The Legacy

A few moments later, Edward walked into the library, his footsteps silent on the thick Oriental carpet. He stood in front of his father’s desk, his heart slamming in his chest. When his father finally looked up, there was an expression of impatience etched across his face. “What is it?”

“Are you going to send Mummy away again?”

“That is none of your concern,” he said.

“Please don’t send her away,” Edward begged. “I promise, I’ll watch over her.”

Henry Porter stared at his son for a long moment. “And will you tell me if she begins to confuse this Irish urchin with your sister Charlotte?”

Edward nodded, crossing his fingers behind his back to lessen the lie. “I will, Father,” he said.

His father nodded slowly. “You’re a good boy. And I think you understand how important it is that your mother keep her wits about her. She has been very emotional lately and that’s not good for anyone. You must try to distract her from her worries.”

“I will. I’m good at that.”

“Very well,” his father said. “I’m glad you see things my way. Run along now, Edward, I have work to do.”

Edward hurried out of the library and when he reached the safety of the hallway, he uncrossed his fingers and asked God to forgive him for the lie. It wasn’t really a sin to lie when he was just doing it to make his mother happy, was it? She’d suffered so much over the past few years. And if Rose and little Grace were the key to her happiness, then Edward would do everything in his power to make them both stay, his father’s wishes be damned.

“What are you doing out here?” Malcolm strode down the hall and gave Edward a hard shove, sending him back against the wall. “I thought you’d be in the nursery playing with that little brat Mother brought home.”

“She’s not a brat,” he said.

Malcolm sent Edward a look of utter disdain. “That brat is going to steal every minute of Mother’s time. She won’t pay attention to you anymore. She won’t even see you, just like she doesn’t see me. Get used to it, Edward. It’s only a matter of time before she loves you less than she loves me.”

“Maybe if you’d be nicer to her she’d love you again,” Edward accused.

“I don’t need her,” he replied. “Neither does Father. You’re the only one in this family who still cares for her and that’s because you’re still a baby.”

“I am not!” Edward shouted, lashing out at Malcolm. He shoved against his chest, but Malcolm had three years on him and considerable strength.

Malcolm grabbed Edward’s arm and twisted it behind his back, then pushed him up against the wall. “Don’t ever touch me again,” he muttered, his breath hot against Edward’s ear. “If you do, I’ll just find a way to take it out on that little Irish girl you’re so fond of.”

He gave Edward’s arm a final twist, then pasted a smile onto his face and walked into the library. As Edward stood outside, he listened as his older brother spoke with his father, the conversation relaxed and friendly.

The lines of loyalty in the Porter house had been clearly drawn since Charlotte had died. His older sister had held them together as a family, but they were on different sides now—Malcolm and Henry against Edward and his mother. Even though Edward was younger, he wasn’t afraid of his brother. Malcolm may be stronger and taller, but Edward was far more clever. He would do what it took to protect his mother, even if that meant destroying Malcolm in the process.

CHAPTER THREE

ROSE SAT AT THE WINDOW in her room above the coach house, sunlight spilling onto her lap and illuminating the mending that rested there. She rubbed her eyes, trying to wipe away the fatigue that seemed to descend upon her in the early afternoon.

Though it had been three years since she’d been rescued from the streets by Geneva Porter, her health hadn’t fully returned. Her lungs were often congested and her eyesight had begun to falter. Though she was strong enough to work, she was left with far too little energy to raise a rambunctious daughter. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes, remembering the first months of her stay at Porter Hall.

It hadn’t taken long to understand the strange dynamics of the Porter family. Geneva’s “illness” wasn’t an illness at all, but a chronic melancholy that seemed to grip her without warning. She’d visited countless doctors and taken just as many remedies, but the only thing that drew her out of her depression was Mary Grace.

The little girl, now six years old, had became a balm to Geneva’s spirit and whenever she felt her mood darkening, she’d come to the carriage house to fetch Mary Grace and spend the afternoon in the garden, watching her chase butterflies and pick flowers.

