11. Chapter 11

Chapter eleven

The following day, Robert rode alone in the carriage to Jessica's—a circumstance that left him feeling disappointed. Apparently, his mother was much too busy with his wife to spare her for the afternoon. Never had he begrudged traveling alone before—in fact, he had always preferred it. But something had happened last night between him and Louisa, and he had been looking forward to spending more time in her company today.

So much for that.

The carriage rolled to a halt in front of the tidy townhouse, and as Gulliver opened the door, Robert spotted a man carrying a black medical bag, trudging down the front steps of his sister's home.

"Excuse me." Robert strode over to the man who, upon closer inspection, had dark circles shading his eyes. "Is everyone in the household all right?"

The doctor took a slow breath, rubbing his brow. "I'm sorry, but may I inquire how you are acquainted with Lord Drake and his wife?"

"I am Lady Drake's brother." Worry wriggled into Robert's mind. He had only heard from Jessica yesterday. Surely nothing could have happened to her between then and now.

The doctor sighed again, switching his bag to his other hand. "I would leave this to Lady Drake, but perhaps it would be easier for her if I tell you."

"Then she is well?"

"Yes, she is physically well. But Lord Drake is not. I was up with him through the night, but he passed only an hour ago."

"Passed?" The word slipped from his lips, seemingly detached from him. "I did not realize he was ill."

"For the past week I have been in and out, but last night he took a sharp turn for the worse. I did what I could, but . . ." He stopped, shaking his head. "There was nothing I could do."

Robert turned without responding, hurrying to the front door. Why had Jessica not told him Lord Drake was ill? He knocked, and silence stretched on before the footman finally swung it open, the man's cheeks and eyes sallow.

"I need to see Lady Jessica, please."

The footman recognized him, only nodding as he ushered him inside, holding his hand out toward the hall. "Lady Drake has asked that I show you to her private sitting room. This way." He led Robert to a smaller, more intimate room than where Jessica usually entertained guests, its furniture in hues of deep rose. Jessica herself sat in a chair, pouring herself a cup of tea.

"Jessica—" Robert took a seat opposite his sister. "What is going on? Why did you not tell me Lord Drake was ill?"

"I did not think it necessary." She took a sip. "I had assumed he was only being dramatic. I find that people of his age often invent ailments to keep their life intriguing."

A weighted quiet hovered in the room. Whatever Robert had been anticipating her to say, that had not been it. "Was . . . did you expect this?"

Jessica brought the china, speckled with bright and happy flowers on its surface, down to her lap. "He had been ill for a week, but took a decided turn for the worse yesterday. That was why I asked you to visit. I thought to prepare you in case . . . well, in case this happened."

He tilted his head as he studied Jessica, eyes intent on her face as they roved about, looking for any thread of emotion. "I am surprised you did not ask me to come sooner."

She shrugged. "I had not thought his illness that serious at first."

"But he—" Robert rubbed his brow, eyes scrunching shut. "He was not that old."

"What was he . . ?" Jessica's voice trailed off as she stared into the room. "Ah, yes. He was to be fifty-two this year. I think," she added as a small disclaimer.

"You think ?" He leaned forward in his seat. How could she not know the age of her husband? Why was she not more bothered? Robert could understand quiet reservation, but she seemed completely indifferent.

"Robert, really. Calm yourself." Jessica set her cup down on the tray beside her. "Would you like some tea? Perhaps it would help to settle you."

His mouth fell open, and he stared as Jessica poured him a cup.

"You only like a bit of cream, correct?" She gazed up at him, but he didn't have the ability to speak, so she finally poured the white liquid into a cup and handed it to him without any confirmation.

"I do not want tea, Jessica," he finally bit out, eyes blazing as he glared at her.

"Goodness." She placed it back onto the tray with a clatter. "Got a bee in your bonnet, Robert?"

"I just do not understand how you can sit there asking how I like my tea while your husband lies dead in his bed!" He stood, striding to the window and placing his hands against the sill as he stared outside. Things passed by on the street, but they were only a blur as his heart hammered in his chest. His mind buzzed, and he rubbed his face to gather himself. "Perhaps you should go lie down, Jessica. Surely this is a rather shocking event and you should get some rest." That had to be it. She had been shocked by the news and thus did not know how to react.

"I do not wish to go lie down in a room adjacent to a cold, stiff body. I would rather stay here and enjoy a hot cup of tea with the living."

Robert turned from his place at the window, his movements slow as dread crept through his limbs. "He is dead, Jessica. How can you talk like he was some person you did not even know? You were married to the man!"

"Robert, please. You are making a scene."

"In front of whom, may I ask? No one is here but you and me. Forgive me if I am not comfortable discussing our day over a cup of tea while a man— your husband ," he enunciated, "has died."

Jessica scoffed, standing and making her way to a bookshelf. "I did not realize you were so close to Lord Drake. You rarely spoke to him."

Robert blanched, his stomach twisting in knots. He had the sudden need for a water closet to privately dispose of his stomach contents. Her calloused reaction was having a stronger effect on him than he thought was logical, but the more she spoke, the more he wanted to run out the front door. "I suppose you are correct." He ran a hand over his jacket, closing his eyes briefly as he swallowed to collect himself. "Is there something you need me to do for you?"

"The doctor has arranged for the body—"

Robert winced, his head jerking as if he had been slapped in the face. "For Lord Drake," he all but whispered.

