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Lottie bristled at his high-handedness. Mr. Wetherby was her uncle’s secretary, a trusted employee, certainly, but here he was acting like the head of the family. Like Uncle Alfred’sheir. “I have no desire to exhaust him, sir. I myself have had a tiring journey.”
Mr. Wetherby’s face remained hard, but his words were oddly gentle. “Of course you have. I’ll see to it that your maid has everything you require.”
Lottie nodded. “Thank you.”
Mr. Wetherby gave a soft warning knock and entered the suite’s sitting room. All the curtains were drawn and a fire was lit in the hearth, while a gas lamp provided a warm glow. The air was stifling and filled with a familiar medicinal aroma. Lottie instinctively held her breath. Once as a child she had spent weeks in the sickroom while ill with a fever. The smell of astringent still turned her stomach. An older nurse sat in a rocking chair leafing through a magazine. The door to Uncle Alfred’s bedchamber was open, and Lottie caught a glimpse of his massive four-poster bed.
“Mrs. Ragmoore, I’ve brought Sir Alfred’s niece.”
The nurse smiled at Lottie and rose from her chair. “Oh, the famous Lottie!” she said in a thick northern accent. “I’ve heard plenty about you. Your uncle will be so happy to see you.”
Lottie returned the woman’s infectious smile. “It’s very nice to meet you. Thank you for taking care of him.”
Mrs. Ragmoore glanced back at the doorway. “He’s just woken from a nap. He might be a little spotty, but he’ll be wanting to see you. Make sure to talk loud and slow. And don’t worry if he doesn’t respond right away. Give him time and he’ll get the words out.”
Lottie pressed her hands against her stomach to settle her nerves. “I understand.”
Mrs. Ragmoore turned and led the way into the bedroom. Uncle Alfred was propped up in his bed resting against a mountain of pillows. The nurse approached his bedside. “Your niece is here, sir,” she practically bellowed. The old man turned toward her, but Lottie stood frozen in place, trapped in the doorway.
Mr. Wetherby had to guide her toward the bedside. As she drew closer, she inhaled sharply. Uncle Alfred, usually the most commanding presence in any room, was now a shadow of his former self. He had lost a great deal of weight and looked so frail in his buttoned-up nightshirt that Lottie found herself blinking back tears.
“It’s all right,” Mr. Wetherby murmured. “He wasn’t eating very much at first, but now his appetite has begun to return.”
She was suddenly very grateful for his presence. Without thinking, she gripped his arm. “Thank you,” she whispered. As Mr. Wetherby’s gaze took on an unfamiliar intensity, Lottie turned away and moved beside Mrs. Ragmoore. “Hello, Uncle Alfred,” she said with a watery smile. “I’ve heard you’ve fallen ill.”
The old man stared at her with crushing relief. “Lottie.” His voice was low and hoarse. He reached out his trembling left hand while the other lay motionless on his chest.
Lottie immediately gripped it in both her palms. “I’m here.”
Uncle Alfred then slowly glanced behind her. “Alec?” he asked as he turned back to her. The hopeful note in his voice was devastating.
Lottie had to swallow hard past the lump in her throat. She shook her head. “He stayed behind. In Venice.”
Uncle Alfred looked disappointed but gave a little nod. “I see.”
Though she had every reason to hate Alec, all she felt was remorse for his absence.
Whatever your issues with Sir Alfred are, whatever led you to do this, go to him now. Make your peace while you still can.
But Alec needed to make his peace with Uncle Alfred just as much as she did. If not more.
Lottie glanced at Mr. Wetherby. The earlier heat was now gone, replaced by an all-too-familiar frown of disapproval. Any talk about the past or Alec would have to wait for morning. “Alec kept me safe, Uncle. He did his duty. You should be very proud.”
But Uncle Alfred didn’t seem to be listening. He simply stared at her, as if she was some kind of angel. Then he squeezed her hand and pulled her closer. Lottie leaned down, so that he didn’t have to speak any louder. “Iknewhe would find you. The only one,” he said in his faint, trembling whisper. He then gave Lottie a broad smile. The kind she hadn’t seen in years. The tears she had been holding back spilled over her cheeks and she let out a sharp sob.
“Yes,” she managed to say. “You were certainly right about that.”
His gaze flitted behind her shoulder. “You will be safe now. Always.” He then exchanged a look with Mr. Wetherby, who stood a few feet away.
Lottie glanced back at the man, but her uncle said no more. His eyelids drooped heavily.
“Get some rest, Uncle,” she murmured and placed his hand on top of his chest. “I’ll see you in the morning. First thing.” But the elderly man was already dozing off.
“Come, Miss Carlisle.” Mr. Wetherby cupped her elbow and guided her out of the room and into the hall. “I’m sorry. That must have been terribly upsetting for you.”
Lottie allowed him to lead her to her room. Uncle Alfred’s last words were unsettling, but then he must be confused by so many things at the moment.
“Yes,” she said softly. “Al—Mr. Gresham seemed unaware of how ill he truly was. If I had known…” Her voice trailed off. She could not say for certain what she would have done differently.
