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“She is trustworthy,” Joan said, answering the unspoken question. Often the help were greater gossipmongers than thetonthemselves, but Mary was soft-spoken and had her own secrets to keep, so she honored the confidences of others with more discretion than most. It was for that reason Joan had asked her instead of her lady’s maid to accompany them.
Rowles nodded in acceptance of her judgment. “My mother isn’t well, as you are fully aware. All of London is aware,” he added softly. “But the extent isn’t known. It’s all speculation. A few weeks ago there was an incident that required me to move her to separate lodgings. The staff at the house are fully competent, but I fear my mother’s malady is beyond even their capabilities.” He hesitated. “I’ll explain more when we arrive.”
Joan nodded once. There was much she wished to say, but she kept her peace, waiting for the right moment.
It wasn’t a long trip to his mother’s lodgings, and soon they were halted in front of a gray stone town house outside of Mayfair. Rowles stepped from the carriage and immediately turned to assist her.
The door to the house opened as they approached, a footman clearly awaiting the master’s return. As they entered, Rowles nodded to the footman and waved toward the stairs, leading her upward. “There are nurses aplenty. Your maid can wait in the parlor, if you wish.”
“Thank you,” Joan replied, then turned to her maid. “Mary?” Joan nodded to the servant, who curtsied and followed another footman to the door on the left of the staircase, which displayed a small but lavishly furnished parlor.
Joan followed Rowles up the stairs, her nose tingling with the scent of something familiar yet not. The sweet scent of cloves and licorice with a hint of cinnamon filtered through the air, permeating it. She took a deeper breath, and Rowles turned slightly toward her as they strode down the second-floor hall. “Laudanum.”
It was one word that conveyed volumes.
“She grabbed the bottle from the nurse who was giving her the usual evening dose. My mother made quick work of ingesting as much as possible before they were able to stop her. It spilled everywhere as they…fought her for it.”
Joan’s heart sank, myriad emotions swirling through her: empathy, pity, despair, mourning, and understanding.
“I’m very sorry,” she whispered, not knowing what else to say, and knowing it wasn’t nearly enough.
Rowles answered, “As am I. But what’s done is done.” Two nurses and a footman bowed and curtsied as they approached a wooden door.
“Your Grace,” the footman said, echoed by the nurses.
Rowles nodded. “Has there been any change?”
“No, Your Grace,” the older of the two nurses replied, her expression sad. They were good people, Joan noted. No hint of malice in their eyes or demeanor that made her suspicious; rather, they cared deeply for the duke. It reassured her.
“She’s still asleep, if you’d wish to see her, Your Grace,” the other nurse added, hand on the doorknob to open the room for them.
“Yes, thank you,” he said sadly as he made his way through the door.
Joan followed behind, the aroma of cinnamon and clove, sweet and bitter all at once, intensifying as she entered the darkened room. The warmth of the room made the scent overpowering, and she fought to breath steadily. It was choking, as if death hovered above them, weighing down the air.
As her eyes adjusted to the dim candlelight, she made out the furnishings of the room as well as the bed where Rowles led them.
Joan’s heart ached at the sight of the duchess. Small, frail, and still; it was hard to imagine this woman had fought anyone, let alone two nurses and a footman. Under the bedcovers, her chest rose slowly. Each breath held a long pause between. Joan was no stranger to death. Her mother had died when she was ten, and her father five years after; most recently, her brother. No, death was a companion at this point, an unwanted but very real one. However, this was different. Rather than the ripping of a loved one’s life from a family’s hands and heart, this was a slow, methodical descent into the grave. As if the duchess was taking one step with each breath, bringing herself closer and closer.
Joan had seen the result of death, but never the process, and it was a sobering experience.
“Mother?” Rowles whispered softly. Gently, he traced the line of her forehead, swiping a wayward gray curl from her mobcap. “Can you hear me?”
Joan silently counted his efforts as futile, only to be surprised by the stirring of the woman’s hand as her fingers twitched. Joan looked to her face, but saw no change in the woman’s expression. More than anything, she wished to see the duchess open her eyes. So much could be read there.
Joan looked down to her own fisted hands. How she hated feeling powerless! It was an accompaniment to death, she supposed. Feeling unable to mourn enough, or to comfort those who mourned as well—it was never adequate. A constant emptiness that would never again be filled, and her heart ached for Rowles. He stood so close beside her that his hands nearly brushed her dress. Joan’s fingers twitched, then slowly arched toward his, touching him slightly, then finding home as her hand was surrounded by his. Warmth seeped through her, and she squeezed softly, communicating with action what words couldn’t convey.
Rowles addressed her with a small, sorrowful nod of thanks.
She returned it with a tip of her lips, and glanced back to his mother.
“What…” Joan started, then hesitated.
“Go on,” Rowles urged.
“What would you wish to tell her, if she could hear you right now?” Joan finished, her voice soft and tender.
Rowles exhaled a mirthless laugh as he turned to Joan. “So much, but…” He looked to his mother. “I’d want to tell her I love her, and regardless of her condition, I’ve always loved her. But…I think even more, I’d wish to tell her about you.” His voice was barely more than a whisper. “She always wanted Robert to marry, but he didn’t, and now he’s gone. When she was healthy, she always wanted grandchildren and it is painful to think that now, when it’s too late, she would have had that possible future to look forward to.” He breathed deeply.