In the beginning, Rose hadn’t minded. She believed a strong bond between the two would only help her position in the household. But it had also caused some jealousies with the other, more senior, staff members. Geneva’s maid, Ruth, had distrusted Rose from the start and jumped on any opportunity to drive a wedge between Rose and the mistress of the house. Cook was chilly and aloof, perturbed that she was expected to deliver meals to the carriage house for Rose and Mary Grace, while the rest of the staff took their meals in the kitchen. And their quarters had been decorated with many little luxuries from the attic, so different from the cold and sterile servants’ rooms on the third floor of the manor house.

But Rose wasn’t going to feel guilty for her position with Geneva Porter. If Geneva’s affection for Mary Grace would keep them warm and well-fed, then who was she to deny her mistress anything? Or her daughter? She glanced over to the corner and watched as Mary Grace bent over an old wooden box she’d found.

“What are you doing, my girl?” Rose asked. “What do you have there?”

Mary Grace picked the box up and carried it over to her mother. She opened the top to reveal a variety of woodcarving tools. “Where did you find these?” Rose asked.

“In the stables. Under a pile of hay.”

“Do you know what they are?”

Mary Grace shook her head. “I’m going to give them to Edward. He’ll know what they are.”

“They’re woodcarving tools,” Rose said. “And I think Edward would like these. He’s always carving with that little knife of his. He’d do much better with a fine set of tools like these.”

“I’ll give them as a gift. Maybe for Christmas,” Mary Grace said. “Or Edward’s birthday. He’ll be ten years old in…” She screwed up her face as she tried to remember. “Soon.”

Rose smoothed her hand over the top of the box. “Why, we could find some paint and put his monogram on the top. That would make the gift very special.”

“What’s a monogram?” Mary Grace asked.

“Edward’s initials. Fancy folk put their initials on everything they own. That way everyone knows who it belongs to.”

A box of old tools was little to offer in return for what the Porter family had given Mary Grace. Clothes had magically appeared in the wardrobe and new dolls would find their way into the old chest at the foot of the bed. Books full of beautiful, hand-tipped drawings were stacked on the table beneath the window and nearly every day, Mary Grace would return from the house with some tiny trinket, an old piece of jewelry or a hair ribbon.

Even if Jamie had lived, he never would have been able to provide so well. But Rose knew all the lovely luxuries came at a price. She just hadn’t been asked to pay it yet. Whatever it was, she’d simply remember that her daughter was happy and healthy and that was worth more than anything in the world to her.

A soft knock sounded on the door and Mary Grace jumped up to answer it. To Rose’s surprise, Geneva stood on the other side. Lady Porter had never been to Rose’s rooms. When she’d wanted to speak with her, she always sent someone to fetch her and they talked in her parlor. And now she was here with tea, all laid out on a silver tray.

Mary Grace jumped up from her spot and ran over to Geneva. She helped her lay the tea service out on a small table as if she’d been doing so for years. Rose watched them make the tea, then realized that they’d probably had tea together often. When they finished, Geneva pulled a hard candy from her pocket and placed it in Mary Grace’s palm. “Run along now, Grace. I need to talk to your mother.”

“Thank you, Lady Porter,” the little girl said with a curtsey.

“Edward is out in the garden. Why don’t you go visit with him.”

They both watched as Mary Grace skipped through the door, her pretty skirts flying out behind her.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Geneva said. She handed a cup of tea to Rose. “There’s sugar and milk. Do you take either?”

Rose shook her head, unsure of how to respond. It wasn’t the choice of sugar or milk, but the fact that her mistress was waiting on her. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, of course.” Geneva poured herself a cup, then grabbed a chair from the table and set it in front of Rose. As she sat down, she smoothed her hands over the skirt of her elegant frock, then crossed her ankles. “There is something I’ve come here to discuss with you. It’s about Grace.”

“Has she caused some trouble? I try to keep a close eye on her, but sometimes she does wander off.”

“She’s six years old and I know that you plan to send her to the parish school in the village when the term begins next month. I’m sure you’re aware that she’s a very bright child.” Geneva cleared her throat. “You’re also aware that I’ve grown quite fond of her since you’ve both come to live here.”

“Yes,” Rose replied. “And I thank you for everything you’ve given her. You don’t know how much it means to me to know that she’s safe and healthy.”

“But that isn’t always enough,” Geneva said. “There will come a time when Grace will have to make her own way in the world and to do that, she must be educated. I would like to take responsibility for this.”