Mary pointed to the doorway of her father’s old study. “There is a comfortable rocking chair in the corner if you wish.”
Adelaide took Will from his father, and Mary ushered them into the room. In between scattered piles of books and papers, the room also somehow managed to hold the chair and a large desk. Until recent days, the desk had been buried under a pile of midterm papers her father had succeeded in marking before his sudden passing. Mary had managed to clear the papers away earlier in the week, and like the floor in the front room, the top of the desk now saw the light of day.
While Adelaide settled into the chair and allowed Will to latch on, Mary took a seat behind her father’s desk and sat with her hands gently clasped.
“I am sorry about your father,” said Adelaide.
“Thank you. And thank you for the lovely letter you sent. I appreciated it greatly,” replied Mary.
Adelaide Alexandre, nee Radley, had always made a point of calling in to see Mary and her father whenever she was visiting her brother. For a duke’s daughter, Adelaide had a surprisingly pleasant affinity with people across all social classes.
“May I ask what you are doing for Christmas? Are you staying here alone at the college? It would be a terrible pity if you were,” Adelaide said.
Mary tightened her fingers together. Thankfully she had shown Adelaide into the study, rather than her bedroom. There was little evidence in this room that she was about to vacate the apartment for good.
“I am due to visit with family for Christmas. I am just waiting for their letter to confirm the arrangements,” she replied, holding onto the lie she had already given to Hugh.
Will began to fuss, and it was to Mary’s relief that Adelaide became too distracted with breastfeeding her son to press for further details of her family.
“Could I offer you a cup of tea?” Mary asked.
“Thank you, Mary, that would be lovely. Though we can’t stay long; Charles wants to make good time once we leave Cambridge. The road through to Stilton might be difficult in the fading light if we leave too late,” replied Adelaide.
Mary looked at William and immediately understood Charles’ concerns. The last thing any new parent wanted was to find themselves stuck in a carriage late at night with a tired and hungry infant.
After their final farewells to Mary, Hugh and the Alexandre family climbed aboard the travel coach. Hugh pulled down the window and waved to Mary as she stood on the side of the street. It was only when she was finally lost from sight that he drew up the glass and sat back in his seat.
“So why did Anne and Mowbray cry off from coming to Scotland?” he asked.
He hadn’t thought it polite to press for further details about the obvious absence of his sister and her husband, Clifford, the Duke of Mowbray, in front of Mary.
Charles rolled his eyes. “They are not coming for Christmas. And for that we should all be truly grateful.”
Adelaide kissed her baby son on the forehead and cooed. “Your uncle is not coming because he says he is a bloody duke, with his own bloody castle, and he does not see why he should have to travel all the way to bloody Scotland for Christmas. Isn’t that right, my beautiful boy?”
“If the first word that our son speaks is bloody, I shall blame Mowbray. I cannot deny that I am glad he is not coming for Christmas,” replied Charles.
Hugh was not the least surprised that Anne and Mowbray were not making the trip. In the short time that they had been married, the Duke and Duchess of Mowbray had established themselves as being in a near-constant state of war with one another. When they were not going into battle, they were being sickeningly sweet to each other. Having witnessed both forms of behavior in the newlyweds, Hugh was not completely certain which one he disliked the most.
He was ashamed to be relieved that Anne and Mowbray were not making the journey with them, but he knew he shared Charles’s sentiments.
“Oh well, that leaves more room for us in the coach.” He could now spread out his study papers and books without fear of getting an elbow in the ribs from the Duke of Mowbray.
Chapter Three
Mary walked back to her rooms and closed the door behind her. She had watched the coach until it had disappeared from sight, crushed by the knowledge that it would be the last time she would ever see Hugh leave the cramped but homely rooms at St John’s College, which she and her father had always called home.
She wiped a tear away, gritting her teeth to force back any others that may have threatened. Crying would not change her circumstances, and she knew from many bitter, lonely nights that it would not bring her father back. She was now on her own in the world.
She had cleaned the main room from top to bottom over the past few days, intending that the new tenant should have a fresh start when they arrived early in the new year. Never would she have it said that the rooms had been left in anything but workable condition. Her father’s valuable papers and books she would entrust to the next head of theology and divinity. His clothes had been gratefully received by the head grounds keeper who promised to find each item a suitable new home.
In her tiny bedroom, she squeezed between the wall and her single bed. The linen was freshly laundered, and the mattress had been hung out in the late afternoon sun the previous day to air. On top of the small nightstand was a travel bag, and next to it, her long red wool coat.
Picking up the coat, she put it on and buttoned
