Edmund’s proposal lingered unpleasantly in his mind hours later, yet it was not the suggestion of marrying Cassandra that occupied his thoughts.
Ordinarily, such a conversation would have demanded his full attention. The future of House Ashford had always been foremost in his mind. Today, however, another matter had eclipsed everything else.
John’s words from earlier still rattled in his mind like coins in a jar and the man’s voice seemed to haunt him through the corridors of Ashford House.
His thoughts had already wandered, plagued by ghosts from the past.
Ten years.
For ten years he had convinced himself that the Ashford Colliery disaster had been buried alongside the forty-one men who had died that day, men who showed up eager to work but never returned to their families.
He had paid handsomely for that illusion. It hadn’t mattered how much he had deeply regretted everything.
The engineers who had worked the mine had accepted generous sums to forget the report that warned against further excavation. The superintendent had done the same. The overseers who possessed knowledge capable of destroying House Ashford had found silence considerably more profitable than honesty.
For years, he had believed no one else would learn of his biggest regret and shame.
Until John.
John had somehow reached into a past Nathaniel had spent years ensuring no one else could uncover.
Worse still, there was nothing he could do.
The engineers could be paid, the superintendent could be bought. None of which would have worked on John. He could neither be bribed nor intimidated.
Nathaniel could only hope that the man didn’t intend to use this new found knowledge against him.
Yet every instinct told him otherwise.
Servants moved past him quietly as he strode through halls lined with portraits of long-dead Ashfords regarding him from gilded frames.
As he rounded the corner, one of his wife’s maids emerged from a side passage carrying folded linens.
The young woman immediately lowered her head upon seeing him.
"My lord." She greeted politely.
She had come from the direction of Vivienne’s chambers and that was enough to make him halt.
"Has Lady Ashford began preparing for Lady Radford’s ball?" He inquired.
The maid hesitated just long enough for him to know the answer before she spoke.
"No, my lord." She lowered her gaze further. "Her ladyship has remained in her chambers all day. She... she has made no preparations to leave."
Nathaniel merely nodded, huffing out a breath.
"Very well." He said. There were many more things he watched to asked but he bit his tongue and watched as the maid bowed low before continuing on her way.
He stood motionless for a second before turning to head in the direction of his wife’s rooms.
Ever since Cassandra’s scandal had erupted, Vivienne had withdrawn from society almost entirely. Invitations to social gatherings continued to arrive out of courtesy, yet they remained unanswered upon her dressing table.
She seldom left her chambers except for meals, and even then it was only when it was necessary. Of late, she preferred to take her meals in her rooms instead.
The woman who had once delighted in assemblies, musicales, and afternoon visits now preferred the solitude of the four walls of her bedchamber.
Nathaniel understood why she behaved the way she did. Any other man would have been at his wife’s side, saying words to brighten her maudlin mood but Nathaniel had never been the sort to comfort others.
He doubted he would even know how to.
Nathaniel knocked once when he reached her door before entering.
The room was dim despite the hour. The curtains had been drawn, shutting out the afternoon sun. The air was still, carrying only the faint scent of lavender and the melancholy that wafted off her.
Vivienne lay exactly where he had expected to find her.
She was stretched across the bed, still wearing her morning gown despite the lateness of the day, her face buried against a pillow she held tightly against herself.
She did not even stir when he entered.
She made a pitiful sight indeed, nothing like the prideful and haughty woman he knew her to be. Nathaniel could do nothing but stare before finally clearing his throat to get her attention.
"You should write to her since you miss her this much. If you continue shutting yourself away, you shall only make yourself ill."
Those words were all it took to snap her out of her wallowing.
She slowly lifted her head before turning toward him. Her eyes were tired, but the glare she fixed upon him carried no trace of weakness.
"Write to her?" Her voice was hoarse from disuse. "For what purpose?"
Nathaniel stepped farther into the room. "Because she is your daughter and because you want her back here. Isn’t that why you look so miserable?"
A hollow laugh escaped her.
"You are right. My daughter is precisely the reason I am lying here, the ungrateful girl." Vivienne pushed herself upright, still clutching the pillow. "Why should I be the one to write? Has she written to me? Has she shown even the slightest concern for what she has done to me?"
"I’m certain Cassandra—"
"Oh, spare me." She cut him off before he could finish. "I am tired of hearing what Cassandra intended. Intentions do not erase the consequences of her actions."
Nathaniel’s chest heaved with a heavy exhale.
"No. They certainly do not."
There was something about his voice that irked her. Something about the way he stood there, looking down at her, that made her feel as though he were silently judging her.
The thought chafed at her. He had no right to judge her. Not in this situation. Not when all of this was his fault. He had always been eager to bear the title of head of the house, yet he had never truly lived up to it.
If he had been just a little sterner with their daughter, none of this would have happened. She would never have thought to make her own mother a laughingstock. The moment that daft girl refused to come home, Nathaniel should have gone to retrieve her from the palace.
But he hadn’t.
He simply hadn’t wanted to.
Vivienne threw the pillow aside, her frustration mounting with every passing second.
"Do you know what awaits me if I step into Margaret Radford’s ballroom tonight? That harpy has waited years for an opportunity such as this, to have me at her mercy. Do you imagine she shall allow it to pass unnoticed?"
"Margaret has always enjoyed gossip." Nathaniel mused blandly, like he was stating a mundane fact. The sky was blue, the grass was green, Lady Margaret Radford slavered for the next morsel of gossip.
"Enjoyed it?" Vivienne gave a humorless laugh. "She thrives on it. She will gather everyone she can and before the first dance is finished, she will make me her center piece."
"They shall ask after Cassandra." Her expression twisted bitterly. "They shall wonder whether another gentleman has been foolish enough to seek her hand. And when I tell them no, they will regard me with their fake pity. Oh, poor Vivienne, mother to Arden’s most unmarriageable woman. I rather be pricked by a thousand needles that have them look down on me.
I refuse to become Margaret’s evening amusement."
Words alone were not enough, she wasn’t satisfied. Her hands itched for something. She wanted to hold something, to snap it in half.
Nathaniel’s expression softened the tiniest fraction. "You cannot hide forever, Vivienne."
"I have no desire to hide." Then, more quietly, she said, "What have I done to deserve this?"
"What have I done," she repeated, "to deserve a daughter who hurts me at every turn?" She moved until she was sitting at the edge of the bed. "A spinster." The word left her lips like a curse. "John is the last worthy match she will ever get. How dreadful."