Page 138 of Unwritten Rules

She finishes her duties, giving him some water too, with a bittersweet half-smile.

“He is probably one of the most stubborn old codgers I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet.”

A semblance of a smile makes my lips twitch minimally as Tatiana fades into the background. Wetherby’s coughing subsides, and his head turns ever so slightly toward me.

“The greatest privilege of my life has been to know you, Nathaniel. You have made me the happiest man in existence simply by being you. By being a living, breathing miracle of the love I shared with your mother. No man could have asked for a better…son.”

He swallows, though watching his struggle to do even that is heartbreaking.

“I’m sure you have questions. Lots of them.” His voice is a croak that I strain to hear, so I move closer to sit beside him on the mattress, gathering his nearest hand in mine.

“There’s a box on the top shelf of my wardrobe. It’s wrapped with an old purple ribbon that belonged to your mother. Everything you need to know is there. And the rest…” He raises a shaky hand and places it over my heart. “…is in here.”

My jaw clenches as I try to fight back the flood of tears that blur my vision.

Taking a shuddery breath, he pierces me with those familiar blue eyes. Eyes that have watched me grow. Eyes that have borne witness to my life, the good and the bad and all of the in-between. Eyes with tears streaming from them, matching the ones on my own cheeks.

“Remember to be brave, Nathaniel. Be the man I know you are. Stand up and take what’s yours. Find Mila. She didn’t leave willingly, son…”

His breath stutters, and his eyes flicker.

Tatiana moves forward. “I’m so sorry, sir. It’s almost time. How he’s upright…it’s mind-blowing. I’m just going to watch his stats and keep his pain managed.”

* * *

Nathan Wetherby, my father, didn’t wake again in the hours that followed. It was both a blessing and a curse.

As much as I wanted to spend another handful of moments in the knowledge that he is my father, I knew from Tatiana that he isn’t in any pain. So at least for that, I was grateful.

It’s late when I realise I’ve not eaten all day, so, ensuring that Tatiana will inform me of any change, I slip out to the kitchen to be met with the entire staff.

The usually-bustling space is so quiet that I could hear a pin drop as each face turns to me.

“Lord Hawthorne.” Monique is the first to move, standing and walking to the hot plate. “I’ve kept your dinner warm for you, sir.”

Johanna pulls out the chair at the top of the table, the one usually inhabited by Wetherby, as Monique sets the plate down with a knife and fork.

“Come along, sir. You need to eat something.”

Tears prickle my eyelids at the concern in Johanna’s motherly voice as I do her bidding.

When I look down at my plate, I can’t help the bark of laughter that escapes me. “Toad in the hole, Christ above. I haven’t had this since…”

I trail off, remembering the last time I’d had my favourite childhood dinner. It was the day we had buried my mother.

Wetherby had taken me away from the hundreds of mourners gathered throughout the house. He’d led me to the kitchen where we’d eaten my favourite dinner with the staff. Afterwards, we went to his quarters, where we’d watched The Princess Bride and played chess and backgammon until we were discovered by my father…

No, not my father!

I shake my head to clear the cobwebs of memories best forgotten to find everyone has used the break in my vigil by Wetherby’s side to file in and bid their friend farewell.

Knowing he’s not alone, I take a moment to dispose of my half-eaten dinner before exiting through the back door.

The night is crisp, almost chill, even though we’re still in the midst of a typically British summer. The inky blackness of the night sky is dotted with hundreds and thousands of glowing stars as I stare skyward.

“He’s coming, Mum. You’ll be together soon.”

I swallow the lump of emotion that seems permanently lodged in my oesophagus, letting my head drop into my hands.