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Chapter Thirty-One
Thomas stormed out of the Alderleaf Manor gardens, hating himself and hating the world. It was a small miracle of timing the guard and watchdog did not come upon him; they had to have been circling the other side of the property. Thomas certainly did not refrain from making noise, at this point more than willing to sink into the mire of self-pity and confusion.
The streets were quiet this time of night, save for the occasional beggar and those touched in the head, abandoned to their own devices by ill-caring family members.
Thomas felt more than a little touched himself, as he stumbled his way back to Elvington Manor. His face hurt. His sides hurt.
It is my heart that hurts worst of all, Thomas thought, more than aware of his own syrupy sentimentality. Gerard was not wrong when he insisted Thomas was prone to often nonsensical dramatics.
By the time Thomas did at last make it home, it was not far from dawn. Despite the screaming of his injuries and immense exhaustion, rather than going straight to bed, he found himself in Father’s—his—study once more.
Out of some bullheaded sense of determination, Thomas had meant to pull each and every ledger from the bookshelf and go through them at length, desperate to stumble upon some clue as to whether or not the Duke of Alderleaf’s books could be trusted…but reality had other plans.
He’d hardly pulled the contents of the first shelf when his thoughts went fuzzy. A wave of nausea came over him, and he swallowed back his own sick, sweating profusely.
You’ve lost Father. Now you’ve lost Lady Evelina. All because you are operating off of hunches, and cannot find proof.
That was is final conscious thought before he collapsed to the ground, books and loose papers going everywhere.
It was the butler who found him there in the morning. He’d come to check in on the study and ensure it was ready for Thomas’ usage—typically, if Thomas had left things a mess the night before, the butler would send for someone to tidy it up while the family was at breakfast.
Today, Thomas was curled up against the desk, his chin resting atop his knees, feeling sick and upset and as a whole as though the world had ended. Dawn had come nearly an hour ago, but he hadn’t noticed the light through the window. His world felt fully dark now; as though there would never be sunshine again.
“Your Grace!” said the butler, aghast. He strode into the room, looking panicked. “Have you had some form of an attack?”
Thomas opened his mouth to respond that no, bandits had not burst into the house during the night to attack him once more, when he realized the butler was speaking of an attack of the body, or some form of ailment.
Only then did Thomas fully taken in his own state: rumpled clothes and hair, dry (likely bloodshot) eyes, the smell of yesterday’s chaos and trek across London.
“No,” Thomas managed, trying to get to his feet and regain some sort of dignity. He hardly got halfway up before collapsing again, only now becoming aware of his own exhaustion. “Oh, no…”
He was not entirely sure what, precisely, he was bemoaning. The loss of Lady Evelina? The loss of Father? The overall confusion of the situation, and his inability to get to the bottom of it all?
He was a failure. None of those who he cared about could rely on him. And it wasn’t that he didn’t trust Lady Evelina; he didn’t know who to trust right now at all! It wasn’t just about her, and never had been.
Of course, he’d failed miraculously to explain that last night.
At some point in all of this, the butler had left, and had now returned with Gerard, who was still dressed in night clothes. Thomas dimly remembered his brother’s promise to remain at Elvington Manor until Thomas made a full recovery.
“Thomas,” Gerard said, immediately kneeling at his side. “You are unwell.”
The comment brought a laugh to Thomas’ lips. It bubbled out, a half-crazed sound, and Gerard’s brow pinched together in concern.
“Come on, then,” Gerard said, gripping Thomas beneath his shoulders to hoist him up. “Let’s get you to bed.”
This time, for the first time since the attack, Thomas didn’t resist. He allowed himself to be hauled out of the office toward his bedroom by Gerard and the butler, leaving the mess behind to be dealt with later. Thomas was too exhausted and aching to feel any true remorse over the catastrophic state in which he’d left the study.
When Thomas had at last succeeded in undressing and getting tucked away beneath his blankets, Gerard sat on the end of the bed, looking cross.
Thomas wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and drift away into nothingness, if only for the briefest time.
Gerard had other plans. “Well?” he demanded.
Thomas begrudgingly opened one eye. “Well, what?”
“I take it things did not transpire as you had hoped with Lady Evelina.”
Thomas shut his eye again. “No.”
