by Marie Force
Her husband needed her, so Catherine pulled herself together and relieved Mrs. Langingham. “Go get some rest while you can,” she said to the older woman.
“I don’t think I could, Your Grace,” she said tearfully. “If you don’t mind my staying close by.”
“I don’t mind.” After hugging Mrs. Langingham, Catherine took her place by Derek’s side at the tub, leaning over to bathe his face and chest with the cool water, keeping at it until her knees and back ached.
Derek’s teeth chattered so hard that she worried he would break them.
Placing her hand over his heart, she felt it beating faster and stronger than it had been earlier. A check of his forehead indicated his fever had maybe come down a little.
“Let’s move him back to bed.”
The men came in to get him, and Catherine efficiently dried him and changed the wet towel covering him for a dry one. They settled him back in bed, and she bundled him with heavy quilts. Exhaustion tugged at her, but she bustled around the room, cleaning up soiled towels and clothing.
“I will take those, Your Grace,” Mrs. Langingham said.
“He seems slightly more comfortable, so we should get some rest while we can,” Catherine said.
“Yes, Your Grace. Please call for me if you need anything at all.”
“I will. Thank you for your help.”
Mrs. Langingham glanced at the duke. “I love him like my own. From the time he was a very little boy, he has been like a son to me.”
“He loves you just as much.”
“If anything were to happen to him . . .” She shook her head as her eyes welled with tears. “I’m sorry. Don’t mind me. Of course, he will recover.”
“Yes, he will,” Catherine said, wanting to comfort the other woman even if Mrs. Langingham’s despair added to her own. “I’m sure he’ll be much better very soon.”
“Let us pray it is so.” Mrs. Langingham took the soiled laundry and left Catherine alone with her desperately ill husband.
As she crawled into bed next to him and felt the heat radiating from him, she had reason to wonder if all the prayers in the world would be enough to save him.
* * *
“A fever, you say.” Anthony took a sip of his first morning tea and absorbed the news that had arrived through villagers traveling to town from Westwood Hall.
“Mr. and Mrs. Eagan have left to return to Essex to help tend to him,” James reported. “From what we were told by the messenger, His Grace is gravely ill.”
“Is he now? Well, isn’t that unfortunate.”
“I thought you might think so, my lord.”
“We should probably leave for Essex today to see if we might be of assistance to the duke and duchess.”
“As I expected you might wish to do so, my lord, I have begun to pack.”
“Excellent, James. If the worst were to happen, it would be wise for me to be nearby when I am needed,” Anthony said, filled with a gleeful feeling of destiny. “Order the carriage. We will set out within the hour.”
* * *
After another long day in the sick room, Catherine was ready to fall over from exhaustion, and Derek was no better.
Simon and Madeleine arrived at six o’clock that evening.
“We came as soon as we heard,” Simon said, walking right up to Derek’s bed and smoothing his hand over his cousin’s blazing forehead. “Dear God. He’s burning up.”
“He has been for almost a day now,” Catherine replied.
“What can we do?” Madeleine asked.
“The doctor was here again earlier and said there is nothing we can do but keep him dry and comfortable.”
“Surely there has to be something else we can do,” Simon said with desperation that matched Catherine’s.
“There isn’t.” She’d had all day to think about how she would spend the rest of her life if her husband were to die, which was a very real possibility that she’d had no choice but to entertain during the course of that endless day. Whether he lived or died, she would forever regret the way she’d behaved since finding out about his title.
She had been an awful shrew to a man who’d done nothing but try to help her from the moment they first met.
His deception had hurt her, but his love had saved her.
When she should’ve shown him gratitude, she had given him nothing but enmity.
“I am so ashamed,” she whispered.
Madeleine came instantly to her side, wrapping her arms around her sister. “Whatever for?”
“For the way I have treated a man who has given me nothing but love and care since the day we met.”
“Please don’t do this to yourself.” Madeleine smoothed ratty strands of hair back from Catherine’s forehead. “You had every right to be upset about the things he kept from you.”
“All he asked of me was that I call him by his true name,” Catherine said as tears slid down her cheeks. “I couldn’t even give him that.”
“You will. When he wakes up and returns to himself, you will call him by his name every day for the rest of your lives.”
“What if he doesn’t wake up?”
“He will,” Simon said, continuing to stroke Derek’s damp hair. “He’s far too stubborn to die.”
He said what she needed to hear, but she heard the uncertainty in the way his voice wavered.
“When was the last time you ate or slept?” Madeleine asked.
“I don’t know. The staff has brought me food, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to eat.”
Madeleine sprang into action, drawing a bath for Catherine and tending to her as if she were her maid, washing and rinsing her hair, and then drying her before helping her into a night rail, Madeleine’s every movement matter-of-fact and filled with love and affection. While Catherine sat staring into the flames of the fire they had built to warm the shivering duke, Madeleine dried and brushed her hair. They were no sooner finished when Mrs. Langingham appeared with a tray that contained tea and toast and scrambled eggs.
