by Joyce Alec
“She is waiting for me to call on her this afternoon, and of course, I cannot,” Luke said, writing a brief note that explained everything and begged her forgiveness. He gave her his father’s country address in the hope that she would correspond with him, his heart sinking into his boots as he realized just how much he would miss her.
There would be no courting, no walks in the park, no carriage rides or dances. She would have to wait for him, wait for the situation with his father to improve, which he could only hope would be the case. He hoped she would write to him very soon, that she would not leave him to deal with the situation alone. Whilst he did not know her very well, he believed her to have a gentle, tender heart that would understand the situation fully.
“Parke,” he said, sanding the note and taking the wax and seal from the silver tray on the table. “Hand this to Lady Elizabeth and to no other. Do you understand me?” He looked into Parke’s face, his gaze steady. It mattered to him a great deal that Lady Elizabeth receive this note personally, that Parke could explain what had happened before she read the letter from him. He hated that he could not go to see her himself, but there simply was not the time to do so. Luke hoped that she would understand, that she would not feel slighted in any way, and that she, in her return of his letter, would support him.
“Perfectly,” Parke said at once, his expression a little sad. “Have no doubt, I will do exactly as you wish. You can rely on me, Mallon. I will ensure that everything here is taken care of and that extra clothes or the like are sent up to you. Just go to your father. I do hope that he is already recovered by the time you get there.”
Luke nodded tersely, handing Parke the note and praying that his trust in him was not misplaced. “Thank you, Parke. I need to go and ensure that everything is moving along smoothly. You are welcome to remain here until the time comes for your own departure.” A sense of urgency began to fill his veins as Parke nodded, still looking sorrowful.
“Thank you, Mallon,” Parke murmured, as Luke strode towards the door. “And Godspeed.”
9
The next two days were a blur. Luke wanted to ride hard and ride fast, but instead, he settled for sitting in his carriage and letting his thoughts overtake him.
It was a frightening prospect, losing a parent. His mother had died when he was young, so he had never truly known her, but things were vastly different when it came to his father. They were friends, as well as parent and son. As Luke grew in age, he came to respect his father all the more. His father ran the estate with such precision and skill that Luke often found himself wondering if he would ever be able to live up to his father’s standards. His father seemed to know what to do and when to do it, his wisdom leaving Luke in awe. He had always appeared so full of life, so that to think of him now, lying on a bed with no visible signs of life, filled Luke with despondency.
His mind caught on Lady Elizabeth, hoping that she had received her note by now. He wondered if there might be a letter waiting for him when he arrived at the estate, finding the hope of that bringing a slight joy to his bruised heart.
She would understand, he knew. She would be filled with distress and worry over his father’s accident and would be horrified to hear of what had occurred. There was a sweetness about her character that had already begun to shine through. Maybe they would marry quicker than they had intended, and their courtship would then to occur when they were wed. His father’s accident changed everything.
Luke leaned his head back against the squabs as they drew closer to the estate, knowing that he would soon be home. He wanted to get out of the carriage and run, such was the urgency growing within him, as though he would be able to outrun the horses! He was both eager and afraid of what he would find, worried that there would be no difference since he had first received the letter.
He was not ready to become the marquess. He was not ready for his father to pass, to leave him an orphan in this world. Even though he was an adult in his own right, Luke felt as though he would be left all alone should his father never leave his bed again. The thought made him shudder, grief pouring through him as the carriage turned into the rolling gates of the Stowell Estate. He had his own smaller property only a few miles away, but it had been in the Stowell Estate that he had spent his childhood before being sent off to Eton. Memories flooded him as he caught the first glimpse of the large estate just ahead, his stomach tightening with worry.
“My lord,” the butler said, as the carriage drew up to the house. “You are most welcome.”
Luke did not wait for the carriage steps to arrive, choosing to jump down from the carriage and stride towards the house.
“How is my father?”
“A little recovered,” the butler replied, making Luke sag with relief. “He awoke yesterday, and since then, has spent most of his time asleep.” He walked alongside Luke, and rank suddenly disappeared as they discussed the marquess’s condition. Luke knew that the butler here had been with his father for as many years, and from the paleness of his cheeks, he could tell that the man was deeply upset by what had happened to his master.
“The doctor has been coming every day,” the butler continued, as they stepped inside, gesturing for him to climb the staircase. “He was pleased to hear that the marquess had woken yesterday, even though it was only for a short time.”
Luke nodded, a swirl of fear in his belly. “What happened to him?”
“As you know, he was thrown from the carriage when the wheels became caught in the ditch. The driver is distraught for the horses. I believe, they shied when a fox ran across the road in front of them, and he did not manage to bring them back under control.”
“Assure him of his employment here,” Luke said at once, not wanting to put the blame on anyone’s shoulders. “I will speak to him myself later, of course, but I am well aware how jittery my father’s greys can be.”
The two horses had been his father’s pride and joy, but Luke had never found them to be sensible or pliable creatures. They were hard to keep under control and shied at any little thing, but his father had always insisted that he loved their spirit and had kept them despite Luke’s warnings to the contrary.