"Yes." She reached up and ran a finger along a book's spine.

Green. The spine of the book was green.

"I may need some assistance with legal matters and documents," she continued. "You are good with such things."

Documents. Legal matters. That was what his sister desired of him after the death of her husband. Not comfort or a listening ear, but practical and logical matters of business.

"Of course." He swallowed, his nausea growing. "I will come by tomorrow when you have had some time to recover." His eyes hazed, and he gave his head a hard shake, trying to focus.

"You should bring your wife with you. I haven't spent much time with her."

Her hand trailed to another book. Blue . . .

"Yes," Robert whispered, hardly able to form a coherent thought. He forced his eyes away from the books, noticing a slight tremble in his fingers as he pressed them to his temple. What was coming over him? "I think I need to go. I will return tomorrow as early as is convenient for you."

Suddenly, Jessica's hand dropped to her side as she spun about, her mouth wide.

Finally, some sort of reaction to her husband's death. Perhaps it had just been the shock to make her act so callous. Waiting to hear words of heartbreak or sorrow, Robert filled his chest with a hopeful breath.

"I shall now have to wear black for the next year." She put a hand over her mouth. "I had three new dresses commissioned only last week that will now have to sit abandoned in a trunk. What sort of cruel fate is this?" Robert thought she might cry—over her inability to wear a dress , while news of her husband's death had very little to no effect on her.

He had to leave. He had to get out of this suffocating, stifling room and into fresh air. "I will see you tomorrow," he said, ignoring her comment and striding down the hall. He flung the front door wide and gulped in the first breath that felt like it did anything since seeing his sister's indifferent state.

Gulliver scurried from his seat, rushing to open the carriage door for him. Robert didn't particularly care. He was prepared to open the door for himself if he had to. Sitting heavily in his seat, Robert tried to make sense of his growing sense of dread. He knew Jessica had not married Lord Drake for love. It had been a match done for her security, and likely for Lord Drake, a connection to the dukedom.

Would that be him one day? If he died, would Louisa be fretting over having to wear black or how his death would only inconvenience her?

Would she be happy about it?

The last thought sent his head between his knees as he attempted to gulp in air. His lungs rose and fell, yet it didn't feel right. It felt empty, returning void out into the carriage without replenishing him.

His wife had been very clear that theirs was a marriage of convenience. He had used those words himself. Why, then, did it bother him so much?

As Robert entered Stonemoore, everything continued on as usual. Brooks took his hat, slipping it from Robert's numb fingers.

"Brooks, I need you to summon my mother. And my wife." Robert swallowed, and Brooks gave him a weary glance before nodding and heading down the hall toward the Lavender Room. Shortly after, his mother and Louisa trailed behind him.

"What is the matter, Robert?" his mother asked, her brow puckering.

Robert glanced over at Louisa, who wore the same worried lines on her brow. "Lord Drake has passed."

His mother's eyes widened before she quickly regained her composure. Ever the dutiful duchess. Composed. Regal. Unshakeable. Is that what Robert and Jessica had become? Would Louisa be the same one day? Her lively spirit masked beneath the pressure of her station? Robert's gaze went to his wife, watching as she put a hand to his mother's elbow, wrapping her free hand about her shoulders as she watched her face.

Please do not change . . .

His mother snapped out of her stoic silence, nodding her head. "I shall go to her immediately." Brooks handed the dowager her hat, and she slipped out the door.

Louisa took tentative steps toward him. "Robert, if you need something . . ." She gazed up at him, and he wanted nothing more than to ask her one nagging question. Would you cry for me? But the answer would likely send him over the edge of despair, for he believed her answer would be ‘no'.

And could he blame her? They barely knew one another. What they were was neatly cataloged on a legal document.

"Robert?" she asked again when he did not answer.

"I think I need some air." He loosened his cravat. Perhaps a physical outlet would help him sort out his thoughts and feelings. As of now, they were stuck in his head, buzzing about as bees in a hive—irritated and ready to sting whatever came near.

"A walk, perhaps?" she suggested.

"No. I think I need to leave for a few hours." He allowed himself to meet her eyes again. To her credit, she looked sympathetic—perhaps she would cry if he died, even if for the mere loss of life instead of who he was as a person. "Will you be fine here by yourself?"

"Of course. Though," she looked beyond him to the front door, "I might visit my family if you do not need me. I only wish I could be of more help, but I do not want to intrude on your sister, and Arabella will likely not be back for some time."

"You might be surprised." He could not stanch his sarcastic tone. If his mother found Jessica in the same state that Robert had, she might decide her visit superfluous and opt to spend her time in a more productive manner.

"Perhaps I should stay." Her eyes roamed his face, her fair brow creasing as she placed a gentle hand on his arm.

"I shall be fine. Please, go and spend time with your family." With people she loved and cared for. Who, if they passed, she would weep freely over.

Giving him a small nod, she went to fetch her things. "Louisa," he began, taking her elbow before she passed him by. He needed some thread of connection to life. Something to ground him to reality. Her eyes brightened at his touch. "Why did you marry me?"

Seeming to notice his fragile state, her face softened into a smile. "Because you were thoughtful enough to ask." She gave his arm a squeeze as she pulled away from his grasp. The soft, feminine scent that always followed her lingered in the air as she walked up the first few steps, looking back at him one final time before disappearing upstairs.

Well, if he was to be alone, then he knew precisely where he planned to go and work out all these feelings.