Chapter 176

Edmund had no answer for that question, and he was not certain he wanted to discover one.

Neither man spoke again until they reached the carriage.

—

Dinner at Ashford House was already underway when Edmund finally took his place at the table.

Vivienne was in the middle of another lengthy tirade about Cassandra. Since the wedding, she had found no shortage of things to criticize about her only daughter, each complaint more inventive than the last. These days, it seemed that little else could hold her attention for long.

The family had not been invited to the wedding, an exclusion she considered both insulting and inexplicable. Cassandra had married the Duke without seeking their blessing, and now society was left to speculate about the estrangement between the duchess and her family.

Vivienne appeared determined to make certain that everyone at the table understood the full extent of the humiliation.

"It is one thing for Cassandra to insist upon her independence," she said, setting down her fork. "It is quite another to behave as though she has no family at all. Whatever disagreements have occurred between us, she might at least have shown some consideration for the people who raised her. Better to have no daughter at all than to be cursed with one like her."

Edmund lowered his eyes to his plate.

He had heard variations of the same complaint for days so it was nothing now.

His mother could speak of little else since. The absence of an invitation had become an injury she prodded at repeatedly, each time finding some fresh reason to be displeased.

"She has made her choice," Nathaniel remarked. "There is little to be gained by dwelling on it."

"How can you say that?" Vivienne hissed. "The entire affair has made us look like fools. People are wondering why her own family was excluded, and naturally they assume the worst."

"Let them wonder then. There are more pressing matters."

"You cannot be serious, Nathaniel. Your daughter has married one of the most powerful men in the country, and we are expected to sit here as though nothing has happened. She has brought shame upon this family, and I will not pretend otherwise."

Edmund heard the words without absorbing their meaning. His attention remained fixed on the plate before him, though he couldn’t bring himself to enjoy the food he was eating. It tasted like dirt on his tongue.

The conversation at the table seemed muffled and distorted, as if he were listening from under water.

He saw Mr. Linton’s face again, the blood dried against his skin and the helpless recognition in his eyes. Then he heard the girl’s voice, pleading from the other side of the iron door.

Please, help me!

Edmund tightened his grip on his knife until his knuckles turned white.

Vivienne continued speaking, now recalling the sacrifices she believed the family had made for Cassandra and the ingratitude with which those efforts had been repaid.

She spoke of reputation, of the opinions of their acquaintances, of the additional embarrassment Nathaniel would suffer now that it was a subject of gossip.

Edmund tried to concentrate. He needed to behave normally. There was no reason for anyone to suspect that anything was wrong, and he could not risk a question that might lead him to explain where he had been or what he had seen.

He cut his food into small bite sized pieces but in the process, the knife slipped from his fingers and struck the floor with a sharp clatter.

The sound silenced chatter at the table.

Edmund stared at the utensil lying beside his chair. His hand remained suspended above his plate, trembling despite his efforts to keep it still.

Vivienne frowned at him. "Edmund, are you quite well?"

He did not answer.

"Edmund?" She tried again.

He heard her voice, but the question seemed to belong to a world he could no longer reach. All he could see was the dark opening in the iron door, and the desperate figure moving towards it in the hope that someone had finally come to take her home.

He pushed back his chair and rose.

"Where are you going?" Nathaniel asked.

Edmund gave no reply. He left the dining room, passing through the doorway without looking back.

Behind him, Vivienne remained seated, her expression shifting from irritation to bewilderment. She glanced at Nathaniel as though expecting him to explain their son’s strange behaviour, but he had no answers for her.

Edmund continued down the corridor, away from the voices at the table. He could still feel the weight of Whitmore’s approval, and he knew that returning to the manufactory would mean facing the same choices again.

He had wanted an opportunity to become a man of consequence. And he was willing to overlook everything he witnessed to get it.

– – –

The terrace was deserted by the time Draven stepped outside. A few lanterns illuminated the gravel paths below, casting faint pools of light between the hedges.

Octavia had guests over that afternoon, a couple she had known for some years and Draven came out here to avoid them.

The evening had been long, and he had little patience left for company. He stood with one hand resting on the stone balustrade, looking out over the grounds, his thoughts occupied by several matters he had yet to resolve.

The sound of approaching footsteps drew nearer from behind him, measured and unhurried. He did not bother to turn around when he already knew they belonged to his mother.

"I thought I would find you here with your wife," Octavia remarked as she came to stand a short distance away from him.

"Cassandra had a long day. She retired early."

"Is that so?" His mother moved closer, her skirts rustling as she joined him at the balustrade. "And why are you out here alone? Why not come inside and join the rest of us?"

Draven offered no answer. He continued looking out over the gardens, his attention seemingly fixed on the distant tree line, until he spoke again.

"Tell me something, Mother. Why is Simon staying in one of the cottages?"