that drew them back to Titchley. “I hate to cut our trip short, but it’s probably best if we return.”
“Of course. Helen mustn’t get a chill,” said Mrs. Talley, reaching over the back of the seat to tuck Helen’s blanket tighter around her. Silas couldn’t see his daughter’s expression, but he doubted it had altered despite the little kindness.
Mrs. Talley continued to chatter on, alternating between Silas and Helen, and though he usually enjoyed such lively spirits, it was difficult to maintain his good humor with his daughter’s mood so sour. No doubt that was the source of his disappointment with Mrs. Talley, and he would just have to try again another day. And without Helen in attendance.
What had taken hold of his daughter? She’d seemed so keen to go with him. She’d even seemed to have softened slightly, yet any time he hazarded a look at her, he was met with icy stares. Luckily, they arrived at Mrs. Talley’s cottage in a trice, and Silas helped her down.
“My thanks, Mr. Byrnes,” she said with a bright smile. “It has been so very long since I’ve been able to take a ride like that. It has made my week.” Then, turning to Helen, she added, “And it has been a great pleasure to meet you, and I want to thank you for sharing your papa with me for a little bit. I do hope we can go on another drive in the future.”
The girl said nothing in return, and Silas whispered a chastisement. Helen’s gaze snapped to him and back to Mrs. Talley.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Talley,” she whispered.
But the lady seemed unperturbed by her lackluster farewell. Helen’s gaze moved away from them, and Mrs. Talley gave him a comforting smile and a nod, as though to reassure him that the reception did not trouble her in the slightest. Then turning, she walked into her home.
Silas held up his hand to help Helen down, but she did not take it.
“There is space up front now,” he said.
“I wish to remain here.”
Though he wanted to argue against that, Silas stopped himself and sighed before he climbed back into the driver’s seat. Flicking the reins, Silas turned the phaeton homeward, his shoulders dropping as he sagged against the seatback. For one brief moment, things had seemed on the mend with Helen, but now, he was back to cold silences.
No doubt, she hated seeing him paying attention to a lady, but Silas had no thought as to how to solve that trouble. Even if he didn’t wish to remarry, he needed to. A wife was so much more than a companion. Life was too hectic to face it alone. Having a partner to help manage things was necessary.
And then, there were the children. Helen may hate the idea now, but she would need a woman to help guide her through adolescence and into adulthood as only a mother could. What did Silas know about helping a young lady find a beau? He couldn’t find a lady for himself.
But none of his musings helped to ease the icy regard from behind him that chilled him more thoroughly than the wind rushing by. Would he ever find a manner in which to connect with his daughter? Not a fleeting smile or a brief moment of warmth, but a true affection? At this point, Silas was ready to accept anything other than loathing.
Chapter 24
Ablank page was an intimidating thing. Staring into the endless void of possibilities, Judith couldn’t decide where to begin. The nib of her pen hovered above the paper, awaiting her command, yet Judith’s mind was empty.
Aunt Lavinia had never been a steady correspondent. With most of her children and family close at hand, the lady hadn’t developed the habit, and though they exchanged a few missives here and there, it was rare for them to write more than once every few months. So, writing to her a fourth time in as many weeks felt unnatural. Aunt Lavinia hadn’t responded to any of the others Judith had sent in that time, so this one would likely receive no response as well. Yet, Judith couldn’t abandon the impulse that had her penning another missive.
A mother cannot lose a daughter and not feel the loss—a pain that was multiplied when she had only one. And there was the added sorrow of her newest grandchild’s passing. No doubt the lady had people aplenty offering their condolences and aid, so there was no need for Judith to write, but there was precious little else she could do for the family who had fed and clothed her for so many years.
Starting with the usual lines inquiring after her and Uncle Aldrich’s health, Judith found a rhythm among the pleasantries that helped to pull out more things she could say. In truth, much of the difficulty lay not only with Aunt Lavinia’s silence but with Judith’s rather uninteresting life. How does one fill a page when today was identical to yesterday and the day before that? Her world consisted of lessons and quiet hours of reading or painting in her bedchamber.
I have yet to make any inquiries, but the time is drawing near for me to find a new position.
Judith stared at the words her hand had supplied of its own accord. How had inane statements about health and the weather become something so very shocking? Yet, Judith felt the truth of her confession. Besides the impending addition of a new Mrs. Silas Byrnes, his eldest would return soon, and the fellow was investigating local schools, which would likely lead to him choosing one for his daughter as well. And there was Judith’s own peace of mind to consider.
Of course, she couldn’t write such things to Aunt Lavinia, so she focused instead on a desire for a new situation, which was true enough. The past month had seen her life return to what it had been, and though it was familiar enough, her interludes with Mr. Byrnes had altered Judith far too much.
A new situation with a new family. One in which expectations wouldn’t shift or alter. That was precisely what Judith needed. And so, she wrote on and on about the work she’d been doing with the children and her hopes for her next position. Perhaps she might be bolder and try something entirely different. Her first mistress had dismissed her when the family had moved abroad (likely because they wished to find a less expensive governess on the Continent), but there were plenty of others who preferred their children to be taught in the British manner and were willing to bring the governess along on their travels. That was a thought.
