The Wayward Heir

by Kelly Anne Bruce

  Someone was talking, he could hear the voice but he could not understand the words. His body felt heavy and his mind was clouded, flooded with a series of images that made no sense to him.

  Opening his eyes took considerable effort he suddenly remembered being in a strange room without the strength to move. Surely it had been a dream, he thought to himself. When he tried a sit up he was unable to and he began to panic once more.

  Something must have happened, but what? Maybe he could ask whoever was in the room. The voice sounded familiar and he remembered the angel. It was then that he wondered if he had died. The vague memory of immense pain and then falling to the ground played at the edges of his mind.

  He forced his eyes up and tried to talk but his mouth was dry, his voice sounding like the growl of a dog. Frustrated he swallowed and tried to clear his throat. Almost immediately he felt someone beside him. Philip heard the light voice but did not understand. She held his head and put a cup to his lips and he drank feeling the cool liquid soothe his parched throat. After a moment, she took the cup away. He looked up at his helper she was dressed in white and she was flooded in bright light.

  “Am I dead?” He heard himself ask his voice still raspy. His eyes were closing but he saw her shake her head and felt her reach for his hand before he drifted off yet again.

  When he opened his eyes again he was lying on his back the smell of straw and horses filling his lungs. He looked up to see James standing over him. Philip struggled to get up as James yelled at him.

  “You are a disgrace to the Castborough title. I deserve to be the heir.”

  Philip tried to reach out to him, but James faded into the darkness. The last thing he saw from his brother was a scowl.

  Then, he found himself in the ballroom at Castborough. Everyone was talking and laughing as music played in the background. He was leading someone onto the dance floor but when he looked back to see who, she had disappeared. The people in the ballroom had stopped to look at him, the quiet conversation and laughter turned to shouting. People were pointing at him and one by one they turned their back on him and then disappeared.

  James and Elizabeth were the only two people who remained in the ballroom. James continued to scowl and shook his head before taking Elizabeth’s hand and leading her away.

  The room descended into darkness and Philip woke up suddenly gasping, fighting the blanket that covered him. The room was dark and empty. He was now certain he had not died. His dream was surely a sign that he was to die soon though. He must make amends before he left his mortal life behind.

  It was quite evident that he could get nothing accomplished whilst lying in a strange bed. He mustered all his strength to roll over. Groaning as he nearly rolled off the bed, one leg slipping to the ground, heavy and weak. He wondered if he would have the strength to stand. Shaking his head, he tried again. It did not matter, he would crawl if he had to, he would not die alone in a strange room with unfinished business weighing on his heart.

  Philip held his breath as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. It seemed as though many minutes had passed and the effort had been immense. He was just about to push away from the bed when the door opened. A woman appeared, she gasped and said, “Oh my goodness. What are you doing?”

  He could understand her and she spoke English perfectly, perhaps he was back in England and not in Paris as he had originally thought. It was of no matter though, he still needed to get out of there.

  As if reading his mind, she said, “You need to get back into bed.”

  “No,” he argued trying to stand up. “I need to go.”

  “Nonsense!” She put her hands on his shoulders and easily pushed him back onto the bed.

  “No,” he repeated and struggled to get up but her strength surprised him and he fell back against the pillows exhausted. Finally, frustrated he asked, “Where am I? What am I being kept here?”

  “Kept here?” She asked with a frown. “Philip, you are very ill. Do you not remember?”

  She had called him by name. Her voice was familiar but she was too far away for him to see her plainly. “Where am I? Who are you?”

  “Philip, you are at Stratford Manor in Brighton.”

  She moved closer laying a wet cloth on his forehead. “It is Caroline. Do you remember me?”

  “Caroline,” he repeated slowly. She leaned even closer her blue eyes a sudden comfort. It was then that he began to remember a little more. Vague glimpses of being in the coach with Fallbrooke, talking to Caroline at the stables, and the horrible headaches.

  “Am I going to die?”

  “Of course not,” she said her voice clear and definite but she looked away and Philip knew she was lying.

  “I need to go, I cannot stay here.”

  “Of course, you can stay here. In fact, you must. You are still quite ill.”

  “No,” he protested. “There are things I must do before I die.”

  She began to interrupt him, but he went on. “I need to make amends. Does my family know that I am here?”

  “Yes, a message was sent and they are very worried.”

  “I pray someone arrives in time.”

  “Philip, I have told you that you will live. The physician has assured us that you will only improve.”

  Philip shook his head. “Please do not feel that you need to lie to me, dear Caroline.”

  Caroline let out a sigh. “Perhaps I could write down a letter for you to send to your family. Would that allay your concerns?”

  “Yes, it would. Thank you.”

  Chapter Eight

  “It is good to see that you have improved so much,” Caroline said as she came into the room. Her mood seemed as bright as the lemon-yellow dress she wore. “It makes me happy.”

  Philip scowled at her. “Improved? I do not think you know of what you speak. As for happy, I cannot say that I feel the same.”

