“I know, but it still hurts, nonetheless.”
Dr. Wallis interjected, “I would like to examine Lady Cuttyngham. Would Lord Roswell mind stepping out of the room for a moment?”
With a final glance at his mother, Roswell said, “I have no objections.”
Roswell exited the bedchamber and nearly collided with his sister, Octavia. “Dr. Wallis is examining Mother at the moment,” he informed her.
A disappointed look came to his sister’s face. “Oh, I was hoping to see her this morning,” she said.
“You can go in and see her after the doctor departs,” he suggested.
Octavia nodded. “I will do that.”
“Would you care to join me for breakfast while you wait?”
“That is a splendid idea.”
As they started to walk down the hall, Octavia asked, “Did Mother recognize you today?”
He shook his head, dejectedly. “She did not.”
Octavia offered him a sad smile as she said, “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how hard that is on you.”
“It is fine. Just fine,” he stated.
Roswell wished that Octavia would drop the issue, but she continued. No doubt in an attempt to comfort him. “Mother loves you and I suspect that you were always her favorite child,” she said.
“I do believe that honor belongs to Fredrick.”
At the mention of their brother’s name, Octavia’s voice grew firm. “He should be here with Mother.”
“I agree, but he is fighting on the Continent with Wellington,” Roswell said. “We don’t know if he is even getting our messages.”
Octavia grew determined. “I could go get him.”
Roswell couldn’t help but chuckle. “You?” he asked. “What do you think you could do?”
“I would march up to Wellington and demand that Fredrick returns home.”
“And you think Wellington will just honor your wish?” he asked, finding the whole idea to be utterly preposterous.
Octavia’s eyes dimmed. “Do you have another idea?”
“I don’t,” he replied. “Perhaps I could just pretend to be Fredrick to make Mother happy.”
“That is a terrible idea.”
They stepped into the dining room and they sat at the long, rectangular table. A footman brought them each a plate of food.
As Octavia placed her napkin onto her lap, she asked, “Would you care to go to the opera with me tonight?”
“No,” he promptly replied. “I would not.”
“Whyever not?”
“Because you are a terrible patron at the opera,” he replied. “You talk relentlessly, and I end up missing most of the performance.”
Octavia reached for the cup of chocolate that had just been placed in front of her. “I may talk a little…”
