Free The Girl in the Gatehouse by Julie Klassen

Mamma, blood and money are all that matter. And if you are nobody by birth, then wealth and connection are all one has.”
    “Nobody?” his father echoed. “You dare sit in my house and call us nobodies?”
    “That is not what I meant, Father. But in society – ”
    “I don’t care a fig about society , nor did I raise you and your brother and sister to do so. Poor Peter would never have chased after temporal success the way you are.”
    A moment of pained and hallowed silence followed, as it always did whenever John Bryant mentioned the name of his deceased son.
    “You’ll be visiting your brother’s grave before you leave, I trust?” he said hoarsely.
    Matthew winced. Had he overstayed his welcome already?
    His mother’s big eyes beseeched his once more. “Do you really love her, Matthew? Or are you out to prove that she was wrong to refuse you before?”
    Matthew rubbed a hand over his face. “Yes. On both counts.”
    A few hours later, Matthew rode to the market town of Highworth, some six miles northeast of Swindon. Once there, he dismounted before a small, tidy cottage near the church. As he tied his horse to the rail, the door burst open
    “Matthew!” A dainty young woman ran to him and threw her arms around his neck.
    “Lucy.” He embraced her, then held her at arm’s length to soak in the look of her. The caramel hair, several shades lighter than his own, the snapping brown eyes so like his, the deep dimples on either side of her grinning mouth. So much the same as ever, but different too. The years they had been apart had been very kind to his sister, and her face radiated joy and confidence.
    He had been away at sea when Lucy was wed, but she had written to tell him of the happy event. He had been glad and relieved to hear of it for more than one reason.
    “How wonderful you look,” he said. “Marriage must suit you.”
    “Indeed it does. You, on the other hand, look awful.” Her eyes sparkled. “I suppose you have been to see Mamma and Papa?”
    “I have.”
    “Then it is good you have come to see me. I shall cheer you!” She took his arm and led him inside. “I suppose Papa was . . . distant, as usual?”
    “Yes. One would think I was just home from prison instead of the war.”
    “He does love you, Matthew. Never doubt it.”
    But Matthew did doubt it.
    While Lucy had not entirely escaped their mother’s endless grief and their father’s detachment, she had borne it better. Her constant cheerfulness and ready smile had garnered their unconscious affection, rather like a charming, obedient pug one mindlessly stroked for comfort. He supposed that was not fair – Lucy indeed brought warmth and consolation to John and Helen Bryant, while his own attempts to offer the same had been soundly rejected.
    “And where is Charles?” he asked, seating himself on the worn but comfortable settee.
    “Away on parish business – visiting the workhouse. I should have gone with him, but I was indisposed earlier.”
    “Indisposed?” He grinned. “You look in perfect health to me. Do not tell me you feigned some passing malady to avoid paying calls.”
    She settled herself in the armchair closest to him. “It is not some passing malady, Matthew. It is a baby.”
    His breath left him. “A baby?”
    “Yes, or it will be, in seven months or so.”
    Matthew felt a strange combination of surprise, pleasure, and unexpected envy. He pushed the latter aside and smiled. “Lucy, what happy news! Still, I must say I am rather put out. It was one thing to marry before your older brother managed the feat. But to have a child before me as well? Unpardonable.” He reached over and playfully tweaked her nose.
    “It is not my fault, Matthew. If you were not so bent on winning the hand of a certain unworthy female . . .”
    “It was I who was unworthy, do not forget.”
    “I do not forget. And what I remember is that she used you cruelly.”
    “Cruel? It was her father who refused my suit.”
    “Which