NEW YORK CITY
November 1863
21 years later.
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“THE EARL IS DEAD, MYlord. You are the new Earl of Hartfield.” The lawyer intoned.
Death befell all people. Old, young, rich, poor, healthy or ailing. It made no distinction or allowances. After being a doctor for a decade, Colin knew this better than most.
Why, then, were the solicitors' words so shocking? So difficult to accept?
Colin reached back and lowered himself onto a chair. The walls of the cramped little office at the back of the hospital seemed to be closing in on him.
“Dead. Are you sure?” He asked the young lawyer who had interrupted his morning rounds at the hospital to bring him the news of his father’s death.
The question sounded stupid even to his own ears. Of course, the lawyer was sure. They were fastidiously accurate in matters of death and inheritance.
But Mr. Chaucer refrained from pointing out the inanity. “I’m afraid so, my lord. I’m sorry.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow will be six months.”
Colin’s head snapped up. “That long ago? Why am I only finding out now?”
The lawyer looked chagrined. “We couldn’t find you, my lord. In fact, we were not even sure you were alive. We had to do our due diligence, of course. Find the heir or proof of his death. But it took a while. We didn’t have an address, or even knowledge, of your country of residence.”
Colin’s eyebrows pinched in a frown. “My father knew where to find me. We didn’t correspond often, but I made sure he always knew where I lived.” He had secretly hoped his father would care to visit him some day. Or even send for him.
“The earl did not inform us. Nor could we find any letter or document with your address among his documents.”
“His will?”
“You were mentioned, of course. After all, you were the heir, and all entailed property comes to you by default. But the will had not been updated since his marriage to his second wife. And then only to briefly add her jointure. Any mention of you was from before...”
The lawyer trailed off, embarrassed. He didn’t need to finish. Colin could well understand his meaning. Any mention of him was from before his parents' scandalous divorce. After that, his father had apparently decided to pretend he didn't exist.
He nodded absently because he was afraid speech was beyond his capabilities at the moment. His father was dead. They had never been close, especially not after... no, he wouldn’t dwell on that. It didn’t matter anymore. The earl had still been his father and deep down he had harbored a secret hope for... What? Acceptance, perhaps reconciliation. But now he was dead and there was no more hope of that.
He should have expected it. After all, his father had been well advanced in years. But he had always seemed so strong. So solid and unmovable.
Damn it!
And what would that mean for his medical practice? True, there were other doctors working at the hospital, but he had been one of the founders.
The rest of the lawyer’s speech passed in a blur. Estate matters, the earldom, England, responsibilities... etc, etc, etc. One word caught his attention. Sister. That’s right. He had a half sister he had never met. He tended to forget about her. The girl must be what? Sixteen? Seventeen? He couldn’t remember, but she was his ward now. And his father’s second wife was his responsibility, too.
He had known all along this was his fate. It was as inescapable as the passing of time. He had been born the heir to an earldom. His feelings and preferences had no bearing on this. He would have to return to England. There was no avoiding it.
But his fledgling hospital needed him. He had patients to take care of. His work here was important. He couldn’t just pack and leave for England at the drop of a hat.
It was so unfair that fate had decided to drop the earldom on his lap just as he was bringing to fruition one of his most long held dreams. Just as he had found his purpose.
Well, the earldom would just have to wait. He couldn’t avoid his responsibilities forever, but he could delay the inevitable for a while. And the hospital gave him the perfect excuse to do so.
***