  “Oh hush,” she told him sitting down in the chair next to the bed. “I have been by your side since you fell ill. I most definitely know what I am talking about.”

  Philip wanted to scream at her but for some reason, he stopped and took a deep breath. “I do not feel improved at all. I will agree that I am better than when I did nothing but sleep, but here I am too weak to move about like a normal man.”

  “You must give yourself time. It has been nearly three weeks since you collapsed in the library and only two days since you awakened from your fever. It will take some time for you to heal and regain your strength.”

  He knew she was right. It did not seem to matter though as anger and frustration seemed to be all he could manage. He was no longer delirious but he barely possessed the strength to sit up in the bed.

  “I do not want to wait. I see no improvement as I cannot move from this bed. I am useless.”

  “Oh nonsense,” Caroline dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “You are much improved. I was there when you could not even swallow clear broth. I had to spoon it into your mouth half a spoonful at a time. You should be very thankful.”

  Thankful? He would never be thankful. He hated being weak, it was quite distressing to him that Caroline has seen him in such a weakened state. He did not like that she did not see him as strong and capable. The mere thought of it made him angry.

  “I shall make arrangements to leave for London as soon as possible.” He folded his arms and smiled smugly at her.

  She furrowed her eyebrows and nodded. “Yes, quite right. You need to go make amends.”

  “Amends? What the devil are you talking about?” He demanded his voice gruff with exasperation.

  Her blue eyes fairly glittered as she said, “When you were sick with a fever you feared you would die before you were able to make amends to your family and others. When you did speak, you uttered nothing but those words.”

  “I certainly did not,” he retorted and she laughed. Laughed. She was teasing him, that was for sure, but he had a vague recollection of worrying about not seeing his family and
dying alone. He tried to remember but his memory was hazy. Uncertain as to how to respond he simply said, “I was delirious with a fever I could have made any number of nonsensical claims. Anyone who believes the ramblings of a feverish man should rethink their opinion.”

  “Quite true,” she agreed thoroughly. “You were quite relieved when I agreed to write down a letter from you to send to your family.”

  Philip froze. While she had been teasing him before he was certain that she was rather serious about the letter. Had she really sent a letter to his family? He had no idea what it might have said. His distress turned to anger the more he thought about it.

  “A letter seems to have made no difference.”

  She had just opened the large book on her lap and she looked up from the book to his face. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that my family has abandoned me.” Philip tried to sit higher up in the bed but could not move, finally giving up with a frustrated groan. “They did not see fit to come see me when they found out I have fallen ill. That proves sending a letter made no difference at all.”

  “Philip, your family has not abandoned you.” She said quietly closing the book.

  “How can you say that?” He raised a hand when she started to speak. “No, Caroline, I do not want your pity.”

  “It was not pity I was about to offer.” She stopped and frowned. “While there is a part of me that wants to let you stew over this I must tell you that your family did come to see you while you were delirious.”

  “I do not believe you,” he said staring out the window.

  “Whether you believe me or not it is no consequence to me. It certainly does not change the fact that two of your siblings visited Stratford. They stayed here for nearly a week.”

  Philip grunted in reply, his throat thick with emotion that he dared not reveal to Caroline.

  She turned in her chair gesturing to the door. “Shall I go collect Birks from the stable to tell you I am being truthful?”

  “No,” Philip answered.

  “No?”

  “No, I would not believe him, either.” Philip gave her a haughty look, trying to hide the grin that threatened to come out. “He would surely lie for you.”

  Caroline let out a bark of laughter. “You clearly have not met Birks then.”

  Philip shook his head. “I suppose I shall be forced to believe you.”

  “Well, if you must,” she said with a dramatic side. “Your parents were unable to come. Your father was in London dealing with Parliament business and your mother had been sick with a cough. Matthew and Henrietta came to Stratford, although only Matthew was allowed to see you. He sat by your side nearly constantly.”

  Philip scowled again. “Why not Henrietta as well?”

  “She had been tending to your mother before she left Castborough and the doctor was concerned about her getting sick herself. It was decided she would not be allowed to see you, for her own health.”

  “Is she well?” He asked. “And my mother?”

  “In the last letter that I received from Henrietta, she said that she was well and that your mother had recovered fully.”

  “I am glad to hear it.”

  “I was as well. Mr Notley has said that it is possible that the fever affected you alone, as no one else has come down with it.”

  “That is good. I would not want anyone else to be sick. It had occurred to me last night that your young brothers might come down with it.”

  “It was a concern but much was done to keep them separated. Especially after you had rescued them from the lanes.”

  “That was more Fallbrooke than I,” Philip said and then paused suddenly realizing the absence of his friend. “What happened to Fallbrooke?”

  Caroline grimaced. “He left the night you collapsed in the library. In fact, we believe he may have been in the library when you fell ill. Several people saw him leave the darkened room during the card party.”

  “I cannot believe it,” Philip muttered.

  “I do not know how that could surprise you. That man is reprehensible.”

