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Ainsley
Iburst through the rear entry of the manor and into the kitchen, startling the waiting staff. I muttered my apologies and dashed down the corridor leading to the ballroom. Stuttering to a halt, I found my mother dressed in her finery, her golden locks disheveled, crying near the doors of the library. Where was Father? Why was Mother alone?
“Mother?” I stepped closer, reaching for her. She was holding a handkerchief and dabbing her hazel-green eyes. “Mother, where is Father? Please, tell me.”
She turned to me then, her beautiful face mottled and grief-stricken. “Come along, dear. He has been moved to his chambers. The crowd was too much. We are waiting on Doctor Weston to arrive at any moment. I shall take you there at once.” She clasped my hand tightly, leading me from the library to the main living area, and up the hardwood spiral staircase, where my father’s chambers awaited.
The murmurs surrounding us as we moved through our home created a tension in the air that was unmistakable. My world was crumbling, and society was impatiently waiting and gossiping around us as if this were some sort of show.
We quickly moved toward the duke’s chambers. What had happened in the scant few hours since I’d been painting? Father had been lively and elated about the upcoming ball. This… I didn’t understand.
I couldn’t ascend the stairs fast enough and attempted to hurry Mother along. But she appeared to be in a sort of daze. Once we finally reached the top landing, I left her and ran to my father’s chambers.
Throwing the doors open, I found him lying on his large four-poster bed, dressed in a thin nightshirt, and barely conscious. Three maids were in the room to help keep him comfortable, it seemed.
The duke appeared to be on death’s door—I could scarcely bear it. “Father.” I walked to his side, my thoughts racing, wondering what I could possibly do. “Can you hear me?”
Tears began rolling down my cheeks. I attempted to hold them back, but I couldn’t. He’d always been so strong, so vibrant, but seeing him in such a state, it was gut-wrenching. Father’s face appeared gaunt and pale, and dark circles lay beneath his now-red-rimmed blue eyes. His dark-brown hair was slick with sweat, as was his body. Yet, he was shivering.
After a moment, his unfocused gaze landed on me and he tried to lift his arm, however, it fell abruptly to the bed. “Ains…ly.” He could hardly speak. “Sit.”
I took his hand in mine and sat next to him, pulling a thick coverlet atop his body.
Mother entered the room, stood on the other side of the bed, and nodded as I briefly glanced her way.
“Father, you’re going to be all right. The doctor will be here soon.” I attempted to smile through tears and gently caressed his hand. “Not to worry. I love you so.”
He held up a finger. “Shh. Some…thing…I…must…say.” He inhaled deeply. “Important. Listen.”
Mother broke down and began to sob, turning to face the door. I was scarcely holding it together. I couldn’t take much more.
“Yes, Father.” I choked with a gasp.
“Find…Silverthorne.” He coughed and blood spurted from his lips.
I called for a maid. “Get me a wet cloth, please.” Why was he bleeding? What had happened? I was shattering more and more each moment. My strong father. To see him so helpless? And there was not a thing I could do to help him.
“Here you are, my Lady.”
I nodded my thanks and accepted the wet cloth, wiping my father’s mouth and chin. “Is that better?”
He closed his eyes for a moment, and my heart plummeted to my feet. I ran my hand along the inside of his arm and rested my fingers gently on his wrist. His pulse was growing weaker with each passing second. Where the heck was that doctor?
The duke slowly opened his eyes and squeezed my hand. “Find the rogue… Silverthorne.” His lids slipped shut. “Your…des…sti…ny. We’ve always loved…you.” And with that, my father took his final breath.
I stared at him in disbelief. “No! Father.” I shook his shoulders. “You are not dead. Come back to me this instant. You cannot die. You can’t…” I threw myself over him and lost all composure. My body racked with heaving sobs, and I felt my mother hug me from above, her cries matching my own.
I cried and screamed for God to bring him back. It wasn’t fair. How could this happen? Why? I felt as though my soul was dying, pouring out in steady streams all over the bed alongside my tears. My heart was broken, feeling as though it had splintered into tiny glass shards, and with each heaving breath, ripping away at my insides, rending flesh and organs as if they were tissue paper.
I couldn’t breathe. My entire life flashed before my eyes. I had wanted freedom from this place. I had been so completely selfish. My father was gone—dead—and I…was never the daughter he deserved. I should have been painting in my room. I would have had more time.
I peered up at my mother’s face, seeing her pain reflecting my own. Nothing would ever be the same.
Falling to the floor in a heap, I cried until my throat was raw. The doors to the room flung open, and the voices of the godforsaken guests’ downstairs and those rushing to the corridor accosted my ears again. The doctor slammed the doors shut behind him. And a new wail racked through my body. The bloody doctor had arrived too damn late. But, honestly, what could he have done? Father had expired so quickly.
I continued to sob over the moments of my life he would now miss. The day I would actually get married. He would not be there to give me away and walk me down the aisle. The birth of my children.
Choking again, I buried my face in my hands. The murmurs from outside had become full-on shouts and cries, and I gritted my teeth together. “Why do they feel they have a right to watch us mourn as though we are animals on display?” I slammed my fists against the hard surface of the floor.
