I know, I know-IT'S BEEN A LONG TIME. But I've been working on this for a long, long time. And here's chapter 2 for you, guys!
It has been weeks since Bertie-Herbert Pelham, rather, took over as Lord Hexham. Weeks since he returned from Tangiers.
Try as he might, he still couldn't get Edith out of his mind. He had terrible dreams while he was at Tangiers. Dreams of Edith finding someone else. One ghastly night, Bertie had a dream in which he read an announcement of betrothal in a newspaper. Of Edith's Mr. Gregson turning up alive after all, divorced and available for marriage. He didn't understand why he was dreaming of these things. For him, it was final. He couldn't be with Edith. End of discussion. End of story.
Bertie tried to move on, but the opposite always happened. It was like a chant in his mind. Forget Edith. She didn't trust you. She kept you in the dark. Move on. You can find someone else. Nonetheless, Edith was always in his mind.
Another part of him, however, wanted to see her again, to hold her in his arms. To tell her that all was forgiven, they would be married, and he would whisk her and little Marigold to Brancaster, where they could build a little kingdom and have a family.
It's all an idle pipe dream now, Herbert. Get a move on.
Long before he died, Peter, his late cousin was supposed to marry Adela Graham. But Peter wanted other things, desired other things that a match between Addie, as she was called, and Peter-was totally out of the question. Both Peter and Addie would have ended up miserable, thought Bertie.
Heaven forbid if Addie Graham should decide that he, Herbert Pelham should marry her.
If he wasn't going to spend his life with Edith Crawley, no other woman would do.
Out across the hallway, the clock struck ten in the morning. And he was not halfway done with the mail. Bertie knew that he was only exaggerating-but he couldn't help but feel suffocated while dealing with the correspondence. A great many of them were letters of condolence-black edged note papers filled with lines full containing less than sincere sympathies. One letter was from Peter's solicitor Harrington, which was, no doubt, pages expressing his sympathies (sincere, Bertie was sure, as Peter was a capital fellow and was kind to everyone, and Harrington was more a friend and confidante than just a solicitor), as well as death duties, the financial health of the estate, of which Bertie was confident that he would have a good report, as he was the estate agent, and he closely followed Peter's investments, and the minutiae of the estate operations.
Bertie couldn't believe his eyes at the next letter.
It was from Violet Crawley, the Dowager Countess of Grantham.
It was long since he had heard of the formidable old dame. Did she have news of Edith?
There you again, old boy. Edith. Edith. You can't stop thinking about her, can't you?
The Dowager Countess' didn't mince her words, and it was fairly obvious from the copperplate cursive that seemed to have leapt from the cream-coloured, black edged stationery.
Dear Lord Hexham,
I hope this letter finds you in good spirits, although that might be easier said than done.
It is unfortunate that I have never made my acquaintances with your deceased cousin. I am sure, however, that his time in the world has touched other people's lives, including yours. With that, I do extend my sincerest sympathies.
Having expressed my condolences, I shall no longer beat around the bush.
I am also writing about my granddaughter Edith. It would not be necessary to tell you how heartbroken she is, and bearing up well despite your broken engagement.
But I know that she is only putting up a brave face, and I am grateful that she has plenty of things to occupy her. Because she has something else to live for.
While I am sad that Edith has not told you sooner, leaving her older sister to reveal a secret that is not hers, please, be reminded for a while that it is not often easy for a woman with a child out of wedlock to tell the man she loves-no matter how much she loves him-that she has a child by another man. It would always be a gamble. And over time, many a woman has lost that gamble.
As a woman who knows her granddaughter inside out, Edith has always grown up with little confidence in herself. Meeting a gentleman like you has helped bolster the small spurts of confidence that she had ever since she has found gainful employment, something that is unusual for a young woman of her station. Mind that you are not a crutch, but Edith's life has been made considerably brighter because of you. That is the truth, and I think you should have it.
I know that you love her. And my granddaughter loves you. I see it every day, when she talks about you.
When I was a young woman, I was wisely counselled by an aunt that if you find a love that gives you happiness that you radiate from it, hold on to it tightly, because a love like that does not come easily.
Will you let that slip away?
Believe me, very sincerely yours, Violet, Dowager Countess of Grantham.
Bertie read the letter over and felt the words burning his eyes. His initial reaction was, "You interfering old bat, you absolutely have no idea."
But she had a point.
