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Chapter Nineteen
Eating the bitter bread ofbanishment.
—Shakespeare,Richard II
Nicholas paced thesitting room. It had been three days since she’d left. Left without a word to him, instead telling Fredericks where she was going and not to worry should she not return. Fredericks. Not Nicholas. No words for him at all. He hit the doorframe to her room. Should she not return? He hit it again, pain rippling up his arm. Had she left him? He licked the blood on his knuckles. A dog licked his wounds for succor. That was what he was. A dog. A lowly cur. It was his fault she’d left. He had driven her off.
He’d kept busy continuing traveling around the estate, making note of each complaint, each need, entirely appalled by the neglect. Where the hell was Brownlee? Surely he should have responded to the demand for his return by now? How bloody far away did his family business take him? Nicholas didn’t know who to direct his anger toward. The steward? His father? His brother? One missing in action. One in ill health. And the last dead.Damnation. Had Daniel not realized people were dependent upon him?
Nicholas ran down the stairs swiftly and, not hesitating this time, headed directly into the study. He lit the candle and pulled out the next bundle. He tore at the ribbon, yanked it from the packet, and spread out the first sheet. He was done toying with the past.
Dear Brother,
Father is incapacitated, laid low by a failure of the heart. The doctor is not sure when he will recover, or if he will recover. I am panicked. I do not have the wherewithal to assume his place. Were you here, I’ve no doubt you would relieve me of much of the burden and take his stead in all but title—although, I would gladly grant you that as well. Instead, you are lost to me somewhere on the continent, and I stand here alone this abysmal night, staring across the desk at the darkness, wondering if I can rise to the role of earl.
Nicholas gazed out the window. The flame’s dance reflected in the glass, obscuring the night. Daniel had sat here full of angst too.
While you lead battalions, I fear I cannot even direct my own emotions. I am a failure. You would be ashamed of my trepidation. I but hope our father’s stubbornness reigns and he lives to see another day.
Nicholas scanned the next letters detailing his father’s confinement and slow recovery. The last missive ended with a celebration of his father’s certain rally. He shoved the packet back into the drawer. He wanted to hate Daniel as a traitor. Dismiss him as irrelevant. Yet the thought of doing so did not sit well. He could hear Daniel’s voice as he read each word, feel his rising and falling anxiety. Nicholas empathized with Daniel’s sense of being overwhelmed and filled with self-doubt. Daniel had always been able to wrap around Nicholas’s heart.
He grabbed the last bundle and stood. He did not want to read his brother’s final words in this cold room. He clutched Daniel’s last thoughts to his chest as he took the stairs.
The cherub opened the door before Nicholas reached the landing. “There you are, my lord. Should I prepare a bath?”
“Get out.”
“I beg your pardon, my lord…have I done something to offend?”
None of this had anything to do with the man. Nicholas’s anger sputtered. It felt too much like kicking a pup. “No, Isaac, nothing. I just wish to be alone.”
Isaac spotted the bundle, and Nicholas dropped his arm, but it was too late. Isaac’s eyes watered as he smiled. “Of course you do, my lord. Of course you do.” He strode out of the room, gently closing the door behind him.
Nicholas tossed the packet on the bed. The small ivory pile stood stark against the crimson spread. Like a man shot down in battle, his life seeping into the ground. Like his brother lying in the woods in his own blood. Nicholas ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head, trying to dislodge the image.Damn. He still could not bring himself to read the final letters. The last words Daniel would ever share with him.
Turning from one pain to face another, he stood in front of the fireplace, grabbing the edge of the mantel as though it could anchor his thoughts. Three days. The chasm between them was so great, even when standing side by side. What did it matter if she was here or not?Bloody hell.She washiswife now, and that mattered. That meant something. Her place was at Woodfield Park, whether she liked it or not. Whether she cared for him or not.
Perhaps she had returned, but gone to Stratton Hall? He had no hope of recovery if that was her choice. Her father would protect her against Nicholas’s…against his what? His love? He growled, not knowing what to call it anymore, only knowing he ached to have her near.
A slight sound pierced his anguish. Hushed voices, the closing of a door. He stepped into the sitting room. A trace of light wavered beneath the door, and there was more muted talking. The band around his chest eased. He took a deep breath, then slowly blew it out. She was back. She was not staying with the countess indefinitely. Despite all the reasons she should not, Catherine had come home.
He laid his forehead against the door that stood between them, his heart pulsating in his neck. He had felt fear in his life, and this had been as keen as any he had known. He pressed harder against the wood until stars radiated. She had come home.
He walked away from the temptation that lay beyond the threshold and returned to his bedroom. The letters remained silent on the duvet. They would wait another day. He set them on the side table. After discarding his clothing, he climbed into bed, suddenly bone weary.
Catherine was here. A room away. For tonight, that was enough.
