“Deborah, what do you speak of? What ails Father?”
She looked up at him with wonder in her eyes as though he had just gone mad.
“My Lord. What is this? Do you not know of His Grace’s illness? Four moons now, he has been bed ridd’n. I hear the physician is not positive at all.”
Nicholas’s head reeled at this. His father, bedridden? How come he knew nothing of this?
“Where is he? Where is my father?”
She looked as confused as he was. “In his bedchamb’rs. Where els’? His physician, Mr Wimpletton is up there too. Says he needs be examined again.” The confusion vanished as the sadness returned. Bowing her head, she pouted. “All these proddin’ and pryin’ I only want My Lord to get some rest and be healthy aga’n.”
Nicholas barely heard the last part. He was already racing up the staircase in a wild chase. His heart thudded with fear at what he might find in his father’s bedchambers.
A few minutes later, he arrived, and the sight he met shook him. Deborah’s words had been true. The maid had not only been blabbing after all. There on the king-size poster bed, he almost could not see his father until he stepped closer. Even as he did, he could not recognise the man he saw there. This man was a shadow of the man he called Father. The man he loved. The man who had taken him on his first hunt, taught him how to shoot birds in the sky. The man who had bought him his first books, hired the best tutors, and invested in his dreams. The man on this bed bore no resemblance.
His father had a thick build, he was tall, his skin was bronzed from many months at sea, under the sun. This man, this man was white as a sheet, lean, pale, and frail. As he stepped closer, his heart broke further. By the time he got to the edge of the bed, he could hardly feel his heart beat. It sounded far away, so far away. Tears pooled in his eyes, but he willed himself not to shed a single one. He was a man. Men do not cry. He felt the seven pairs of eyes on him, but the only one that mattered was his father’s.
“What is this?
Nicholas hoped. He hoped that his father would tell him this was some sort of play, that he had lost a wager and had to perform theatrics; alas, that was not the case. When his father spoke, even with a strained smile on his face, his voice sounded so broken.
“Ahh. Nicholas. You finally find out the secret we have been keeping for months. I told you he would, Elizabeth.” His mother broke into a sob then, and he glanced at her for a brief moment before returning his gaze to his father. Right now, his old man was all that mattered.
“What secret? What is this? I met you only four days ago,Father, you looked as healthy as a horse. Tell me this that I see with my eyes is untrue and is nothing but a cruel trick.”
“Come,” Henry Stamford beckoned, taking great pains to lift his hands in a summons. Nicholas moved again until he was by his father’s side and holding those hands. The tears he had fought against dropped then, and he did not even bother to wipe them away.
Smiling, his father addressed the doctor.
“Are you done, Wimpletton?”
So this was the man Deborah had spoken of, Nicholas wondered as he took in the tall, lanky man in a white coat, a stethoscope around his neck.
“Yes, My Lord. I shall return tomorrow to check on your health. These medicines should offer you some improvement. Now that we know for sure what ails you, we have hope to battle and win this. You shall have these relapses, occasionally. I pray thee, do not hesitate to send for me. They are only to be expected, but I would still like to be kept informed about every change. I hope to meet you in better health tomorrow, Your Grace. With your permission, I shall take my leave.”
“We are eternally in your debt, Wimpletton. Our gratitude knows no bounds. We shall do as you say. You may go. Everyone else, leave us.”
One by one, servants and physician, they bowed and curtsied before turning to leave, until it was only himself, his father, and his mother left in the room.
“Take a seat, Nicholas. I would rather prefer it if you were not standing over me with tears in your eyes. I live still; this is not my coffin.”
Aghast, he stared at his father, contemplating if he had heard well. How could he make such jokes about his death, so easily? How could he throw the heart wrenching words around so freely?
“Father, I am certain I do not find that amusing. However, since I understand what you are trying to say, I shall do as you wish.”
“Ever the charming and obedient son. You have made me proud, Nicholas. Through and through If I am to indeed leave this world, I require only one wish from you. It happens to be that which you are already on your way to fulfill.”
Everything fell into place then, every piece of a puzzle he had not even known existed, and he finally understood. The sudden interest in a marriage for him. The flu his father had used as an excuse when he enquired about his health. It had all been because of this.
“I met with Deborah. She informed me that this has been going on for four months. Why did no one think to tell me? Did you not consider for once that I would love to know that I may lose my father soon? That I would be grateful to spend last moments with him? How can you be so cruel?” His voice too sounded so broken that he almost didn’t realise it was coming from him. He had no strength to be angry. No strength to shout. Taking this in was draining every ounce of energy in him. He had known his father would not live forever, but never had he considered that he would be gone so soon. To think that no one had deemed it fit to tell him. He felt betrayed.
