“Yes.”
He had died after a short illness during the year she was living at Leyland Abbey. Her brother, John, had not written to tell her about it until Papa died, and even then he had delayed a day or two until there was no possibility of her getting there in time for the funeral. She had wanted to go anyway. The house was to be sold and all its contents disposed of. There had not been anything of great value there, but there were several items she would have liked to retrieve as mementos, some things of her mother’s in particular, which could have been of no interest to John. But he said in his letter that there was no need for her to go, and the Earl of Heathmoor, her father-in-law, who of course had read her letter before giving it to her, had agreed. As far as he was concerned, the less contact his son’s wife had with her humble, even shady, past, the better for the whole McKay family.
“And your brother?” Sir Benedict asked.
“John?” she said. “He is my half brother, eighteen years older than I. He had left home before I was born. He is a clergyman with a living twenty miles from where our father lived. He has a wife and family. I do not see them.”
John had resented his father’s remarriage. He had hated both Samantha and her mother, though he had never said so, of course. He was a man of the cloth, after all, and clergymen did not admit to feeling hatred.
“It is your turn,” she said. “Tell me about your family.”
“There were four of us children,” he told her. “Beatrice is the eldest. Wallace, who inherited the baronetcy on our father’s death, was a member of Parliament destined for brilliance. He was already making a rapid climb up the political ladder when he was killed by a vegetable cart that overturned on the streets of London. I inherited from him, but only a few scant days after I heard about it, I was wounded in the Peninsula. Calvin, my younger brother, had been in sole possession of Kenelston Hall, the family seat, for a number of years. He was Wallace’s appointed steward there. He remained there with his wife and children and continued in that role after the double disasters. It was expected that I would not survive my injuries for very long, you see. I was not expected even to survive the journey home to England.”
“He expected to inherit, then,” she said. “Is he still living in your home?”
“Yes.” There was a slight hesitation before he continued. “He is an excellent steward.”
She turned her head to look at his profile. “And do you spend most of your time there too,” she asked, “now that you have recovered?”
“No.”
He did not elaborate. He did not need to. Obviously his brother had usurped his home and his estates and had made it difficult for Sir Benedict to oust him by doing an excellent job of running them. At least, that was what she guessed must have happened.
“Do you suppose,” she asked after a brief silence, “there is anyone on this earth for whom life is easy?”
He turned his face toward her and regarded her curiously. “One does tend to assume that life must be far easier for others than it ever is for oneself,” he said. “I suspect it rarely is. I daresay life was not meant to be easy.”
“How very unkind on the part of whoever invented life.”
They exchanged smiles, and she realized that she was enjoying this slightly improper visit more than she could have expected. He was really quite a pleasant companion.
“Life has been difficult for you for a long time,” he said. “It will get better, I daresay, once the pain of your husband’s passing has receded more. What do you plan to do when your mourning period is over?”
“I will make an effort to become better acquainted with my neighbors,” she told him. “I will try to make real friends among them and to find useful ways to spend my time.”
It sounded dull enough. In reality, it would be infinitely more delightful than anything had yet been in her adult life—if she disregarded the dizzy euphoria of the early months of her marriage.
“Will Lady Matilda remain with you?” he asked.
“Heaven forbid!” she exclaimed before she could stop herself. She set the fingertips of one hand over her mouth and gazed ruefully at him. “No, I believe she will feel obliged to return home to care for her mother. The Countess of Heathmoor suffers with palpitations and her nerves. We have an uneasy alliance, I am afraid, Matilda and I, and it becomes more uneasy by the day now that the early numbness of my bereavement has worn off. Matilda is so very correct in all she says and does, and I am sometimes a trial to her.”
“And she to you?” He was smiling again. “You will not go with her to your father-in-law’s home, then?”
“Oh, no,” she said. “I lived there for a year after Matthew’s regiment was sent to the Peninsula.” She only just stopped herself from saying more.
He raised his eyebrows.
“I would not wish to return,” she said. “And I have no doubt my father-in-law shares my sentiments.”
“I do not have an acquaintance with the Earl of Heathmoor,” Sir Benedict said.
It was not surprising. When he went to London, that den of all iniquity, the earl divided his time between the House of Lords and his clubs. He rarely attended any of the entertainments of the Season, and his womenfolk were not permitted to attend any. As soon as the spring session ended, he withdrew to Leyland and stayed there until duty called him forth again. He attended the Church of England, but one would never guess it from his attitudes and behavior. He was the quintessential Puritan. Anything that smacked of pleasure must by its very nature be sinful. Anything that ran counter to his sober principles and rules must be of the devil, and anyone who disobeyed him was the devil’s spawn. He ruled his family with an iron fist, though to be fair, physical violence was rarely if ever necessary.