by Joyce Alec
Luke was not so sure.
“Have you made arrangements to return home, Parke?” Luke asked directly, as his cousin sat opposite him and helped himself to a piece of toast.
Parke shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Yes, cousin. I should be away from here by the day after tomorrow.”
It was a day or two later than Luke would have liked, but he did not complain. He simply nodded. “Good.”
“And I shall repay you for those debts of mine you paid,” Parke continued hurriedly. “I know you did me a great service, and I should like to repay it.”
Luke considered this for a moment before agreeing to it. Parke’s late father would have wanted his son to pay for his debts, and if Luke did not insist on being repaid, then Parke would learn nothing. “Very good,” he said, nodding. “By the end of the quarter?”
Parke’s face paled even more, but he inclined his head regardless. “Yes, of course. You are very good to me, cousin.”
Luke tried to smile, but failed, his expression a little dark. He was not quite sure that he liked his cousin, and he certainly did not care for his behavior. The next few minutes passed in silence as they both ate, with Luke finishing the last of his coffee.
Luke rose from his chair, but he was interrupted by a scratch at the door. As the butler entered, Luke saw that he carried a note on a silver plate.
“Thank you,” Luke murmured, taking it from him and opening it at once. The note was short and to the point. As he read it, Luke felt the blood rush from his face, draining away until he felt both pale and sick at the same time.
“Goodness, cousin, whatever is the matter?” Parke exclaimed, as Luke lowered himself into a seat. “Has something terrible occurred?”
“My father,” Luke replied, his voice barely more than a whisper. “My father has had an accident.”
Parke stared at him for a moment, his eyes widening. “Your father?”
“I must go to him at once,” Luke said, one hand gripping his chair tightly. “I must leave this very morning.”
“Of course, of course,” Parke exclaimed, as Luke got unsteadily to his feet. “What can I do?”
Luke could not think, could not speak. All he could see was the letter in his hand, the news that his father was seriously ill making him unable to think clearly.
“The carriage wheel hit the ditch and tipped over,” he whispered, not answering Parke’s question. “My father was thrown from the carriage. Thank goodness they were near home and that he was able to be carried there. I cannot imagine what…”
Parke got out of his chair and came around to Luke’s side, grasping his arm and looking into his face. “Mallon, I will do whatever I can to help you, but you must tell me what that is,” he said firmly. “When do you plan to leave?”
“Now,” Luke said hoarsely. “I need to leave now. This very morning.”
Parke nodded, a slight frown on his face. “Do they say that he is seriously ill?”
Luke nodded, his fingers tightening on the letter. “His steward wrote this. He begs me to come at once. Father has not awakened since the accident.” He swayed just a little, weakness rushing through him. “I should have gone with him.”
To his credit, Parke shook his head. “Nonsense, Mallon. What good would you have done in going with him? There is no need for you to blame yourself in this situation, for none of this is your doing. It is an accident, that is all. Now, I will ring the bell, and you will order the butler to have a bag packed for you at once.”
Luke stared at Parke, trying to get his bearing. “Yes, yes. Of course.”
Parke left his side and rang the bell before coming back to the table. “And I will ensure that the carriage is adequately prepared for your departure. Do you have any arrangements that you will need to send your apologies to?”
It was as though his mind was nothing more than swirling fog. Luke could not find an answer to Parke’s question, not sure what it was he was meant to be doing or where he was meant to be going.
“Luke,” Parke said again, using his Christian name so that he might catch Luke’s attention. “Have you made arrangements to go to balls or the like, where I will need to make your apologies?” He walked towards the corner of the room and filled a glass with a small measure of brandy, which he handed to Luke.
“None that matter,” Luke replied with a shake of his head.
Parke handed him the glass, and Luke took a small sip, the liquor coursing through him and chasing away the weakness that had filled him. “No, wait…. There is Lady Elizabeth.”
“Lady Elizabeth?”
Luke nodded, about to answer, only for the butler to appear at the door. He took another fortifying sip before telling the butler exactly what had happened and what was required. The butler, who had been working for the family for a few years, looked equally horrified and stunned to the very core, stumbling over his words as he promised to have everything prepared for Luke within the hour.
Luke thanked him and asked that a footman bring him a piece of parchment, his quill, and ink. He needed to write a letter.
“Parke,” he said, as the parchment was placed before him with a silver tray containing the rest of the required implements set on the table. “I will need you to deliver this to Lady Elizabeth.”
“Lady Elizabeth?”
Realizing that he had not explained who the lady was, Luke nodded. “Lady Elizabeth Bolton, daughter to the Earl of Lewisham,” he explained, quietly. “She is my betrothed.”
Surprise registered in Parke’s eyes, for the engagement was not something that was well known.
“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. It 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.