When they remained quiet, he demanded,“Will no one give me answers? Do I not at least, deserve that? To think if I had not decided to call on you this morning, I would never have known. When were you hoping to tell me of this?”
It was his mother who answered, and for the first time that morning, he saw her. She too had lost a few pounds of weight. She too looked so frail, so fragile. It was clear that she suffered just as much. His heart softened as he imagined what this would be doing to her. He knew that his mother and father loved each other dearly. To lose a loved one to death, to never see them again... He only had to contemplate the possibility of never spending his life with Eleanor to feel his heart ache. That, was nothing in comparison to this. It paled greatly.
“We did not want to trouble you, Nicholas. It did not seem fair. You are so young and living your life. There was no sense in dragging you into this.”
“He is my father, Mother. In every sense of the word. You would have got no complaints from me. None, whatsoever. However, what is done is done. I forgive you both.” She looked up at him, and he offered her a small smile before returning his attention to his father.
“Thank you, Nicholas. If there is anything I thank the Virgin for, it is the fact that she made it possible for me to raise you right. I truly am proud of the man you have become. It is my greatest achievement.”
“Like I always saw Father, it was easy to become this man, while looking up to a man like you. What does M Wimpletton have to say?”
The smiles that they just exchanged were gone immediately as weariness replaced them.
“The diagnosis which has only recently been made is not good. He says by all counts it looks like cancer. A very terrible disease. An extensive study is yet to be carried out on it, and there are definite causes of treatment yet. Therefore, the prognosis is not quite sunny either. Nevertheless, Wimpletton is positive that he may just be able to crack this.”
“Do you trust him?”
“With my life.”
“How much money will we need?”
“Nothing that we do not have in excess. All is being taken care of, Son. Worry not about this. If I live or die, the Lord already knows. All I want, is to live these last days in happiness, to see you married and settled down as a man of your age should be.”
Nicholas heaved a deep sigh then, aware that there was truly no way out of this. How? How could he refuse a dying man’s wishes? How would he find the courage to do this wickedness? He was doomed. His love for Ele
anor would never be allowed to blossom. Regardless, right now, his father’s happiness mattered more to him. This man had sacrificed so much for him. Surely, he could do the same.
“I know you have your reservations, but Agnes is a wonderful young lady. There shall be no regrets, whatsoever. You will see. Just give it a chance, Nicholas. I am afraid I do not have that much time to let you begin a search, all over again.”
His father’s words sunk deep into his soul, leaving a hole, an indelible mark. Left with no choice, he heard himself say.
“I will.”
Chapter 17
Three days after the ball and that terrible mistake of kissing Nicholas – or more accurately, letting him kiss her, Eleanor decided it was finally time to forgive herself and halt her isolation. So, she called the maids in and had them dress her up in a suitable day dress. If she got too bored, she would take a walk into the garden and perch on a seat as she read more books. Never mind the sun, her parasol would come in handy.
As she reached the doors of the drawing room where she knew her sisters were, she readied herself to come face to face with Agnes. She was a terrible person, she knew this. Facing Agnes since that kiss had been torture. Every time her sister looked at her, she feared she would see right through her facade, her lies, to her betrayal. Bloody hell! Why had she let Nicholas kiss her? So powerfully, so wonderfully, eroding her senses, making her want more taste of the forbidden fruit that was her sister’s husband to be.
Stop it! she chided. She was doing it again, reminiscing her first kiss. Revelling in the strange but wonderful sensations it had made her feel. She could not deny that she had enjoyed every bit of it. Every meeting of tongues, every nibble. The throbbing she had felt in her secret parts. The parts that saw no sunlight.
When he had started to taunt her that night, at first, she had been too angry to find a suitable retort. Then he stepped closer, and she lost her ability to speak, overwhelmed by his nearness. When he lifted her face and began to lower his head, she had known what was coming. The fact that she was inexperienced did not mean she had no knowledge of how these things happen. She was no naiveté; the novels she read made certain of that. Still, when he had tugged her face upwards, and she looked into those hooded thunderclouds, there was nothing she could do, nothing she could say. She had felt paralysed, until his lips captured hers.
At once, like the swelling tides, she was carried away into bouts of waves. At first, she flailed, then she got a hang of it and began to ride. As she did, her excitement grew, and she hungered for more...more what, she did not know.
