“Nothing to do.” Robert crossed his arms. “Except stand here and watch her die.”
“She isnotgoing to die!” Philip stiffened, snapping a look at his children. “You heard the doctor. She will wake up and we will figure out what to do then.” He closed his eyes, his breath shaky. When he looked up again, less fire shone in his eyes. “But you are right. Nothing we can do until then. There’s no need for all of you to stand around, staring at her. I’ll—I will send someone if she awakens.” He returned his attention to Emalyn, slowly stroking her arm.
One by one, Robert, Michael, and Beth left, and Thomas could hear them speaking with the servants in the hall. Thomas touched Rose’s shoulder, but she dropped it from under his hand and moved away. “Not yet,” she whispered. She stepped in behind his father and placed her hand on Philip’s shoulder.
Philip put a hand over Rose’s, turning his head slightly to speak to her, words Thomas barely made out. “Dr. Oakley told me what you did for your father.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“We are going to need your help.”
“I know. I will not leave her.”
“Lady Newbury.” A quiet voice from the doorway drew their attention. The Ashton housekeeper, Mrs. Hodges, motioned for Rose, who dodged around Thomas and went to her. The two women conferred in hushed tones, then turned and headed toward the servants’ staircase.
Confused, Thomas joined Robert, who had remained in the hallway with the servants. “What was that all about?”
Robert shook his head. “I have no idea.”
“They went downstairs?”
His brother nodded.
Thomas took the back stairs, which emerged in the kitchen area, near the servants’ hall. He followed the sound of Rose’s voice, and found her with Mrs. Hodges in the housekeeper’s sitting room, signing several papers. “Rose, what are you doing?”
Rose handed the papers to the housekeeper. “Thank you, Mrs. Hodges. Please let me know if you need anything else.”
The housekeeper thanked her, dipped a quick curtsey to Thomas, then left the room.
Thomas repeated himself. “Rose, what is going on?”
She replaced the quill on Mrs. Hodges’ desk and looked up at him. “She needed approval for some purchases. This is now a house of sickness, and we have to start preparing for a differing schedule of meals, etc.”
Thomas fought a flash of anger. “My mother is not sick!”
“No, but she is unconscious. Which means, like it or not, I am now the ranking female in the house. Lady Elizabeth is not prepared to do what has to be done and she has a season to finish. I can do this, Thomas, and I will not leave your parents when I can help them.”
Thomas took a step backward, stunned. “My God, Rose!”
Both her expression and her voice softened, and she placed a hand on his arm. “You need to get ready as well.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your father is going to need you. You will have to be strong for him because I suspect he will turn his primary focus on his wife. You know how they are together. You have told me too often. You are no longer his student. You are going to need to be his partner. His heir. The next Duke of Kennet.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sunday, 16 October 1825
Rose sat atthe desk in Emalyn’s office, her head down on her arms, tempted to surrender to the overwhelming need for sleep. The exhaustion she’d felt after Cecily’s wedding was nothing compared to unrelenting fatigue she’d felt the last three months. Her very bones felt brittle with it, as if the muscles could no longer sustain her. It was little consolation that her husband felt the same lassitude. Her prediction to Thomas the day of Emalyn’s collapse had come more than true. Philip had seldom left his wife’s side the past three months. Rose and Thomas had canceled their honeymoon journey, and together they had taken on the duties of running the Ashton estate.
Not that Philip and Emalyn were completely uninvolved. The duchess had awakened shortly after Dr. Oakley had left that first day, in fact, to the delight of the entire household. But she’d been rendered impaired, with limited speech and restricted movement on her left side. Using Dr. Oakley’s advice—and what she had learned during her own father’s recovery—Rose had set up a schedule of care for her mother-in-law, which involved hiring nurses to take care of her most intimate needs and setting a routine of trusted staff and family to push her toward improvement. Urging her to speak, to exercise, to fight the paralysis.
That encourager was first and foremost Philip Ashton. His devotion to Emalyn was already well-known in Society—now it became legendary, even among the servants. He could often be seen carrying his petite wife around the house, snuggling her into chairs and settees, helping her to eat, settling her on benches in the garden or conservatory—while she fussed at his domineering tactics for recovery—or laughed at his bull-in-a-china-shop antics. He boldly claimed his intent was to irritate her about recovering to the point that she could slap him with her left hand. In her halted and whispery speech, the duchess declared it was a mutual goal.
In the meantime, Thomas ensconced himself in Philip’s office, surrounded by ledgers, messengers, stewards, and managers. He consulted with his father only when a problem arose that he could not address—and more often than not, he turned to Robert for advice and help first. Although Robert had had his own tumultuous summer and fall, he had also bonded with Thomas. The two of them had become a force to be reckoned with.
Rose, in like measure, had taken over management of the Ashton House household, even while building up the staff at Newbury Hall and setting it in motion. The household stewards and housekeepers at Ashton Park and their other properties had adjusted to dealing with Rose instead of Emalyn, and Rose was pleased to hear that she was respected, if not always liked.
