Read Online The Benedict Bastard (A Benedict Hall Novel) by Cate Campbell - Free Book Online
Authors: Cate Campbell
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had she borne losing two infants? Louisa wasn’t even his own daughter, and he couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to her. Yet Jenny Parrish had persevered. Endured.
He took off his prosthesis and laid it ready on the bureau, then turned out his reading light. The book could wait until another time. As he slipped into bed beside his sleeping wife, he reflected that his mother was made of far sterner stuff than Margot’s mother. She was more courageous. More resilient. And, at least in his estimation, vastly wiser.
Perhaps Edith’s upbringing had made her vulnerable. She had been born to wealth, had always been cared for by servants, had never had to worry about bills or food. Jenny Parrish had known damned few of the comforts Edith had always taken for granted. At the wedding the year before, his mother had been wide-eyed and wary at the opulence of Benedict Hall, the formality of the ceremony, the morning coats of the men and the furs of the women. Frank had been grateful to Ramona, who had exerted herself to make Jenny Parrish feel comfortable.
Frank lay on his side, close to Margot, but careful not to disturb her. His eyelids sagged deliciously, and he relaxed. His last thought, before sliding into sleep, was that Edith’s easy upbringing was no excuse for favoritism. He didn’t think she had caused Preston’s madness, but she had perpetuated it. Ignored it. And hurt Margot deeply in the process.
Margot woke to watery sunshine filtering through the drawn curtains. Frank had gone, slipping out without waking her. She was sorry to miss him, but it was glorious to sleep her fill. It seemed like weeks since she had felt fully rested.
She threw back her blankets, and rang for a maid. She would have her coffee here, she decided, something she rarely did. Perhaps she would even take her breakfast on a tray. The morning felt like a holiday.
Leona came in, bobbing her usual curtsy. Margot asked for coffee and toast, and for a bath to be run. Leona curtsied again and tripped away, and Margot, in her dressing gown, sat down in the window seat, gazing out at the garden. The roses dripped with rain, but the sky was beginning to clear. It would be, Margot thought, one of those delicate spring days, the air bright and clean, but with a sense of fragility, the awareness that it wouldn’t last. Margot leaned against the casement, savoring her moment of leisure.
By the time she was bathed and dressed, most of the family was off to their pursuits. She caught a glimpse of Allison on her way out, a satchel full of books slung over her shoulder. The girl grinned and waved as she dashed down the stairs and out the front door to make a run for the streetcar. Late again, Margot supposed. Allison never went out without her hair and clothes in perfect order, and that, apparently, took precedence over punctuality. Margot’s own ablutions took barely any time at all. As a general rule a pass with her comb, a splash of water on her face, and clean teeth were all she required to go out into the world.
Smiling over this, she went down the staircase with a medical journal in her hand and a long cardigan over her shoulders. She would dry off one of the Westport chairs on the porch and sit there, where she could breathe the freshly washed air and enjoy the perfume of Blake’s roses until Frank returned for lunch.
She heard the maids and Hattie talking in the kitchen, so she used the front door, and made her way around to the side porch, where the morning sun glistened on the damp pillars and brought clouds of evaporation from the shrubs and grass. She turned the chair cushion to the dry side, then settled herself into it. Blake, returned from driving the men to their offices, crossed the lawn from the garage on his way to the kitchen door. He nodded to Margot. She lifted a lazy hand, and they exchanged a smile. A patter of treble voices, like the chittering of birds, poured out of the kitchen as he opened the door, then
He took off his prosthesis and laid it ready on the bureau, then turned out his reading light. The book could wait until another time. As he slipped into bed beside his sleeping wife, he reflected that his mother was made of far sterner stuff than Margot’s mother. She was more courageous. More resilient. And, at least in his estimation, vastly wiser.
Perhaps Edith’s upbringing had made her vulnerable. She had been born to wealth, had always been cared for by servants, had never had to worry about bills or food. Jenny Parrish had known damned few of the comforts Edith had always taken for granted. At the wedding the year before, his mother had been wide-eyed and wary at the opulence of Benedict Hall, the formality of the ceremony, the morning coats of the men and the furs of the women. Frank had been grateful to Ramona, who had exerted herself to make Jenny Parrish feel comfortable.
Frank lay on his side, close to Margot, but careful not to disturb her. His eyelids sagged deliciously, and he relaxed. His last thought, before sliding into sleep, was that Edith’s easy upbringing was no excuse for favoritism. He didn’t think she had caused Preston’s madness, but she had perpetuated it. Ignored it. And hurt Margot deeply in the process.
Margot woke to watery sunshine filtering through the drawn curtains. Frank had gone, slipping out without waking her. She was sorry to miss him, but it was glorious to sleep her fill. It seemed like weeks since she had felt fully rested.
She threw back her blankets, and rang for a maid. She would have her coffee here, she decided, something she rarely did. Perhaps she would even take her breakfast on a tray. The morning felt like a holiday.
Leona came in, bobbing her usual curtsy. Margot asked for coffee and toast, and for a bath to be run. Leona curtsied again and tripped away, and Margot, in her dressing gown, sat down in the window seat, gazing out at the garden. The roses dripped with rain, but the sky was beginning to clear. It would be, Margot thought, one of those delicate spring days, the air bright and clean, but with a sense of fragility, the awareness that it wouldn’t last. Margot leaned against the casement, savoring her moment of leisure.
By the time she was bathed and dressed, most of the family was off to their pursuits. She caught a glimpse of Allison on her way out, a satchel full of books slung over her shoulder. The girl grinned and waved as she dashed down the stairs and out the front door to make a run for the streetcar. Late again, Margot supposed. Allison never went out without her hair and clothes in perfect order, and that, apparently, took precedence over punctuality. Margot’s own ablutions took barely any time at all. As a general rule a pass with her comb, a splash of water on her face, and clean teeth were all she required to go out into the world.
Smiling over this, she went down the staircase with a medical journal in her hand and a long cardigan over her shoulders. She would dry off one of the Westport chairs on the porch and sit there, where she could breathe the freshly washed air and enjoy the perfume of Blake’s roses until Frank returned for lunch.
She heard the maids and Hattie talking in the kitchen, so she used the front door, and made her way around to the side porch, where the morning sun glistened on the damp pillars and brought clouds of evaporation from the shrubs and grass. She turned the chair cushion to the dry side, then settled herself into it. Blake, returned from driving the men to their offices, crossed the lawn from the garage on his way to the kitchen door. He nodded to Margot. She lifted a lazy hand, and they exchanged a smile. A patter of treble voices, like the chittering of birds, poured out of the kitchen as he opened the door, then
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