Twenty-one

Zachary

I arrived at Havenscrest by nightfall and, despite Frederick’s presence in the house, he did not greet me. Drake, my father’s new butler, or I should say Frederick’s recent hire, almost did not allow me entry until I presented my card.

Where the aging Abbot went, I did not know, nor did I have time to voice my irritation and went straightaway to Father’s bedchamber and to his side, relieved he had not yet passed. Over the last couple of years, his cerebral ailment had caused him to not recognize me at times. I wondered if tonight he might know me at all.

A nurse, darning a pair of socks in the corner of the room, glanced up—another new face in the household. Had Frederick released all the familiar staff?

I stepped inside. “Forgive me for the late intrusion, I am Lord Zachary, Lord Tichborne’s younger son.”

She smiled. “Yes, I have been informed of your possible arrival. I’m Nurse Watkins.” I didn’t miss the shift of her eyes when she caught sight of my hand. I had removed my gloves at the door.

I lifted my hand, showing my missing fingers more acutely. “A war injury.”

“How dreadful,” she whispered.

“Not compared to others.” I sighed. “Not in the least.”

She smiled. “Indeed.”

I returned a ghost of a smile before being drawn to the still form lying in the bed. “When did he last open his eyes?” I asked.

She peered over to my father. “Not since yesterday. I’m sorry, my lord.”

I placed my hand over his lips and felt a faint wisp of air, breathing my own sigh of relief that any breath at all still expelled from him. Glancing at his face, I worried over the pallid color of his cheeks. “When did the doctor come last?”

“This morning.”

“And there is nothing more he can do?” I claimed another chair and sat on the other side of his bed.

“No, my lord, nothing.”

Reaching for my father’s hand, I sat, contemplating over the little time I had with him after I returned from war. Every chance I endeavored for a longer visit, Frederick thwarted it.

I leaned down and kissed his hand. My lips pressed against frigid skin. My eyes flashed to the hearth with a glow so minute it could not even be considered a fire.

I immediately stood and strode over to the fireplace. Grabbing the poker, I attempted to stoke the fire into a blaze. Nothing. I peered back at the nurse. “Will you have a footman bring more wood up here? His skin is ice cold.”

She stood but fidgeted with the sock in her hands. “Uh, Lord Frederick has insisted no more wood for tonight.”

“No more wood?” I cried out, unintentionally frightening the young woman.

She trembled, then stuttered, “H—he said it was a waste of wood if the earl was going to pass shortly.”

“Pardon me?” I wasn’t sure I heard her correctly. “Did you say Lord Frederick refuses to keep the fire blazing for his father through the night?”

She bit her bottom lip and nodded.

“Is he mad?” I bellowed out and she shook to my continued outbursts. “Forgive me.” I raised my hands. “You are not the one who should receive my wrath.”

“I—I agree with you.” The young woman rattled her response. “But Lord Frederick pays my wage. I must obey his commands.”

“Yes, I understand. Regardless, please seek out a footman and have some more wood brought up posthaste. If Frederick questions, tell him to come see me at once.”

She set her sewing aside, curtsied, and departed the room.

I went to Father’s side once more and rubbed his cold hands between my own, then brought them to my mouth to blow warm air on them. Locating another quilt in the room, I placed it over his current bedding and tugged it up to his chin. How could Frederick be so heartless and cruel in our father’s final hours? I should not have questioned this. Frederick had not changed in the twenty-five years I had been on this earth.

I leaned over my father and caressed his cheeks and his forehead. “Forgive me, Father. I would have been here if I had known. I only learned this morning of your worsening condition.”

His eyes remained closed. I placed my hand over his mouth once more to confirm his breath.

Keeping hold of his hand, I glanced about the room and noticed several letters of correspondence on the nearby table. I let go of him only briefly out of curiosity to see if any of the piled parchment happened to be my letter. It was not part of the pile, though a smile touched my lips with the many regards Father received from his friends and associates.

“I read it to him,” Mrs. Dunlap, the housekeeper, announced when she entered the room followed by a footman who carried an armful of wood.

“Thank you,” I said to the footman, gesturing toward the hearth. “Please see that there is enough to last the whole night through.”

He looked at me warily.

Mrs. Dunlap pinched her lips. “This is Lord Tichborne’s son, please adhere to his request.” Another new staff member. How long before they are all replaced, including our housekeeper of twenty-two years?

I turned toward the young man, a term used liberally, for he could not be older than sixteen, and said, “I will take full responsibility for what occurs in here.”

How had Frederick commandeered the staff so quickly to his idiotic demands and refused to allow a dying man a simple comfort? I turned back to the housekeeper and closed the few steps between us to embrace her. Mrs. Dunlap was like a mother to me when mine passed and Father did not remarry. She squeezed me in response. “Oh, Zachary, how we have missed you.” When we drew apart, she reached into her pocket and pulled out my folded letter. “Do not fret, love, I read it to him when Frederick was out riding his horse.”

I smiled genuinely for the first time since I arrived.

She placed the missive in my hands. “It was a lovely letter.”

I thanked her and tucked it inside my coat. “Do you think he understood it?”

“His eyes were open, and he seemed to be listening.”

“That’s all a man can ask for.” I reached for her hand.

Mrs. Dunlap patted her other hand on top. “You are a good son, Zachary. Despite the differences you had in your early years, I know that you have always cared for him.”

I kissed her on the cheek and took my seat beside the bed once more.

