“Gideon. Why are you here? I thought you were going to Mowbray Park for Christmas.”
That had been the original plan. As soon as the duchess and Lady Augusta returned from Italy, the whole Kembal family had been going to decamp to the family estate in Leicestershire to spend Christmas and New Year’s together. Those plans had changed when Lady Anne’s letter had arrived.
That was weeks ago.
“Papa, do you know what day it is?”
The duke glanced down at the page in his hand. He pointed to his writing. “It’s the ninth of December. See? I wrote the date on this note. I wanted to remind your mother of the day she returned to England. Of how happy I was when she came back.”
Icy fingers of dread gripped Gideon. The butler had been right to come and find him. Clifford’s moment of vague obsession was a disturbing development.
The private physician who had prescribed the duke a sleeping draught had made it clear that any moments of irrational thought or behavior were to be strongly challenged. Even laughed at. Gideon wasn’t exactly sure if this was the right way to go about things. To his way of thinking, it was cruel to mock a person when they were so afflicted. He preferred a gentler approach.
He dropped onto the floor next to his father, sighing when he caught sight of Clifford’s ink-stained fingers. The duke had been busy. A pile of folded up letters was yet more evidence of his father’s work.
“Papa, I know you have had a terrible shock. And sometimes the mind tries to soften the blow by not accepting things as they are, but I need to tell you that it is late January. We had Christmas and New Year’s here in London.”
The duke frowned at him. “Did we? But your mother . . .” Clifford’s head dropped, and he began to sob. Reality had stepped back in. Seeing his father in such distress, Gideon almost wished Clifford could stay in his state of denial. But the truth had to be faced; it was the only way forward.
It took a great deal of effort to keep the anger which simmered inside him at bay. If he ever set eyes on his mother again, she was going to feel the fury of his wrath. Someone had to hold the duchess to account for her part in this mess. His feelings bordered on hatred.
His father wiped his tears away with the hem of his shirt. Gideon said nothing, figuring that one more stain wasn’t going to make a difference.
The duke slowly nodded. “I have not gone mad. I know it is January. In fact, it’s almost February. And I know we missed yet another Radley family wedding last week. I just hope Francis and his new wife, Poppy, can forgive us.”
“The family understands how things are at the moment. They didn’t expect any of us to attend. The Duchess of Strathmore is doing everything she can to keep the rumors at bay. She is protecting Victoria and Coco.”
Thank heavens for family. Gideon had written to his aunt in Scotland as soon as his mother’s letter had been received. The senior Radley women, Lady Adelaide Saunders, Lady Mary Radley, and the Duchess of Strathmore, Lady Caroline Radley, had all returned to London from Strathmore Castle as soon as possible. They had closed ranks and were dealing with the gossip as best as they could.
Time, however, was ticking. The story of an unexpected delay in the return of the duchess and her daughter would only hold back the matrons of thetonfor so long.
Gideon had already heard some of the spiteful chitchat, and as the main social season approached, he expected things would only get worse.
He put his arm around Clifford’s shoulder, taking the weight as his weeping father rested his head against Gideon’s chest. For a time, Gideon just sat, patiently waiting for his father’s tears to subside.
“You are a good lad, Gideon. Every man should have a son like you. Someone he can rely upon. I know she is gone. It’s just that sometimes I wish so hard for it to be different, that my mind plays tricks on me.”
Gideon planted a gentle kiss on top of Clifford’s forehead. It was the same comforting embrace that his father used to give him when he was younger. “When was the last time you ate, Papa?”
He searched for the breakfast tray which had been delivered recently to the duke’s room. A sense of relief settled over him when he spotted it on a nearby low table. “Let me get you some food. The salmon looks and smells tasty.”
He collected the breakfast tray and set it on the floor next to Clifford, then resumed his seat. Gideon sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Mowbray House cook. She’d had the good sense to cut the eggs up and put them in a bowl. It would make getting his father to eat something that much easier.
Clifford accepted the offered bowl, and to Gideon’s relief, he actually ate some of the food. “How about I pour us both a cup of tea?” offered Gideon.
It took some effort on his son’s part to coax Clifford into finishing his breakfast, but eventually it was all gone. Two cups of tea washed it down. Gideon stood and cleared the tray away.
Maybe I should put a roster together—get each of us to come and sit with Papa and make sure he eats at least one good meal a day.
Seeing the other Kembal family members, especially the girls, might also help to get the duke to attend to his grooming and clothes.
With the food gone, Gideon searched for another topic of conversation. He was loath to leave his father. Nodding at the pile of folded up papers, he asked, “What are all the letters for?”
Clifford shrugged. “Would you think me a fool if I told you they were all love letters to your mother?”
“I would never think you a fool.”
“I’ve had so many thoughts rolling around in my head over the weeks that I haven’t been able to sleep. In the early hours of this morning, I finally decided that it might be a good idea to get some of them down on paper. Once I started with pen and ink, I couldn’t stop.”
