And while Mrs. Armitage made it clear she welcomed his advances, Silas felt it was more due to his pocketbook—like so many others. It may be he who was called upon to do the wooing, but Silas felt pursued. Hunted, really. A fatted calf offered up as a sacrifice to their matrimonial endeavors. Quite the opposite of what he’d been hoping for.
The horses plodded along, the road to Titchley—and his decision—drawing nearer.
Mrs. Talley was a fine lady and by far the best candidate. But Silas hung his head with a sigh at that thought. Candidate? Here he was, contemplating the future Mrs. Silas Byrnes, and that stark, unfeeling word cropped up in his thoughts. Worse even was how fitting it felt with the situation. A line of women all standing before him, willing and eager for his attention, and each interaction felt like interviewing for a new clerk. And was just as thrilling.
The time to choose arrived, and Silas kept the horses moving forward. The road into Titchley came and went, easing away a pressure he hadn’t realized had been building in his chest as he contemplated his situation. Surely, that wasn’t a good sign, though Silas understood what it meant.
Guiding the horses along, Silas mused over the ladies in his life, his thoughts landing on the one that occupied far too much of his attention for him to dismiss her. The road curved along and the drive into Stowell Cottage appeared, leading him to the front of the house, where he alighted and handed the reins to the groom who hurried from the stables to greet him.
Silas stepped through the doorway and left those thoughts and worries for another day. His choice for the afternoon was made, and there was no point in belaboring it. Taking the stairs two at a time, he made his way to his study. Perhaps in a little bit, he might visit the nursery and see the children, but for now, a bit of quiet reading was just what he needed.
A stack of letters sat atop his desk. Silas sighed. As much as he wished to lose himself in a book, he broke the seal of the first and made his way through the missives. Dinner invites. A letter from his eldest brother. A few bills. And a missive from Felix’s school.
Silas stopped a few sentences in and began again. They were so strange that he couldn’t countenance the headmaster’s meaning; Silas had been quite clear that his eldest son would not be continuing with their establishment after the term ended next month, yet the headmaster wrote of Felix’s future course of study laced with flowery words of gratitude. It wasn’t until the final lines that Silas understood: Felix Byrnes’s tuition was paid in full for the coming year, and the headmaster was pleased he would continue with them for the coming year.
Silas’s teeth ground together as he stared at the writing. With a jerk, he slammed it to the desk and sucked in a deep breath, his nostrils straining as he tried to keep a hold on his temper. But it burned through him, pointing his fury at the person he knew to be behind it all—Ruth Slade.
Chapter 25
Rising to his feet, Silas stomped to the door, but Helen’s voice called to him from his memories, halting him with his hand on the knob. It was her sweet voice that begged him to stop and see reason. For her sake—and no other—he paused long enough to get a hold on his impulses.
Helen had asked him why he was so mean to her aunt, but was it any wonder when she did things like this? But the children never saw such things nor did they understand the implications of his sister-in-law’s behavior. What they witnessed was their father shouting, and no matter how justified he was at that moment, he couldn’t risk another scene.
And so he stood there, gripping the doorknob until he trusted himself to turn around. Going back to his desk, Silas took out a sheet of paper. With a few quick lines, he wrote to Felix’s school, ensuring they understood without any question that his son would not be returning whether or not Ruth Slade had paid for his tuition. Silas didn’t care if they returned her money; that was her battle, and if they did not, it would be only fitting. With a flourish, he folded it up and readied it for the post.
Then he turned to another sheet. Silas did not trust himself to speak to Ruth, but neither could he allow her to continue thinking she had any right to interfere with his children. She had gone too far this time, and Silas would not allow it to stand. The words scurried across the page, and despite how much he wanted to tell his dear sister-in-law all his thoughts on the matter, Silas forced his letter not to stray from the most pressing matter—Felix Byrnes would not be returning to school halfway across the country.
Silas pulled the bell to summon a servant and with jerky movements, he folded the letter up and sealed it. When the footman appeared, Silas held it up to him.
“Send a groom to deliver this to Mrs. Christopher Slade. Tell him to put it directly into her hand.” Then, handing the letter intended for the school, Silas added, “And send this with the rest of the post.”
The lad bowed and hurried off to do as bidden, but despite having taken that definitive and immediate action, Silas felt no more appeased than before. A fit of temper had him wishing to cast aside his tailcoat, but the article was far too fine to be treated in such a shoddy manner. It was a fine shade of blue and flattered so many of his waistcoats. So, Silas contented himself by merely hanging it across the back of his armchair. There was no need to make innocent tailcoats suffer his wrath.
A few hours free was supposed to be a happy thing, yet it had proven anything but. Silas shoved the offending letter into a drawer where he did not have to see it and reached for the volume sitting to one side. Nestling into his seat, Silas opened the cover and thumbed his way to his stopping place before diving into a rather riveting examination of the French revolution.
But the fall of the Bastille was interrupted by a squeak. Silas straightened and listened. But there was nothing.
Silas reached for his book again and another sound came from across the room. Not a squeak per se, though Silas could not say what it was. Rising to his feet, he followed the faint noise. Whimpers? Brows furrowed, he turned his ears to it, wandering to a bookshelf opposite the doorway. Only when crouched next to the cabinet base did Silas hear the sniffles and hitching breaths that identified not only the sound but its source.
“Griffith?” he whispered, inching it open.
Having an office in Portsmouth meant Silas required far less storage in his home study and that most of his cabinets were empty; Griffith was curled up inside one. His face scrunched as his tears began in earnest, though from the signs on his cheeks, this was not a new development.
“Whatever is the matter?” he asked, reaching for his son. Griffith scooted back into the recess, but there was nowhere for him to go.
With quick movements, Silas had him free of the dark place and carried him to the armchair. Griffith turned into Silas, burying his face in his father’s neck and wrapping around him like a monkey. Silas patted his back and sat in his armchair, careful not to jostle the boy too much. As much as it hurt his heart to hear Griffith sobbing, Silas couldn’t help the skitter of pleasure that accompanied the opportunity to hold his son in such a manner.
“Nurse Johnson and Miss Delmonte must be out of their minds looking for you.”
Griffith’s cries grew frantic, his lungs shuddering and heaving, and Silas held him close, rocking him side to side as he tried to think what had caused such a reaction. But the boy was beyond explanations at present. So, his father held him close, waiting as Griffith calmed enough to take proper breaths, shuddering though they may be.
“Tell me what has happened,” whispered Silas.
Straightening, Griffith rubbed at his eyes. His nose dripped, and he reached up to wipe it across his sleeve, but Silas grabbed a handkerchief before the damage could be done. Giving him a gentle smile, Silas cleaned him up and met his eye.
“What has you so upset, Griffith?”
Griffith shook his head, his chin wrinkling as expression crumpled once more, but Silas spoke gently, “Tell me, what is the matter? I might be able to be of assistance.”
