Margaret looked around her home sadly. This was her last day in it; there was hardly any furniture left that hadn’t been covered by white sheets. She felt rather like a failure, really, but she could no longer keep up with the house and her father’s business on her own. Even with the move, they would only take a few servants with them to help with the few things Margaret couldn’t do on her own.
Tomorrow, she and her father would leave for Silvica. Her father had a small home in the countryside he had built when he was first granted his title, where he enjoyed spending his time away from court. That was where Margaret chose to take him for his recovery. When Margaret asked why he hadn’t built in Dorcia, he’d said that he wanted to be where no one knew his name. He enjoyed having a conversation with someone who wanted nothing from him and spoke for the pure joy of bonding with another person. It reminded him of when he was young and just starting to grow his business. She thought he would be most comfortable there, deciding that was the best place to retreat. It would hopefully make his episodes less frequent if he was away from any stressors, and the fresh air would do his soul well. Margaret would also have mineral waters shipped from the springs in Bomack suggested by Healer Dellis, no matter the costs.
Before they left, Margaret called for a meeting with Charles, her father’s right-hand man in the company. She knew nothing of business dealings, try as she might, and it would do her father’s legacy no good if she destroyed it. She waited in her father’s office for Charles to arrive; she wanted to at least look like she knew what she was doing. Margaret sat in her father’s overlarge chair, looking around his untidy study. She awkwardly aligned the items on his desk in neat piles.
A light knock sounded on the door before Bruggen poked his head in. “Lady Margaret, Mister Charles Luther is here to see you.”
“Thank you, Bruggen.” Margaret felt her stomach flip. “Send him in.”
“Very good, my lady,” Bruggen bowed his head deeply before leaving.
Margaret put her hands atop the desk and found they were trembling. She quickly put them in her lap to hide her fear when the door was opened, Charles Luther being let in.
“Little Margaret,” Charles said with a smile. Despite the stern look on Bruggen’s face, he kissed her on the cheek before he sat.
She smiled, her face red. She had missed seeing him more than she expected. He looked well; marriage clearly suited him. “Charles, it’s wonderful to see you again.”
“And you.” He leaned back into his chair. “What is it that I can do for you?”
Margaret cleared her throat, gripping the leather-clad armrests until her knuckles were white. “As you know, we will be moving Papa out into the country for his health.”
“Yes.” Charles looked at her sympathetically. “I had heard.”
“As such, we will need you to take a larger part in the running of the company.” Margaret quickly added, “As you’ve already been doing, though on a more permanent basis.”
“I see.” Charles leaned forward on his elbows, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth. “You have no hope of your father’s recovery?”
Margaret looked down, her mouth pursed. “Healer Dellis has said that he won’t return to the way he was before, and we can only hope that there might be slight improvement. I wish for you to be left in charge and that you provide updates I can read to him.”
Charles gave Margaret a half smile. “Charlotte will not be happy about this. She already thinks I work too much as it is.”
Margaret frowned at the mention of his wife. “You will be monetarily compensated for your additional work. The financial branch of the company has already been given instructions on how to proceed in the matter. She’ll have no complaints when she sees the money.”
“When will you be leaving?” Charles asked. “I would like to say goodbye to your father.”
“Tomorrow,” Margaret told him as she stood.
Charles stood in response. “I will make my goodbyes now, then.”
“Thank you for all that you’re doing, Charles,” Margaret told him with a smile. “I’ll have a contract drawn up by our lawyer to make everything official and have it sent to you. I look forward to hearing from you soon.”
Charles nodded to her before leaving.
Margaret collapsed into her father’s chair, amazed she had not stumbled or been rendered unable to speak as she often was in his presence. He had made her heart flutter every time he came into the room, no matter how many times she’d seen him.
Margaret pulled the curtains from the carriage to look out the window. She sighed as she saw the city pass her by. “This is it, Papa. We’ll be outside the city limits in a few minutes.” She looked to her father, who leaned against the corner of the carriage, a blanket covering his withering legs.
He looked back at her with a twisted mouth. It was nearly his constant expression.
Margaret sighed again. This would be a long journey. “Perhaps you’d like for me to read to you to pass the time, Papa?”
He nodded wobbly, his lips parting slightly, and an unintelligible noise passed them.
Margaret dug through her bag and pulled out one of the few books she had with her, The Corners of Aratia, a Definitive History of Monarchy. Her father loved histories; he couldn’t get enough of them. It wasn’t her favorite, but she would read them as long as he could listen. They rode with only the sound of her voice for hours before their chauffeur, Hanson, stopped for them to lunch.