“I will have your old bedchamber made up for you,” she declared as she walked toward the door.

“Thank you, Mrs. Dunlap. I believe my valise is still by the front door. The new butler almost didn’t receive me.” I chuckled at the memory though it wasn’t truly humorous. “Can you have it retrieved? I’d like to tarry here a bit longer.”

“Certainly.” She nodded. “And yes, your brother has wielded his hand a bit. I am sure my dismissal is forthcoming.”

“Well, I assure you, you will always have a place in my home…” I paused and winked “But first I must acquire one.”

She chuckled and departed, and suddenly a thought struck me with the power of a tempest. What type of dwelling might I truly afford? Nothing grandiose like a country estate, but I wondered how Eveline would feel about a country cottage. Just the perfect size for the six of us—me, Evie, Patrick, the baroness, April, and Banja. Of course, April may marry in the next couple of years in time for us to have another child.

Another child.

The very thought brought a warmth to my soul that could not be constrained. Eveline with child… my child.

I must write to Mr. Smith immediately. He insists I have done well for myself by listening to his counsel, but I wanted to know if a home was in our future. Our future … me and Eveline. That is, if she will still have me. I spent much of the ride from Gottling ruminating over the mistakes I continue to make and, while I was able to get a quick missive off to Eveline before I left, I could only hope that she believed me and allowed me the time to show her just how much I truly love her.

Mrs. Dunlap must have told the nurse to keep clear of the room while I remained inside, for the young miss didn’t enter again until well after midnight.

When she did arrive, she stepped over to Father’s opposite side and laid her head against his chest. “Oh,” she mumbled. A pang struck me from deep within. I knew he was fading but tried to hold onto every possible moment.

“What is it?” I glanced between her and my father. The lines beneath his eyes and around his lips relaxed and an unfamiliar peace seemed to swathe his visage.

“It won’t be long now.” She sent me a sorrowful look. “His heartbeat has slowed.”

I stood up and leaned over him, brushing his brow. It was true. I had seen the look of death far too many times. Cupping his jaw with both my hands, I kissed his forehead. “I love you, Father. Be at peace.”

Nurse Watson allowed me a few additional minutes before she checked his heartbeat again. When she peered in my direction, I knew. He was gone. Though my chest ached at the loss, I was sincerely grateful that I had both seen him before he died and was present when he took his final breath.

Although Father had purchased my commission to be in His Majesty’s military service, he did not wish me to go to war. He urged me to stay, to marry, and settle down close to home. And though I had visited him between battles, the last truly coherent conversation was filled with angst.

Seeing his now lifeless form, tears filled my eyes, but I vehemently brushed them away. I can count the number of times I have wept on one hand, and two of them happened only this week. The other… the incident at the Gottling pond and how I feared for Eveline and Patrick. Though my tears only came in the privacy of my bedchamber well after their safety was assured.

I gestured to Nurse Watkins. “Please inform Lord Frederick that our father has passed.”

She rushed from the room and, within minutes, a flurry of activity commenced outside his bedchamber doors. Before long, I heard my brother hollering for one footman to notify the doctor and another to notify the solicitor.

When he entered Father’s room, he glanced at the robust flame in the hearth first. “Devil be damned,” he bellowed. “Who authorized this fire?”

“Me.” I folded my arms over my chest and waited for him to spew more offenses.

“Zach?” He looked at Father’s bed. “When did you arrive?”

“Only shortly.”

“Were you with him when he passed?”

“Yes. Thank you for the missive.” There was a tightness to my words. If he had truly wanted me to be here in time, he would have sent it weeks earlier. He knew there were very few places I resided in, and all were attached to Hunter, Lucas, and Jaxon.

“Did you say your goodbyes?” Though Frederick’s words intimated a thoughtfulness, the tone was clipped.

“Yes.”

“I expected you sooner,” he added.

“I only received the missive today.”

“Well, that is not my concern. If you’d informed me of your whereabouts, you would have received it a fortnight ago.”

My jaw tightened. “You know where to find me, Frederick.”

“Indeed.” His lips pursed. “With your second-tiered friends.” My brother had always looked upon my mates—the grouping of younger sons—as worthless.

“Hunter will be Chilton.” I balked. “A duke.” I wanted to emphasize how such an elevation exceeded that of an earl, such as Frederick.

He scoffed. “Merely because his brother died in a duel over his married lover. The Matthews name does not hold as much clout as you imply.”

“I’m not going to quarrel with you over our father’s dead body.”

“No, you won’t. I will inform Mrs. Dunlap to give you the Green Room. You may be excused.”

“She has given me my old bedchamber, thank you.”

He breathed through his nose. While the Green Room was an adequate guest room, my bedchamber was much nicer, and my personal property was there. Or at least it was the last time I visited. “I am going to remain here until they remove Father’s body.”

“So be it.” He waved me off like a discarded piece of rubbish. “You can’t harm him any longer.”

“Harm him?” I snapped. “I cared for him while you were off trying to undermine him as the replacement earl.”

He circled around in a fury and glowered. “For heaven’s sake, Zach. Someone had to be the man of the house. You showed precisely how much you cared for him the moment you decided to play soldier, leaving Father for me to manage.”

“It was your duty. You’re the heir.”

“Precisely. I am the heir.” He scanned me up and down. “And you are a nobody.”

I lifted my chin, nearly biting my tongue off to keep from saying something I would regret; or maybe not regret.

We stared hard at one another until Frederick threw his hands in the air and left the room.