Page 18 of An Honorable Arrangement
Mary shook her head and smiled. "Of course not. However, if you like him, you might indicate more so than not and see where that leads."
Sarah didn't know what to say to such a ridiculous notion. "I will do nothing of the sort. I'm sure Mr. Witman would be appalled by such behavior, and I'm to be his uncle's ward. What would my new guardians think?"
Without another word, Mary opened the door to their chamber and stepped into the hall.
Noting her companion's grin, she tipped up her chin in defiance of any silly notions that paired her with a man so much above her station. Montgomery was to be a viscount, and she was only an orphan. Only she wasn't really. Her father, while seemingly a dipsomaniac, was not dead. And despite his bad habits and state of health, he was a gentleman.
It was all too much to think about. She cleared her mind of everything but her father's wellbeing and followed Mary downstairs where Montgomery and Captain Phillips waited.
"Captain, I didn't expect to see you this morning. What a pleasure. This is my chaperon, Mrs. Pratt." Sarah was pleased with the way she held in all the emotions building up inside her about her father and Montgomery. She redoubled her efforts to keep her head.
"A pleasure to see you again, Miss Sommers. Mr. Witman wrote, asking if I would accompany the party to Fallcrest this morning. I'm happy to do so. Mrs. Pratt, a pleasure to meet you." Captain Phillips bowed and smiled.
Montgomery said, "I thought that in the instance that your father was in the same state as yesterday, it might be wise to have additional protection for you ladies."
Sarah pulled her shoulders back. "I'm sure it was only the shock of seeing me after so many years that caused yesterday's scene. It will be fine today. Of course, I am happy to have the captain with us and appreciate your thoughtfulness, Mr. Witman."
The weak smile on Montgomery's lips didn't reach his soulful eyes. "Shall we go?"
Mary grinned and pulled her cloak tight as she preceded all of them out the front door.
The temperature had dropped, and a strong wind blew that hurt her lungs when she took too deep a breath. She could think of nothing to fill the silence in the carriage, and the closer they came to her father's home, the more her stomach churned. She hoped she wouldn't make a fool of herself by becoming ill.
They rounded the drive, and the overgrown gardens barely allowed enough room for the carriage.
Monty had kept the footman he'd hired to protect Mrs. Pratt during her ride to Bristol. Brian stood well over six feet tall and had shoulders as wide as an anvil.
When they were all handed down, Monty called to the footman, "Brian, I don't think we will be long. Can you wait here with Ian and come in if you hear anything unusual?"
"Yes, my lord."
Sarah had been so sure of herself when she'd decided to attempt to help her father, but standing at the door with its peeling paint, she wasn't sure. His red angry face burned in her memory.
Montgomery leaned in. "You only need to decide if you can live with yourself if you don't try."
Had he read her thoughts? She turned and locked onto his steady regard. Terrifying as it was, the thought of never doing anything for the only living member of her immediate family made her heart ache. "I have to try."
With a nod, Montgomery banged the knocker.
They waited several minutes in silence. Sarah was glad to have people around her to support and protect her. It was strange to feel the need for protection from her father, but she accepted the reality.
The door opened, and there stood Bertram Sommers. Not sober, but certainly less inebriated than the previous meeting. He leaned his right arm on the half-open door. Without a coat, his stained white blouse hung loose past his hips and open at the collar. When his wary glare rested on Sarah, there was nothing but rage. "What do you want?"
She drew a long breath and lifted her chin. "May we come in, Father?"
Stumbling back, he let the door swing open and wound his way into the parlor where they had left him unconscious. He flopped on the sofa without offering anyone a seat.
It wasn't easy to find the words now that she was in his presence. "I hoped we might be a family."
He scoffed. “I want no part of it." He grabbed a glass from the table and drank down whatever bronze liquid was within.
Sarah sat across from him. "You will not live long as you are, Father."
"That is not your concern." He stumbled to his feet, crossed to a cart, and returned with a bottle of whiskey. Pouring, he ignored his company.
"But I am concerned," Sarah said. "Until two years ago, I thought you were already dead, and it has taken me this long to find a way to come to see you."
His lips twisted. "They were smart to keep you away. I'm not fit to be anyone's relative. You go on and marry one of these men with fat pockets and empty heads. You've got your mother's looks. You'll do fine."
