Slumped over his desk, Silas rested his head in his hand and stared at the wall opposite. His other hand drummed a steady beat against the wood, his thoughts shifting with each thud. What ought he to do? That was a large question and encapsulated so many subjects.
What ought he to do with Griffith? The boy was so distraught he’d cried himself to sleep by the time Silas had arrived at the nursery. Griffith was remorseful and understood the pain he’d caused. A lesson about choice and consequence had been learned today; ought he to be punished more? Silas supposed it depended on the child’s attitude tomorrow and whether today’s pain had a lasting effect. But ought Silas to add to the lesson with additional consequences? And what would they be? Would Miss Delmonte require it of Griffith?
Though Silas had dealt with minor infractions before, this was his first time facing his child doing something truly worthy of punishment. Griffith’s intentions hadn’t been wicked. His actions had been born of curiosity and a dose of selfishness, not a desire to hurt. However, self-centeredness can ruin a child as easily as malice.
And Silas only had to recall the agony in Miss Delmonte’s expression to know that Griffith’s actions had earned him something more than a stern talking to. But what?
Silas would have to speak to the lady in question. Likely, she would know better. The majority of Silas’s experience with punishments came from the navy, and though that group had a penchant for creativity, they were entirely unsuitable for a child. Many were unsuitable for anyone.
And what ought he to do about Miss Delmonte? Silas had to admit there was little that could be done to replace such an irreplaceable keepsake, but surely, there was something. Pulling out a blank sheet of paper, he began scribbling a letter. Miss Delmonte may have no hope of salvaging her father’s scrapbook, but Silas wouldn’t surrender without more information. Surely, Mr. Wren would know a thing or two about restoring drawings.
The study door burst open, drawing Silas’s gaze as a whirlwind of silk and ribbons swept into the room.
“How dare you, Silas Byrnes! You would steal away your son’s future?” Ruth Slade stood before his desk, glowering at him, a finger pointed at him with all the fury of one casting out a devil.
For all his thoughts of temperance and patience with his sister-in-law, Silas’s heart had been worn to pieces by Griffith, and his remaining good sense (what little there was of it) fled him.
“And how dare you go behind my back in such a fashion,” he said, leaping to his feet. “He is my son, Ruth. Not yours. You have no say in what I do!”
“You may be his father, but I am the closest thing he has to a mother,” she said, jabbing that finger at herself before returning it to him. “Deborah is gone, and I refuse to stand by while her children are ruined by a man who couldn’t be bothered to remain at home—”
“Don’t you dare say such a thing,” Silas snapped, his words growling through gritted teeth. His chest rose and fell as though he were running a race, and his gaze bore into hers, though Ruth met it with a fire all her own.
“I am only speaking the truth, Silas,” she said with narrowed eyes. “You did everything you could to abandon Deborah and the children, yet now, you swan in as though they ought to be pleased to see you once again.”
Silas’s jaw creaked. “I gave everything I could for Deborah. You know that well all too well, Ruth.”
Her face paled at the insinuation in his tone, her expression hardening. “And you thanked the heavens when disease stole away her last breath.”
“Don’t you dare say such a thing!”
“I will say everything you deserve to hear!” she shouted in reply, that rigid finger punctuating every syllable. “Those dear children deserve so much better than a good-for-nothing who cannot be bothered to be around if it is inconvenient for him. You are heartless, Silas Byrnes, and your cruelty drove my sister into her grave!”
Silas heard the very blood in his veins surging through his body. Forcing his hands to unclench, he stabbed his desk with a finger, punctuating his sentences with more jabs.
“And they deserve better than to be poisoned by your cold heart, you spiteful crone! We do not want or need you here—”
“Yes, we do!” shouted Helen.
Ruth jumped and whirled around, her skirts swirling away to reveal the child standing in the doorway behind her. Rushing in, Helen threw her arms around her aunt.
“I love Aunt Ruth. Don’t you speak to her like that!” Helen freed one hand to point at him with that same, horrid finger her aunt had employed. “You are so terrible to her all the time. You’re mean, and I don’t like you!”
And for the second time that day, one of his children burst into tears. Helen buried her head in Ruth’s skirts, and the woman drew her arms around the girl with a smirk thrown at Silas for good measure. He let out a long sigh, his body sagging as the breath rushed out of him, leaving him empty inside. He leaned against the desk for a moment to gather his sanity and strength (though both were sadly lacking at present), and Silas moved to Ruth’s side.
Then Miss Delmonte appeared in the doorway, her tear-stained eyes wide as she took in the scene. Without a word to either father or aunt, the governess squatted down to Helen’s level and whispered to her. The girl nodded and transferred to Miss Delmonte’s arms, who held her for a brief moment. The lady’s eyes met Silas’s with a frown, and then she rose and took the girl by the hand to lead her from the room.
Silas stopped her outside the door and whispered, “Would you please return once Helen is situated in the nursery?”
Miss Delmonte held his gaze for a long, silent moment before she bobbed. “As you wish, sir.”
And then she and Helen were gone, leaving Silas to face the woman who’d likely inspired every witch in the children’s fairy tales and at least a few evil fairies.
“Are you happy with yourself, Ruth? Helen is now distraught,” he muttered as he returned to the desk.
His sister-in-law scoffed, her brows raising with a sneer. “She’s crying because of you, Silas. Clearly, the child knows precisely what sort of man her father is. You needn’t blame me for your shortcomings.”
“Are both you and your sister completely incapable of admitting you are wrong?” Silas forced his voice not to rise, though there was no keeping the ice from his tone.