Catherine ate without tasting anything, more to appease the others than for herself. When she’d eaten as much as she could keep down, she thanked them and crawled back into bed with Derek, holding him and trying to offer comfort through periods of shivering followed by thrashing bouts of sweats.
“Easy, my love.” She ran yet another cool cloth over his face. “I am here, and I love you. I love you, Derek. Please don’t leave me. I need you so much. We have to find the key and see the pyramids and venture to America. We need to see if the Wright brothers succeed in building a flying machine and whether Sir Green is successful in Africa. I don’t want to do any of those things without you.”
As she spoke, she noticed that he seemed to settle somewhat, so she kept it up. She spent hours reading to him from the books the staff brought from the library, telling him of the places she wanted to experience with him, the children they would have and how beautiful they would be.
“They will be the most beautiful children ever born, and we will love them and protect them always. We will teach our firstborn son to be a forward-thinking duke in the tradition of his father. He will need you to show him the way. If he’s even half the man you are, he will be a son we can be proud of.”
Derek whimpered as a tear slid down his cheek.
Heartbroken, Catherine wiped it away and pressed her lips to his, which were dry and cracked from the fever. Caressing his face, she said, “I love you, Derek. Please come back to me. You have ruined me for anyone else but my beautiful duke.”
She talked to him until she was hoarse and parched, but she never stopped telling him how much she loved him or how desperately she needed him, Derek, the love of her life. Leaning her head against his chest, she accepted that if he died she would never get over losing him.
* * *
While Simon handled estate business in Derek’s stead, Madeleine wandered the winding hallways of the massive manor house, wishing to familiarize herself with her new
home. She was restless and out of sorts as the household held its collective breath, hoping the duke would recover. Earlier, she’d looked in on Catherine. She’d been sleeping next to Derek, who seemed less agitated than he’d been the night before.
Clinging to that small bit of hope, Madeleine walked through the portrait gallery as well as the conservatory where the outdoors had been brought inside with lush greenery and intricate rock gardens.
She went up a small flight of stairs and down a long hallway toward a set of open double doors where the raised voices of two men drew her attention. Ducking into an alcove, she held her breath and listened to what they were saying about the duke.
“The doctor said that when the fever lasts this long, people rarely survive.”
“That is very good news indeed,” the other man said. His voice was more refined than the first one. “It’ll save us from having to take matters into our own hands—again. If only he’d been with his parents the way he was supposed to have been, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I would’ve been the duke twenty-four years ago, the way I should’ve been.”
Madeleine suppressed a gasp as she realized she was hearing Simon’s father confess to having killed Derek’s parents. Filled with horror, she couldn’t move or breathe or do anything other than stand there and listen as the two men reminisced about the details of what they’d done more than two decades ago.
“Hopefully, nature will take care of things for us this time,” Simon’s father said, sounding elated. “Our patience will be rewarded.”
“Indeed, Your Grace,” the other man said.
“I like how that sounds, James.”
“You’ve waited long enough for the respect you deserve, Your Grace.”
“Yes, I have.” Two glasses clinked together. “This might also be a good time for my poor, sick wife to come down with the same fatal fever that will kill our dear nephew.”
“Is a double dose in order for Lady Eagan today?”
“Make it a triple. Let’s not leave anything to chance when we’re this close to having it all, my friend. Perhaps by the day’s end everything will be sorted to our satisfaction.”
Feeling sick, Madeleine couldn’t bear to hear another word. She darted from the safety of her alcove and ran as fast as she could with skirts hampering her progress, the whole time fearing that someone was going to grab her from behind. Her heart beat so fast she feared it would explode before she reached the landing below.
Desperate to find Simon, she took several wrong turns before she found the stairs that led to Derek’s first-floor office. She opened four doors before she burst into the office where Simon was meeting with Jack Bancroft.
Simon stood and came around the desk. “What is it, my dear? What has you so agitated?”
“I . . . I heard something.”
Simon took her by the hand and led her to a love seat, putting his arm around her. “Tell me what has you so upset.”
“I heard a man.”
“What man?”
“Your father.”
“How do you know it was him? You haven’t met him yet.”
“I know because of what he was saying about Derek and his parents.”
Simon went perfectly still. “What about his parents?”
She choked on a sob. “He . . . He said Derek was supposed to be with them when he killed them.”
In a tone she had never before heard from her husband, Simon said, “And you are certain you heard him say that?”
She nodded. “The other man was calling him Your Grace because Derek is going to die, and he will finally be the duke.”
“Dear God,” Jack said, his voice barely more than a whisper.
“There’s more,” Madeleine said, wiping tears from her face. “Your mother . . .”
“What about her?”
“He told the other man to give her triple the usual dose, so she would appear to succumb to the same fever as the duke.”
“Triple dose of what?”