He had let it slip away.
Now, Bertie forced himself to sift through memories-those that spanned a few weeks ago, a few months ago. She had been trying to tell him.
I only hope I'm worth it.
At that time he wondered what that meant. It wasn't just one instance, it was a host of other memories bubbling up. And now, he would have to open the telegram. He opened it, and he had to squint.
It was from Lady Mary Talbot, Edith's older sister.
Bertie found that he couldn't tear himself away from the telegram. He wondered if he was seeing things. Lady Mary, sending him a telegram? Sighing, he read the message.
"THIS IS LADY MARY TALBOT EDITH'S SISTER STOP HENRY AND I SEND OUR SINCEREST CONDOLENCES STOP I WOULD LIKE TO ASK WHEN WOULD BE A SUITABLE TIME TO RING YOU UP STOP IT IS ABOUT EDITH STOP SHE IS ALL RIGHT STOP THERE IS NO NEED TO WORRY STOP SHE DOES NOT KNOW THAT I SENT YOU THIS TELEGRAM STOP."
Bertie was about to read it the second time when the phone rang, and was startled to see Coleraine, his butler, poking his head into the doorway. "There's a phone call for you, my lord," the butler informed him. "It's Lady Mary Talbot. She's…waiting on the line." Bertie only nodded, stood up, and followed the butler.
Mary Josephine Talbot toyed with the phone cord as she waited for Lord Hexham to go on the line.
If he ever went on the line. She understood it if he hadn't, as she remembered the Marquess' face when she told him about Marigold.
And, oh, he did. "Hello, good afternoon, Lady Mary, what can I do for you?"
Mary took a deep breath. "I've rang you up because of Edith. And…to apologise as well." Again, she toyed with the cord. Bertie Pelham's voice sounded a bit glacial. But Bertie replied. "What are you going to apologise about?"
"About Marigold. I didn't know you didn't know yet. It wasn't my secret to tell. I should have waited. The truth is, Edith and I have always been at odds, and that's an understatement. But I know that she loves you very much and she is heartbroken now that…"
"Now that we've split up," was the truculent response from the other line.
"Yes," Mary replied lamely. "Can I ask you something, Lord Hexham?"
"Of course, Lady Mary."
"Please," Mary half-pleaded. "It's just Mary. Do you…do you still love my sister?"
Bertie barrelled on. "With all my heart, Lady Mary. She's still in my mind. I love her very much. I've been meaning to write to her—or your father, at least. To ask for forgiveness."
Hope leaped into Mary's heart. "I want to do my sister a good turn," she finally said, after a moment's silence. "I have a plan. She's going up to London—Henry will be driving her to London tomorrow morning as she had to be there on urgent business-and Henry needs to meet someone.. What if we arrange a dinner at The Ritz?" she asked tentatively, letting Bertie decide.
"Yes, L—Mary. Dinner at the Ritz would be perfect. At what date, exactly? I have to be back at Brancaster at the end of the week as I need to meet with my agent," Bertie replied, careful to conceal the eagerness in his voice.
At the other end of the line, Lady Mary Talbot still toyed with the phone cord, as she scanned the calendar. "Would the 25th of August do? It's only Monday today—I heard Edith tell my mother that she will be in London for a fortnight, at least—as she has made arrangements with a decorator for my niece Marigold's room." Confidentially, Mary went on, "I think she's making plans to stay in London permanently as Marigold will be going to school in the city."
"Edith intends to stay in London for good?" Bertie croaked.
"Yes, well at least that's what I gathered." In for a penny, in for a pound, Mary thought, as she continued, "I could be wrong, of course. Edith and I have only just mended fences and I do not have her confidence on a regular basis, so I couldn't be sure. Maybe…you could convince her otherwise."
"I'm going to do my best," promised Bertie.
"I'm sure you would," was Mary's warm reply. "Right, I'm going to get Aunt Rosamund to send Edith a letter inviting her to dinner at the Ritz on the 25th. I wish you all the luck, Bertie."
"Lady Mary? Can I ask you something?" Bertie inquired instead.
"Absolutely, Lord Hexham."
"Why are you doing this for Edith? For me?"
"As I've said before, Edith and I are mending fences. It…it has a lot to do with what she told me on my wedding to Henry. And I agree with her."
"What did she say to you?" Bertie was curious.
"I think you'd better ask her. I wish you all the best of luck, Bertie."