  Philip turned back to face her. “What is it about Fallbrooke that you dislike so much?”

  “He is a rake and a coward.”

  Philip shook his head in confusion. Then he remembered what Bannerman had said at the card party. “What has he done to you?”

  “He killed the man I was to marry.”

  Chapter Nine

  “He what?”

  “He killed Nathaniel Lymington, the man I was going to marry.”

  “I have known Fallbrooke since I was a boy and I have never known him to be violent. In fact, he goes out of his way to avoid any conflict at all.”

  Caroline had no doubt that Philip was telling the truth. “It was not violence committed by Lord Fallbrooke but his lack of action that killed Nathaniel.”

  “I am truly sorry for your loss. I had heard a tragedy had occurred but knew nothing of what had happened.”

  “Nathaniel had only just asked for my hand a month before. We were waiting for the Christmas holiday to have passed before the Banns were posted.” Caroline looked away from Philip not wanting to see the pity in his eyes. “Nathaniel and Lord Fallbrooke had become recent friends. Nathaniel was still expected to attend the parties and balls but only did so to be gracious. He would often leave the party early.”

  “Which Fallbrooke does as well,” Philip finished.

  “Yes, quite right. Fallbrooke invited him to White’s one night and they began to escape the parties together.”

  “One night in late January, Nathaniel must have been quite pickled because they left White’s and proceeded to walk to Mayfair rather than take the coach that was waiting for them. Nobody knows for sure what happened but Nathaniel was found the next day face down in the snow, not a scratch on him but cold as ice.”

  “I am truly sorry.”

  Caroline shook her head wanting to finish before he interrupted again. “Weeks later I learned that Fallbrooke was heard talking about that night. He said that Nathaniel had tripped and fallen into the snow. Lord Fallbrooke kept going knowing that Nathaniel had passed out in the snow. He assumed that Nathaniel would wake up soon and make it to his house in Mayfair on his own.”

  Caroline was still so angry at Lord Fallbrooke for not caring. For being so apathetic that he would let someone die in the snow. She had confronted him once and he had said nothing shrugging off her questions and outrage. He had acted as though he had no idea of what she was speaking.

  “I am quite sure that Fallbrooke—”

  “Abandoned Nathaniel just as he did you in the library? Yes, I am quite sure of that, as well.”

  Philip pressed lips together and turned to look out the window. Caroline felt bad for pointing out that Fallbrooke had left him sick and helpless after he had collapsed. It must be a great disappointment to find out your friend abandoned you in your moment of need.

  She was about to say something when a knock sounded on the door. Caroline opened the door to see one of the servants from the kitchen standing with a tray of food. “Oh, Rosemary, I can take that.”

  “Can I bring you anything else?” Rosemary asked with a shy smile.

  “No. This is perfect. Thank you.” Caroline took the tray and set it on the table next to the bed.

  “Lovely. Another bowl of broth and one more boiled egg,” Philip complained his voice dripping with disdain.

  Caroline paused before picking up the tray to take back to the door. “I offer my apologies. I thought you were growing tired of broth and boiled eggs. It had the cook make a beef stew with potatoes.” Philip started to respond but she shook her head sternly. “I will send this tray back and have them bring more broth then another egg straight away.”

  She had almost gotten to the door when Philip finally said, “Do not dare do that.”

  Slowly, Caroline stopped in the middle of the room. “Oh? You have changed your mind about the luncheon fare?”

  Philip l
et out a long-suffering sigh. “Just bring the blasted tray over here.”

  “Oh, yes. Of course,” she said in a mocking tone, caring not what he thought. She well understood his frustration with being sick but she could not abide by his continual whining and complaining.”

  Philip ate several bites of the stew and then leaned back against the pillows. “What I would give for a thick slab of beef and a glass of whiskey.”

  Caroline and frowned. “Is there something amiss with the stew?”

  “No,” Philip replied mirroring her look of confusion. “It is quite delicious.”

  “Then, why, may I ask, are you complaining about wanting something different?”

  Philip looked even more confused opening his mouth only to close it again having said nothing.

  “Philip, be grateful for what you have in front of you. Always looking for something better is a fool’s errand and eventually you will find that nothing or no one is good enough.”

  He harrumphed.

  “That would be a very lonely life indeed.”

  Philip placed the barely eaten bowl back on the tray. “I am no longer hungry.”

  “You are acting like a child.”

  “I am the heir to the Duke of Castborough. You cannot speak to me in that manner.”

  Caroline stood up and pointed at him. “I do not care if you are Prince Regent himself. Be quiet and eat your stew.” She nearly screamed at him. Philip looked shocked but he picked up the bowl and began to eat.

  She blew out a slow breath before saying, “You cannot continue to always be so angry. So difficult in everything.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Stop complaining about what you cannot change and look to what you can change. You waste so much time trying to find someone to blame, for every little injustice. All while ignoring the moments that you should be so thankful for.” She did not want to lecture him like a governess but she truly wanted him to understand. “Philip, you should be thankful that you are alive.”