Thank goodness for the rude awakening. If her senses had not returned when he handled her arse, she feared so much more would have happened in the library that night. Then, she would have packed a light luggage and run away, for never again would she have been able to look at Agnes, ever.
Shaking her head as if that would rid her of her shameful thoughts, she entered the drawing room. Her sisters were seated, and so was her mother. They were all busy with needlework but looked up upon her presence.
“Ah. She finally steps foot out of her chambers. I was starting to think we would have to send a legion to get you out.”
“A bright morning to you too, Mother. I do hope you had a good rest last night,” came her obtrusive reply. She was in no mood to serve as amusement for her mother, never had been, never would be.
“Eleanor Mary Birmingham. Are you trying to insinuate something?”
Oh. The full name. She battled with her eyes which instinctively wanted to roll themselves. That would only get her into more trouble. She simply should have kept her mouth shut.
“Not at all, Mother. I was only offering polite talk. Pleasantries, if you would. I for one, had a night that could have gone better. Howbeit, I am hopeful that this morning will be better off. A little peace and quiet would be received with utmost gratitude.”
She heard her sisters snicker, and she resisted the urge to smile, especially when her mother looked so taken aback. She never really dared to talk to her mother this way. Agnes was the outspoken one. And Isabelle? She was what one would call eccentric. She scarcely ever got put off by anything, but once she did, she never hesitated to air her mind. She? She was the quiet girl who wanted to be at peace with everyone. That morning was an exception. Her emotions were all over the place, and she would rather be left alone. Yet, feeling that she had taken it too far, she sighed.
“I apologise, Mother. As I said, I did not get a good sleep.”
She heard her mother click her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she returned to her sewing.
“You would have if you showed your face in public more often. For the life of me, I cannot fathom how I came about you three. One is outrightly hard-headed, the other is simply outrageous and impossible, and the last is a recluse. I have lived a good life. I wonder why someone has it bad for me.”
As her mother whined, she and her sisters shared looks. Her chest tightened when she looked at Agnes. Still, she kept a cheeky smile on her face, betraying nothing. It was Isabelle who spoke for them.
“Mother, while you were a Baron’s daughter, did you ever consider a career in the theatres?”
Unable to help themselves, especially with her mother’s horrified look, they dissolved into a fit of giggles.
“Now they joke at my expense? I see you forget who has authority here. For that, no outing for the next four days. You shall attend every ball I deem necessary for you to accept in the next two weeks, and you must dance with every man I fill on your dance cards.” They quickly became sober as she spoke, her voice cool and low, like a woman should always have them. As she finished, she dropped the shirt she had been designing and rose.
Then holding all their stares, she smiled sweetly.
“Now, who is laughing?” Ever the drama queen, she broke into laughter of her own and carried on that way until she stepped into the hallways, taking her ladies with her. As soon as the doors closed behind them, the three girls enjoyed another fit of laughter.
“I declare; she never ceases to amaze me!” Agnes exclaimed as they recovered.
“She is a woman of many colours, indeed. A different hue, every day. How delightful!” Isabelle joined in.
“Huh. You know Mother, she is going to actually make us do all of those things. Perhaps, we should not have upset her so.” Eleanor wanted to be the voice of reasoning. Partaking in more than two dances per ball did not appeal to her in any way.
“Oh, nonsense! These moments are rare. We must cherish them and welcome any punishments that follow. Deep down, she loves us in her own special way.”
They all nodded, and soon, they were discussing something else. After a while, Agnes rose and came over to her. Eleanor’s fleetingly forgotten trepidation returned as she looked up at her sister. She should be shamed, mocked for her evil deed for she was wicked and deserved every bit of that. Her guilt intensified when Agnes put forward a beautifully embroidered silk scarf, the colour of peach blooms.
“This has been ready for a while now. I assumed you were busy with your books and did not want to disturb you. Here, have it. It was made with you in mind.”
Her face was masked with happiness and gratitude as she accepted the gift. When a tear dropped, it was assumed to be that of joy. Deep within, her heart sank.
“This is so lovely, Agnes. As much as I love and appreciate this gift, I cannot help wondering to what do I owe this goodness?”
“Nothing, in truth. It was just something I began unconsciously, and as it started to take form, I thought it would be a lovely, befitting present for my little pumpkin.”
Despite herself, Eleanor laughed as she threw her arms around her sister in a warm embrace.
“I keep reminding you that only father is allowed to call me little pumpkin. Notwithstanding, today, I shall let it go.”
A Scandalous Love for the Enticing Duke: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 12