“He didn’t say.”
Simon sat very still for a long moment during which Madeleine couldn’t imagine what he must be thinking. Then he glanced at Bancroft. “Please notify my father that I’d like to see him in the duke’s office immediately, and after he is with me, take his valet, James, into custody.”
“Yes, sir,” Bancroft said.
“Don’t tell him why. Just say it’s urgent.”
“As you wish, sir.” Bancroft left the room.
“I need you to go upstairs to our rooms and stay there until I come for you, do you understand?” he asked, more serious than she had ever seen him.
“What is going to happen, Simon?” she asked, fearing for his safety.
“I’m going to do something that should’ve been done years ago.”
“Let’s call the magistrate or someone who can help us. I fear he will kill you.”
“He wouldn’t dare.”
“He’s killed before! What would stop him from doing it again?”
“I will kill him before he ever has the chance to kill me. Now, please go, my love. If there’s to be trouble, I don’t want you anywhere near it.”
“Simon—”
He silenced her with a kiss. “Go, please.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too. I’ll come find you as soon as I can.”
It took every ounce of fortitude that Madeleine could summon to force herself to stand and leave the room. Glancing back over her shoulder, she met Simon’s gaze before leaving the room and rushing up the stairs to wait for him.
As she went, she prayed that wouldn’t be the last time she ever saw her sweet husband.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
At first, Simon couldn’t believe what he heard, but as his wife’s words had permeated the shock, he found that he wasn’t as surprised as he should’ve been to learn that his father had been involved in the deaths of the duke and the duchess.
He took a series of deep breaths to calm himself before he squared off with the father who had caused him nothing but pain and suffering his entire life. Nothing Simon had ever done was good enough for his father, so he’d long ago stopped trying to please the man who couldn’t be pleased by the son he disdained.
Simon asked himself—what would Derek do? His cousin had suffered so terribly over the tragic loss of his beloved parents, so Simon figured Derek would’ve probably taken Anthony outside, shot him in the driveway and then buried him somewhere he’d never be found. Perhaps it was fortuitous that Simon was forced to stand in his cousin’s stead at this critical moment in the history of their troubled family.
When his father appeared in the doorway to the office ten minutes later, Simon was ready for him.
“Come in, Father.”
“You beckoned,” Anthony said in the disgusted tone he often used to speak to his only child. Simon was so accustomed to the tone that it barely registered with him anymore.
“I did.”
“What do you want? And who do you think you are using this office while the duke is indisposed?”
“I am the duke’s closest friend and confidant. I am acting in his stead the way he would want me to.”
“Such a sad, little nobody jumping into the duke’s grave before he’s even cold. You know what the worst part of inheriting his title will be? That one day it’ll go to you, a weak, pitiful excuse for a man.”
“That may be so, but at least I don’t resort to murdering innocent people in a failed attempt to take things that don’t belong to me the way you do.”
Anthony sneered at him. “What’re you talking about?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Too bad Derek wasn’t with his parents that night the way he was supposed to be. Then you might’ve gotten rid of all of them at the same time. That’s how you meant it to happen, right, Father?”
The tendon in Anthony’s neck throbbed the way it did before he snapped. What used to frighten Simon senseless no longer had any e
ffect on him. “Who told you that?”
“What does it matter? It’s the truth, is it not? You killed Derek’s parents, and you’ve been drugging Mother for years to keep her out of your way.”
“You can’t prove any of this.”
“Yes, I can. You were overheard saying as much. As we speak, Mr. Bancroft is taking James into custody. If it’s a choice between his neck or yours, which neck do you think he will choose to protect?”
Anthony was apoplectic. “He wouldn’t dare speak a word! He knows I’d cut the tongue out of his mouth!”
“You can’t very well do that if you’re not here.”
“What does that mean?”
“You have one hour to pack your clothing and depart from this house. You are permanently banned from ever stepping foot onto this or any other property owned by the duke. You will leave England and stay gone. Forever.”
“You and what army will get me out of here?”
Bancroft appeared at the doorway to the office with every man who worked on the estate standing behind him.
Simon looked his father in the eye, hoping his hatred came through in every word he said. “The people who faithfully serve the duke will see you removed bodily if it should come to that.”
“You do not have the authority to make such decisions.”
“I am doing it anyway. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect my cousin and what’s rightfully his.”
“And when he dies?”
“He’s not going to die.”
Anthony snorted. “Wishful thinking.”
“Get out, Father.” Simon had never felt rage so powerful in all his life. “Go far, far away so none of us ever has to see your wretched face again. If I ever hear of you returning, I will hunt you down and kill you with my own hands. Is there any part of that you don’t understand?”
Anthony engaged in a staring standoff with his son that ended when Anthony looked away. “You will not get away with this.”
“You have fifty-eight minutes. I suggest you use them wisely.”
With a filthy look for his son, Anthony spun around and headed for the door.