Hanson helped both of them out of the carriage, supporting all of her father’s weight until he was seated in an armed chair brought from home. He pulled Margaret aside before she could sit next to her father. “My lady,” he said, his brow furrowed, “I’m not sure you’ve thought this through. What will you do if one of us has to leave? There should be more than two of us to help you after everything is settled.”
“I’ll manage, Hanson.” Margaret worried her bottom lip. “I’ll build up the strength with the two of you.”
“What if he falls when we’re running an errand?” Hanson asked. “Then what will you do?”
Margaret paused, looking between Hanson and her father. She straightened her shoulders before saying, “I will pick him up, and we will carry on.”
Margaret smiled when she saw their cottage come into view. It was just as she remembered it, though the varied brown stones looked more weathered than the last time they were there. Soon they could settle and move on with their lives. “Papa, we’re home.”
She saw the slump of his shoulders as he let out a contented sigh. At least he was happy they were there. Hopefully, being able to rest in surroundings that reminded him of his childhood would help him gain some sense of peace.
The carriage door opened, and Hanson offered Margaret a hand. She took it, happy to stretch her legs after the last leg of their trip. She watched the four servants they’d sent ahead of them scurry out of the front door to greet them. Her father’s chair was brought around by Hanson before helping him out of the carriage.
“Shall we go inside, Papa?” Margaret asked as she wheeled him through the front door.
The servants had done a wonderful job cleaning the cottage—it had been years since any of the family had been back. The home smelled of fresh-cut flowers, likely the wildflowers that surrounded the house. The garden had died while they were gone, but that could be revived in due time.
“How about we give you a bath and let you rest?” Margaret smiled at her father. “It’s been a long day for you.”
Margaret hated speaking to him like a child, but with him being unable to answer, she didn’t know how else to talk. It was almost as if he were a child again, relying on her for his every need. Margaret left her father in front of the fire to warm him; the weather was growing colder by the day as the autumn ended, and the stone of the cottage kept it even cooler inside. She went to their bathhouse to light the fire to warm the water and looked around helplessly. She’d never lit a fire before.
“Frances?” She called. “Frances, will you come light the fire?”
Frances appeared by her side and gave a quick curtsey. “My lady, would you like me to light it, or would you like me to teach you how?”
Margaret hesitated. She should learn, but she was tired. “Maybe tomorrow.”
“My lady…may I speak frankly?”
“Yes, of course you may, Frances.” Concern coiled in Margaret’s chest.
“Without more help, your days are going to be long, and they will be hard. You’ll be tired, but you’ll have no other choice but to carry on since you’ll be the one primarily caring for his lordship.” Frances looked up at her. “You need to learn now, even while you’re tired, in case Hanson or myself aren’t here to help.”
Margaret swallowed hard. She knew this, but hearing it so frankly was unsettling. She squared her shoulders—anything for her father. “All right, then,” Margaret said. “What do I do?”
“Follow me to the wood stacks, my lady,” Frances said as she walked from the room.
Margaret followed her and was shown where the basket for carrying wood was, and instructed to load it herself and carry it back to the bathing house. Frances walked her through the steps of using the kindling, not overloading the fire, and feeding it until it was strong.
“Now what?”
“You have to wait for the water to heat, my lady, and then pump it into the bath.”
Margaret nodded, hands on her hips. Even those small tasks had formed a sheen of sweat on her forehead.
“My lady?”
“Yes, Frances?”
“How will you be getting your father into the bath?” She gestured at the high walls of the tub.
“I…I don’t know yet,” Margaret said. She hadn’t even thought of that. “I suppose I’ll just have to wash him in his chair for now. I won’t be able to lift him in and out of the tub today.”
Margaret pulled the covers over her father before she wiped her forehead. She’d done it. She’d bathed and clothed him with minimal help from the servants, and she was looking forward to a rest herself. She went into their small kitchen and put the kettle over the fire and sat, putting her feet up.
“My lady?”
“Yes, Frances, what is it?”
“There’s still more work to be done. We need to clean the tub, snuff the fire, and gather your father’s clothes for laundering,” Frances said. “And prepare for dinner.”
Margaret slumped, almost groaning. “There’s that much more?”
“After that, we have to clean the kitchen, prepare the rooms for the sleep, and get things in place for the morning.”
Margaret did groan now.
“You must be prepared and know how to do all this in case we aren’t here, my lady.”
Margaret couldn’t be sure, but she thought Frances was enjoying this far more than she should. “I know.” She stood, straightening her skirts. “Let’s go, then.”
Frances smiled. “Take the kettle off the fire, my lady.”
Margaret glared at her but took the kettle off nonetheless.