Page 18 of Her Heart's Rightful Earl
“Mother, it was splendid. But what of your health? How have you been faring in my absence?”
Margaret smiled lightly with considerable effort and patted his hand. “Son, do not despair. I have been coping.”
The relative quiet in the room was broken suddenly by a loud, jarring crash. Everybody turned to the footman, who looked down, devastated at the smashed ceramic of a plate, splintered around his feet.
He looked up at them all with apologetic eyes, but before he could speak, Marcus inhaled sharply and bellowed in an uncharacteristically booming voice, “What in God’s name have you done, you wretch!?”
The footman—just a young man—blushed and stammered the attempt at an answer, but Marcus shouted him back down.
“You will clear that up immediately and pack your bag! Leave my home and never return! You are an utter disgrace!”
Arabella, Charlotte, and Margaret all tensed up and exchanged glances in shock and distress at this unexpected outburst.
Marcus was trembling with anger, his fists white as they clenched at his sides. The remaining household staff around the border of the room dropped their eyes to the floor and stood, servile and respectful, with their hands clasped in front of their bodies, avoiding any eye contact.
“Let that be a warning to all of you!” Marcus pointed at them as the poor dismissed footman bent to his knees and began to scrabble the pieces of crockery together with his bare hands.
Arabella watched him with tears pooling in her eyes. The pity she felt for the man was acute; she felt his shame and embarrassment keenly and wanted to extend some attempt at kindness.
“Perhaps you could fetch him a broom?” Arabella suggested to the housemaid nearest the door. The maid nodded curtly and eagerly exited the room, happy to have a reason to leave the negatively charged atmosphere.
Marcus shot her a look of disdain, but it seemed to dispel his aggravation somewhat. Charlotte had dropped her eyes to the table, avoiding looking at Marcus, not willing to be associated with his terrible temper, and Margaret stared up at him with sad, disappointed eyes.
Marcus looked around at all those assembled, his wild eyes blinking through his fury and calming as they came to rest upon his mother.
“Are you in pain?" Marcus leaned down beside his mother, his voice gentle. From his kneeling position, he looked up into Margaret’s face with genuine concern.
Margaret watched him warily for a moment, unsure of his volatility, then she sighed.
“Constantly, I regret to report,” she confirmed, closing her eyes as if the very statement tired her beyond capability.
“Oh Mother …” Marcus dipped his forehead to rest upon the back of Margaret’s veiny, thin hand.
“I have been taken considerable care of …” she reassured him, indicating the sisters with a gentle nod.
Marcus looked over at Arabella and Charlotte, almost as though he had quite forgotten they were there.
“Oh! How grateful I am that you were able to stay and lend my poor mother some company in my absence!” Marcus returned to his performative etiquette. He stood abruptly and, in a couple ofstrides, was uncomfortably close to Arabella. He took her hand and, holding it, with tears in his eyes, he thanked her profusely.
“Sent to us like an angel! I so appreciate your caring, nurturing nature, Arabella! I know how you nurse my mother and spend compassionate time with her. How fortunate my dear brother, God rest his soul, introduced you to our family, and how blessed my cousin, Edmund—may he rest in peace—was to have a wife such as you, loaded as you are with such kindness!”
Specs of saliva catapulted from Marcus’s mouth as he gushed at Arabella, and she noticed a small ball of spittle gather at the edge of his lip as he spoke. His grip, which was limp and loose to begin with, gradually tightened as he grew more impassioned in his speech.
Arabella smiled up at him politely, but her eyes conveyed discomfort, and as she tried to diplomatically remove her hand from his grasp, she giggled nervously.
“Thank you, Marcus, I assure you it is no trouble at all …”
“Such grace and generosity of spirit!” he continued, seeming not to notice Arabella’s efforts to extricate herself.
“It is a pleasure to spend time here, truly …” Arabella gritted her teeth through a forced smile. “Please, Marcus, you are hurting my hand!”
“Hah!” Marcus belted out a maniacal laugh as he released her hand, and Arabella noticed his hand was trembling.
“Right!’ Marcus declared with a sudden change of direction. ‘Estate Inspections! Now, where is my man?”
Marcus departed the room with a determined and industrious energy. The three women left in the room looked at each other in slight bewilderment.
“He must be tired from his journey …” Margaret suggested, justifying Marcus’s behaviour.
