Time to Move On

I’ve been struggling with fitting everything in this month and I haven’t had time to produce some flash fiction. So, I thought I’d post an excerpt from one of my books instead. I’ve called this scene, Time to Move On.

I hope you enjoy this excerpt from book two in my Men of Trade series. It’s had a couple of working titles already, the latest is The Daring Dowager.

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When Beth entered the library, Geoffrey, the new Earl of Martland, and his wife, Wilhelmina, stopped whispering and stared at her.

Wilhelmina surveyed Beth’s gown, but avoided her face. The reluctance of others to look upon the scars that ruined her right side still stabbed at her chest. She could not look upon them herself without wanting to rip away her skin. Normally, she covered the twisted flesh with a veil, but the chance to discomfort Wilhelmina, as much as Wilhelmina enjoyed discomforting Beth, overcame her shame.

Martland — she repressed a shiver — stood. “I am happy to see you up and about, my dear.”

“Indeed,” Wilhelmina spoke in her usual haughty tone. “It is time you picked yourself up and ceased this infernal languishing.”

Oh, what joy! Another lecture from this sour-faced woman on the terrible habit of remaining abed. Mama lectured her enough on this topic when she came to visit.

“It is time for you to make a new life for yourself.” Wilhelmina glanced at her husband, who seemd to stare into space, then continued. “Your year of mourning is over. You have recovered sufficiently from your injuries, and we feel it is time for you to move on.” Wilhelmina glared at Geoffrey and waited.

Geoffrey returned his wife’s stare with wide-eyed innocence before he sat.

It was time to move on, but she had allowed herself to wallow in self-pity and become entrenched in misery. She could not stay here forever, and deep down, she did not wish to. If only she had the energy to do something about it.

Geoffrey fidgeted in his dead brother’s wing-backed chair. The well-worn brown leather squeaked while he took an eternity to adjust the lapels of his coat. He cleared his throat twice before he finally spoke. “Your mourning period is over… and it is time” — he coughed into his balled fist— “we feel that you… we do not feel you are…”

Oh, for heaven’s sake the floundering ninny. “You wish me to find alternative accommodation.” Beth rolled her eyes.

“Yes.” Wilhelmina sat in the matching wing-backed chair opposite her husband and scratched the collar of the equally sour-faced pug cradled in her arms.

Neither offered her a seat. Beth sighed and displaced as much of her weight as possible on her left leg.

“There is no rush, my dear.” Geoffrey raised his palms. “Take your time and think things over.”

Wilhelmina cleared her throat.

Geoffrey tilted his head towards his wife. “She is still grieving the loss of my brother.”

The new countess’s lips pursed, and the wrinkle faced pug released a small yelp.

Beth’s only option settled like an anvil placed on her chest. “I will write to my sister and leave as soon as possible.”

Wilhelmina’s silk skirt rustled as she shuffled in her seat.  “That is unnecessary, dear. We know how much you dislike being a burden to others.” The woman did not even try to disguise her sardonic tone. “We have everything arranged.”

“What do you mean?” Had they contacted her sister behind her back to ensure she left without a fight?

Geoffrey patted the manilla folder on the leather-topped desk. “As per your marriage settlement, my brother set aside your jointure. It will provide you with an income of two hundred pounds.”

Despite her lack of a dowry, she should be grateful her father had secured her future, but two hundred pounds a year – how pitiful!

Wilhelmina’s small smirk grated on Beth’s nerves. “We know it is not a great deal, but you should be comfortable.”

Comfortable! Two hundred pounds would not allow her to keep a horse or carriage. She may only manage two servants. Oh, and she had nowhere to live.

Martland offered her an indulgent smile and her hands tightened around the handle of her walking stick. “Fear not. We could not abandon you in reduced circumstances.” He paused and ran a palm down the front of his embroidered waistcoat. “Because you are so keen to lead an independent life, we will allow you the use of the townhouse in Grafton Street for your lifetime.”

Wilhelmina’s small smirk spread to a smug grin that revealed every wrinkle on her face.

“The house in Grafton Street”—Beth swallowed— “in Marylebone.” Please, any house but that one.

“Yes, dear.” Wilhelmina nodded with a vindictive gleam in her eye. “It will be more than adequate for a widow of your income and allow you to live the independent life you seek. Of course, because you are family, we will lease it to you at a much-reduced rate.”

She did wish for an independent life, not having to rely on, or be a burden to, her family, but to pay to live in the house in Marylebone. How Wilhelmina must enjoy seeing her brought so low.

She opened her mouth to tell them what they could do with their house but stopped. Damnation! The Martlands also controlled her money.

Regardless of the oily sensation that crept up her spine, if she wished to avoid saddling herself upon her sister, she must accept the Martlands’ proposal. “Thank you for your kind and generous offer, Wilhelmina. I will have Hughes pack my things immediately.” She began to turn away.

“One more thing, my dear.” Geoffrey held his forefinger aloft. “I have handed over the management of your jointure to your cousin, Viscount Haverstone. He will oversee your finances from now on.”

Beth’s heart sank to her toes. When it rains, it pours.