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Chapter Twenty-Four
Dear Thomas,
You will likely still be asleep when I leave this afternoon. I implore you—stay in bed! You are no good to either of us if you are limping around London like a reanimated corpse (or worse, an easy target…)
But as you are likely wondering where I have gone, I believe I have a lead worth pursuing regarding the footman’s background, and hopefully, current location. Nothing concrete worth noting yet, but my hopes are high. We shall discuss in further depth upon my return.
I have requested to have your meals brought to you in bed. If I come back to find you have been gallivanting about, I shall be very cross, and will not hesitate to report your idiocy to Mother.
Yours,
Gerard
Thomas ran his fingers over his brother’s writing, wishing they could have spoken in person before his departure. Even so, he felt a pang of odd nostalgia for the months he’d spent in the country, immediately following Father’s death.
During that time, the brothers had corresponded almost daily, discussing not only the Far East business, but little details and nuances from their day-to-day realities. Thomas might mention a particularly lovely landscape he came across while riding his stallion. Gerard might write of a fine new pub or dining establishment that had opened up near Elvington Manor. They often discussed various outings and adventures they might pursue together upon Thomas’ return to London proper.
It was a shame, now that he was back, to know they had pursued none of those plans, instead falling right into the stress of the Season, and now this awfulness over Father’s demise.
When all this is concluded, and Lady Evelina is mine, there shall be plenty of time for adventures and celebrations then.
For now, begrudgingly, Thomas decided he would take his brother’s wishes to heart. He rang the bell again, and when a servant appeared, he requested to take breakfast in his bedroom after all.
After he had eaten, he was quite tired. Even just sitting upright for any length of time was an ordeal. He was sorely tempted to undress and climb back into bed, as Gerard had suggested, but Thomas hated feeling useless far more than he hated any physical pain.
Slowly, he pulled himself from the chair where he had taken up residence, and made his way out of the bedroom toward Father’s study. He could at least begin pulling the relevant ledgers they needed to look through, and have them ready for Gerard’s return.
He was just about to go through the door when Mother rounded the corner and laid eyes on him. “Thomas!” She said, holding a hand to her breast. “You are awake! Oh, my dear boy, let me see you.”
Thomas’ smile was more of a grimace as his Mother hustled over and placed both hands on his face, irritating the pulsing bruise on his cheekbone. She dusted her shaking fingers over the bandage covering the cut above his brow as well. “This bandage needs to be changed,” she noted. “I shall have a physician called to tend to it henceforth.”
Thomas removed her hands gently. “In due time, Mother. There is currently business that needs attending.”
Mother looked as though she had told him of his plans to run headfirst off a cliff. “Business? What business? Your only business right now needs to be getting healed up.”
“I assure you, if it were not absolutely of the most critical status, I would agree.”
“Can Gerard not take care of it?”
“Gerard is already doing his part.” Thomas wished he could just step by her and enter the study, but this was his mother, the woman who had raised him and cared for him and had only his best interests at heart. He would not act so callous as to just brush her off. “I am doing what little I can from home.”
Mother’s face pinched in worried confusion. “What is this matter you are so concerned over, Thomas? It surely must be of great import, for you to go to such lengths while injured. Should you not be giving a statement to the Constable regarding the robbery?”
Thomas was at least relieved he would not have to spell out the details of the attack again. Someone must have already informed her of the details. He wondered whether they had mentioned the bit about the attack taking place in the same alley where Father had been killed.
“I’ve already spoken to the Constable,” Thomas said in the most reassuring voice he could manage. He chose to ignore bringing up the bit about Father for now.
Mother nodded, but her worry didn’t appear to lessen. Thomas gripped her hands in his and squeezed them. “I’m all right, Mother. I promise.”
“Just do not overwork yourself,” she said at last, looking unconvinced. “I know you are grown now, and you are making an excellent duke. But at the end of the day, to me, you will always be the little boy who followed at his father’s heels every hour of the day, and cried upon separation. It pains me to see you hurting so.”
Thomas’ throat grew tight. He knew his mother was speaking of his physical injuries…but he could not shake the suspicion she was speaking to something more internal as well. Perhaps he had not done as skilled a job at hiding the depth of his anxieties over assuming the dukedom as he had thought.
“I will take your words to heart,” Thomas said, and released her hands. “We will see one another again at supper, all right?”
This promise, at least, seemed to appease her. She nodded her agreement and continued on down the hall toward her own business.
Thomas breathed a sigh of relief, and at last stepped inside the study. He was tempted to sit right down in one of the guest chairs near the door—he had been standing up for some time now, and his sides were screaming—but if he did, he wasn’t fully confident he’d have the energy to get up again.
