Page 54 of The Lady's Guide to Marrying a Viscount
He and Withers had Silas under the arms, supporting him as he staggered around the side of the house, toward the warmth of the kitchen. The sleet was coming stronger now, blowing in their faces, accompanied by an icy wind. Mallon needed to get poor Silas comfortable. Needed to assure him that he was on his side, and he’d be safe now.
As the master of Wulverton Hall, it was Mallon’s duty to see justice done, to speak for those who had no voice, to defend the rights of his tenants and the staff under his roof. He’d fight tooth and nail to keep Silas from going back to prison.
His duty to those living on the moor was more important than playing host to Marguerite’s pompous guests. More important, even, than the pursuit of his own happiness.
As they passed the drawing room, Mallon thought of Geneviève. He’d tell her about Silas later. She’d beenhorrified to learn of his incarceration and his desperate escape across the moor. She’d be glad to know he was alive. Silas was in a bad way, but Mallon had confidence they’d restore him to health. With people who cared rallying to his aid, he’d surely draw upon the will to live.
Mallon looked through the French doors, wondering if Geneviève were still with Hugo or if all was now settled.
What he witnessed sent ice about his heart.
Geneviève was holding Hugo’s hand.
Hugo was kneeling, holding a ring.
And then they were holding each other.
The last thing he saw was the two of them exchanging a kiss.
CHAPTER 24
Mrs. Fuddleby was carvingthick slices of pork (from a joint Mallon suspected was destined for Upstairs luncheon) “I’m glad to be putting food on a proper plate for ye at last, Silas! ’Stead o’ wrapping up scraps in a cloth for Withers to take out to ye!” She glanced over at Mallon. “An’ I know the Master won’t be taking umbrage, seein’ as ye be one of us!”
Withers’ eyes were upon his brother. Wrapped under several blankets and with his chair pulled close to the stove, Silas was sipping from a steaming cup.
“Him started to take bad, and with the weather be turnin’, I’d no choice but t’bring he into proper shelter. I wanted to tell ee, Master, but I feared as to what action ye’d take—Silas bein’ a wanted criminal an’ all, though us’uns all know he be innocent!” Withers declared.
Leaning against the edge of the great oak table, Mallon nodded. He was trying to keep his mind on what Withers was telling him, but his thoughts continued to pull toward what he’d seen through thedrawing room window—Hugo proposing to Geneviève and her seeming to accept.
He couldn’t deny what his own eyes had witnessed, even though his heart wanted to.
He made himself redirect his mind. Withers was trying to explain all that had happened, and he deserved Mallon’s full attention.
“I’d suggested us’uns smuggled Silas to Plymouth, findin’ passage on some ship. But him was too weary to attempt such a journey.” Withers raised a shaking hand to take a sip from his own cup of tea.
Installed in the warmth of the kitchen, Silas seemed to have recovered some of his spirit; his voice, though still rasping, was coming back to him.
“I jus’ wanted to see ye, brother! An’ the hall, again. Afore I were locked up, I lived ‘ere man and boy. Where else would I go?” He pressed his sleeve to his face, mumbling to himself as he wiped away the evidence of his emotion. “Only home I’ve ever ‘ad.”
Looking into the man’s sunken eyes, Mallon was reminded that he’d returned to Wulverton not merely to satisfy his desire to see the moor again. He was here to fulfil his duty: the estate needed guidance from one who cared deeply about the well-being of its tenants. Moreover, Silas deserved freedom from his unjust incarceration and the clearance of his name from all stain of guilt.
Those duties were Mallon’s, and no one else’s.
With Silas under his roof, Mallon hoped it would make the process of his release easier, rather than more complicated. As soon aspossible, he’d attend upon the magistrate to petition for Silas’s pardon. He had faith justice would be served.
“You’re my responsibility now, Silas. No one shall send you back. Whatever years are left to you, they’ll be spent here, with us.”
Silas sniffed and sat as upright as he was able. “God bless ee, Master! I trust ee to speak fer me.”
Withers nodded his thanks to Mallon, then closed his eyes and leant back in his chair. The strain of keeping his brother safely hidden had taken its toll. Withers looked as if he needed a week in bed himself.
Mrs. Fuddleby paused in her slathering of butter on a slice of bread, appearing to wipe away a tear of her own. “It’s time this’un injustice be put right, and if anyone can do it, it be our master.”
Mallon knew full well that Silas’s incarceration had been a travesty—the result of his own father’s misguided wrath on discovering his wife’s infidelity. Poor Silas had only done as his mistress had asked, providing her with a horse on the night of her escape.
It seemed Silas had known her intent, but how could he have foreseen the mare would carry Mallon’s mother to her death in the mire, or that the late viscount would punish him so unjustly for having done her bidding.
Only once had Mallon dared broach the subject with his father. As a child, he’d understood only that the stableman who’d taught him to ride had gone away. Reaching manhood, he’d learned the full story and had been horrified. His father had stolen a man’s liberty—his life!