“Your father was thrown from the carriage and sustained a broken arm, some cuts to his face and neck, and a rather severe knock to his head,” the butler continued, trying to speak as calmly as possible. “The doctor set his arm and cleaned his wounds and said that there was nothing else to do but wait for him to recover consciousness. That is why I think he was so relieved to hear that he had woken.”
“And did he know where he was and what had happened?”
The hesitation from the butler told Luke more than he needed to know.
“I think it is best that you see him for yourself, my lord,” the butler said eventually. “I should not like to give any considerations as regards his condition. It may be that your presence will allow him to understand where he is.”
Luke nodded and thanked the butler as they came to his father’s bedchamber.
“The maid has just finished with him,” the butler said softly, as he opened the door. “He is washed and dried daily.”
Both desperate to see his father and terrified about what he would see, Luke stepped into the bedchamber and looked across the room. His father was lying in his bed, entirely motionless. He did not lift his head to look over at Luke, nor did a single sound emanate from him.
“Can I get you anything, my lord?” the butler murmured, with one hand still on the door handle. “Something to eat or drink?”
“Yes, thank you,” Luke replied, aware that he was, in fact, quite hungry. “Just in here, if you please.”
“Of course.”
Luke heard the sound of the door closing behind the butler, and realizing that he was now quite alone with his father, he made his way towards the edge of the bed.
His heart tore from his chest.
His father was lying there, so still, so pale, to the point that Luke barely recognized him. I
t was as though he had fallen from the carriage and become half the man he had been before. The paleness of his cheeks merged with the white sheets pulled around him, making the marquess appear more a wraith than the living.
“Oh, Father,” Luke murmured, finding his father’s hand and taking it in his own. “Whatever has happened to you?”
His father’s hand was cold, to the point that Luke had to make sure that there was still life in him. Pressing his fingers to his father’s wrist, he was filled with a sudden relief when he felt the light fluttering beneath his fingers.
His legs felt weak, his entire body sagging, as he leaned heavily on the edge of the bed, not knowing what else he was meant to do. Turning around, he pulled a heavy chair towards the edge of the bed and sat down, as close to his father as he could.
“Papa,” he murmured, referring to him by the name he called him as a child. “Papa, you need to waken. I cannot be without you.”
There was no response, no answering smile and assurance that he was, in fact, quite well. There was simply the sound of the crackling of the fire and his father’s gentle breathing.
Some hours later, Luke jerked in his chair, startling himself awake. He had not meant to fall asleep but the small sandwiches and cup of warm tea the butler had brought him had sent him into something of a stupor. He had barely slept these last two days, struggling to find any kind of rest when his thoughts were tangled up in his father’s condition.
“Luke?”
The word was hardly there, a whisper in the darkness that Luke was not sure he had heard. Stumbling to his feet, he leaned over his father and found him looking up into the darkness, his eyes a little glazed.
“Father?” he whispered, scrambling to find his hand in the darkness and taking it tightly. “Father? Are you awake?”
“Luke?”
“I am here,” he reassured him, his heart clenching for his father’s confused state. “You had an accident, Father. In the carriage on the way here. You are at home now, resting.”
“Home?” his father whispered, his eyes fluttering closed. “In London?”
“No, father. At the estate,” Luke replied quietly, his throat aching with a sudden, desperate sorrow. “I came here as soon as I heard what happened.” He brushed back his father’s hair from his brow, suddenly recalling the memory of when he had been a young boy struck by illness. His father had sat with him for days on end as he had gone in and out of fever, brushing back his damp hair from his forehead. Despite the fever, Luke had always known that his father was there, and that in itself had been a comfort. He prayed it would be the same for his father now.
“My head,” his father whispered, his voice fading to almost nothing. “My head.” He frowned and made to lift his hand but could not.
“You knocked it,” Luke said at once, patting his father’s hand gently. “Do you want something to drink? Something to eat? I have broth here, or water?”
His father did not answer for a long time, to the point that Luke thought he might have drifted back to unconsciousness again.
“Water.”
The word was rasping, startling Luke. In a trice, he had the water in a glass. Putting one arm around his father’s shoulders, he cradled his head in the crook of Luke’s arm.
“Here, Father,” Luke said, hating that his father winced with the pain, his skin going paler still. Thankfully, he drank deeply, and once finished, he lay back exhausted.
Luke was not sure whether to be relieved or afraid. Was his father’s condition worsening? Or was drinking water to be seen as a good thing?
“You will stay?”
His father’s eyes flickered open again, looking for him in the gloom. Setting the glass back down on the small table, Luke grasped his father’s hand again, glad to feel him try to grip Luke’s hand in return.
“Of course, I will stay, Father,” he said softly. “I will not leave your side, not until you tell me to go.”
His father’s expression grew calmer, his eyes closing as he settled back on his pillow. Luke pulled the sheets up around him, ensuring that he was comfortable and warm. There was laudanum on the table with the water, but Luke chose not to ask his father whether he wished for some, already knowing what the answer would be. His father never touched the stuff, hating that it sent him into a stupor – albeit, a pain-free stupor.
“Thank you.”
The words were a little stronger now, as though his father had regained some of his strength simply by Luke’s presence. Letting out a long sigh of relief, Luke pressed his father’s hand tightly, as tension drained away from him.
“Go to sleep, Father,” he murmured quietly. “I will be here when you awaken. You are going to be all right; I promise.”
10
“Now, enough of this nonsense,” Elizabeth heard whispered in her ear. “Do smile and stop pouting.”
“I am not pouting,” Elizabeth replied firmly. “I am upset.”
Her mother shook her head. “Be that as it may, you are not to allow anyone to guess your feelings, do you understand? A lady needs to hide such things away from the rest of the ton, for that is precisely how rumors start.”
Elizabeth gritted her teeth and tried not to let her mother’s words pierce her already heavy heart. “No one knows about Lord Mallon and me, except Miss Hetty Caldwell. There are no rumors to be spoken of.”
Her mother tossed her head, her grey curls bouncing. “I wish you had not told that young lady.”
“She is my friend, Mama, and I am grateful for her,” Elizabeth replied, glad that Hetty had called on her earlier that day. They had gone for a walk together in the park, and in desperate need of someone to talk to, Elizabeth had told the whole story of her engagement to Lord Mallon and his mysterious disappearance to her new friend. It was a sadness she had not yet relayed to her own mother, aware that the countess would most likely discount Lord Mallon’s absence as nothing to be concerned about.
However, Miss Caldwell had been both surprised and delighted, only to then grow sad at Lord Mallon’s strange absence. It had been a relief to tell someone, and Elizabeth knew she could trust Miss Caldwell not to say a word about the engagement to anyone. After all, a young lady knew how important a pristine reputation was to a lady of quality.
“Well, it is done, I suppose,” her mother sighed. “You look as though you are under a thundercloud, my dear. Smile and pretend that all is well.”
Elizabeth stepped into the ballroom and tried to find delight in the swirling dancers and the happy smiles. Unfortunately, she found her spirits fading still further. Lord Mallon had not come to call upon her two afternoons ago, and since then, she had not heard from him or seen him. It was as though he had vanished into the wind, blowing in all directions except her own.
Her heart was sore. Why had he not called? Why had he not responded to her note, which she had sent the day after his missed visit? She had thought that their meeting had gone well, that the kiss he had taken from her was a promise of his affections and consideration for her. So, why then had he disappeared entirely?
His words still ran around her mind, recalling how he had promised to court her until near the Season’s end, asking to propose to her a little sooner than they had both intended. Elizabeth felt a little embarrassed now to realize just how quickly she had agreed, just how overcome she had been. Had her effusions pushed him away? Had she been too overwhelming in revealing the depths of her desire for him?
He had kissed her, long and hard, with such a sweetness in his lips that she had felt herself melt into his arms. Surely, a gentleman could not kiss a lady in such a manner without truly feeling something for her? Elizabeth felt her cheeks flush with color, as she thought about how he had touched her, holding her so tightly and yet with such care. It had been a wonderful surprise to discover that the gentleman she had found impossible to get from her mind was none other than her betrothed. She had believed that he seemed equally as thrilled.
But, mayhap, she had misjudged hi
m. After all, she did not know him particularly well, and therefore, she could not automatically believe that all his words had been spoken with honesty and truth. Mayhap he was more of a rogue than she thought, enjoying the company of ladies and finding his conversations with her to be mysterious and exciting. Now that her identity had been revealed that excitement had faded and he had turned away from her. Perhaps he did not really want to marry after all, or certainly not so hastily.
Giving herself a mental shake, Elizabeth told herself to stop being so silly and to start thinking clearly. Lord Mallon was a man of honor, his father a respectable gentleman. There would be no reason for him to turn away from her now, not when the threat of bringing shame and embarrassment to his family name hung over his head! That was, of course, only pertinent if he cared about holding the family name in high honor. What if he did not? What if his respect for his father had been put on?
Elizabeth wanted to stomp her foot and scream, such was her confusion and frustration. She reasoned that, had he been called away on urgent business, he would have sent her a note informing her as much. He would not have left her alone without any notice of his intentions, surely? But, as yet, nothing had been received. Her heart was sore, grieving over his absence and over the already tainted affection building in her very being. She had thought the man easy to fall in love with, finding his handsome features stirring a passion in her she had never experienced before. And now, he was gone from her side, and she felt herself more than foolish.
“Lady Elizabeth?”
Training her gaze on the gentleman just in front of her, Elizabeth tried her best to put a bright smile on her face. “Ah, Lord Burroughs. How are you this evening?”
Lord Burroughs was a plump, friendly-looking gentleman with whom she had danced on a few occasions. He was standing next to another man she did not recognize, a man who was tall where Lord Burroughs was short, thin where Lord Burroughs was stout.
