Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
“You received all of this from tutoring?” Ophelia’s father said with awe, looking down at the money.
Guilt shivered through Ophelia’s chest. She was starting to hate lying to her father.
“You know how some parents can be,” she offered with a casual shrug, “Especially the aristocratic ones. They will pay anything to ensure that their children do not shame them.”
Though still fuming from the way she was removed from Tristan’s office the night before, she’d tucked that anger away when she met her father in the parlor the next morning.
Something was amiss with him. He was paler than usual.
Beads of sweat marked his brow. His breathing seemed shallow and uneven.
She also noticed that he had a tremble when she reached forward to hug him.
“Right,” he murmured, looking down at the stack of money in a daze.
“Now this is not going to take care of everything,” Ophelia went on, wanting to move on from the subject of how she had gotten the money, “But it will settle our debts from this month and partly what we still owe from the month before. I already sent for the accountant. He should be here within the hour.”
She reached down and picked up a stack of papers.
“These are the bills that the money will take care of. Be sure to give them to him along with the money, as well as take five percent for himself to cover his fee,” she gently urged.
“Right. Right,” John murmured again, then reached up to wipe the sweat from his brow.
“Papa?” Ophelia asked, feeling her worry deepen, “Are you well?”
John began to tremble harder before her. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to speak, but a gasping breath was all that came out. Ophelia rushed to the front of him, barely getting there before he began to fall.
“Papa!” She yelled, folding under his weight. She brought him to the floor as gently as she could as his body began to convulse. “Mr. Potter! Come quick!”
Ophelia heard the running footsteps of their butler drawing close in an instant, and he, a footman, and a maid came barreling into the room.
“Oh, good heavens!” Mr. Potter rasped, hurrying to help Ophelia.
“One of you fetch Mr. Grimes immediately! Go!” Mr. Potter commanded to the other two.
“What is happening to him?” Ophelia demanded, watching as Mr. Potter rolled her convulsing father onto his side.
“I am afraid I have seen this before, Miss Wexley,” Mr. Potter replied, his voice trembling with worry. “One of our stable boys from years ago were prone to them. I believe your father is having a fit.”
Theo and Amelia flanked either side of Ophelia as they waited in the hall; her body trembling with nerves.
“You should sit, darling,” Theo gently insisted.
Her jaw clenched tightly, Ophelia shook her head as her eyes remained fastened to the closed door of the parlor.
“No, I could not bear it,” she stiffly replied. “Not until I see that he is going to be all right.”
She had been surprised at first, when her friends arrived at her home a little after the physician, but then she discovered that Mr. Potter had called for them on her behalf, worried for her.
The sweet man had predicted her need for her friends.
She was grateful that they had come, but none of their gentle insisting had been able to remove her from the hallway.
“What is taking so long?” she sighed, drawing her arms around her chest. She pushed away from the wall and began to pace. “It feels like it has been hours!”
“Darling,” Amelia said softly, “I promise it has barely been a half hour. Mr. Grimes is very good. He was our family physician when I lived with my father and he helped deliver my Ava. He will sort your father out.”
As she said so, the door to the parlor finally opened and Mr. Grimes stepped out. Ophelia stopped pacing and rushed toward him, eager for an answer.
“He is alive, Miss Wexley” Mr. Grimes reported calmly, “But he is very weak. Allow me to arrange for him to be moved to his bedchamber, then I will give you a full report.”
Though Ophelia wanted answers at the very moment, she gave the physician a stiff nod. She watched as two footmen came forward with a stretcher and followed Mr. Grimes back into the parlor. A moment later they brought her father out.
“Papa,” she whispered, rushing to his side.
He was pasty white and looked exhausted, but he gave her a smile as he weakly squeezed her hand.
“It is all right, Ollie girl,” he rasped, “It will all be all right. Come up to my chambers as soon as you can, though. We must speak.”
“Miss Wexley, he really must be put to bed now,” Mr. Grimes insisted.
With difficulty Ophelia let go of her father’s hand; tears pricking her eyes as she watched him be carried on the stretcher toward the stairs.
“Tell me what happened to him,” Ophelia demanded.
“I am sorry to report that Lord Whitebridge’s heart has weakened considerably since I last examined him,” Mr. Grimes stated, getting right down to it. “I had warned him, years ago, that he needed to see me at least every six months once he turned fifty, but then he never came back.”
Ophelia’s heart sank into her stomach; knowing that the reason her father had avoided the exams was because they were struggling financially.
“I wish I would have known,” she said softly, shaking her head, “I would have taken him myself.”
“I am afraid we can not go back in time,” Mr. Grimes stated in a professional tone. “All we can do is try to be better moving forward.”
“Is he going to die?” She whispered as tears escaped down her cheeks.
“It is possible,” Mr. Grimes answered truthfully, “However there are things we can do to prolong that. No more spirits of any kind. Less meat. More vegetables. Plenty of rest. And if there is any way he can avoid being stressed, make it so.”
“I will,” Ophelia stated.
“Good,” Mr. Grimes said with the nod of his head. “Now give me a moment, and I will write down a list of medicines you should obtain from the apothecary.”
Ophelia listened closely to Mr. Grimes as he explained the administering of her father’s new medicines and his suggestions of future care; all while Theo and Amelia stayed closely by her side.
When he was finished the three of them walked with him to the front door, and Ophelia felt another wave of tension wash over her as they found her father’s accountant standing there, ready to knock.
“Oh goodness,” she sighed, “I forgot he was coming.”
Mr. Wolfe gaze oozed with displeasure as he looked on at Ophelia.
“Miss Wexley,” he greeted in a short tone, “I do believe your father sent for me. It should not be a surprise that I am here.”
“Even if he is behind on his payments,” he muttered under his breath.
The sadness and fear over her father’s condition left Ophelia’s body immediately. Her bowed shoulders straightened and her chin rose in the air as she stared down at the little beady-eyed creature that looked more like a rat in a suit than a man.
“Amelia, Theo,” she calmly said to them, “would you mind going to our cook to inform him of my father’s new restrictions while I speak with Mr. Wolfe?”
“Respectfully, Miss Wexley, I am here to speak with your father,” Mr. Wolfe replied with a condescending tone.
“Respectfully, Mr. Wolfe,” she replied, her voice dripping with venom, “My father has suffered an emergency. If you want your payment you will follow me to our parlor and have no issue conducting business with me and keep your condescending opinions of women to yourself.”
Mr. Grimes cleared his throat uncomfortably.
“Yes, well, I suppose I should be going,” he muttered, “I will be back tomorrow to check on your father, Miss Wexley, but do fetch me again if something should happen before then.”
“Thank you, Mr. Grimes,” Ophelia replied, still staring challengingly at Mr. Wolfe.
Mr. Grimes hurried away, leaving Ophelia alone on the front step with the accountant.
“Well?” She asked him, “Shall we see to business? I need to get to my father.”
Mr. Wolfe’s pinched, rat-like face turned several shades of red as he frowned at her, but he gave her a stiff nod and followed her inside. His narrowed eyes widened as soon as he saw the small fortune of pounds sitting on the work table, though, and he suddenly seemed eager to get to business.
She presented the invoices to him and a quick, confident manner, then gave clear instructions on what money was to be used where.
“Of course, I am aware that we owe you your fee, Mr. Wolfe,” she said, holding the last stack of pounds in her hands.
“However, with your disinclination toward doing business with women, I do understand if you are not comfortable receiving it. We could always wait to pay you until my father is able to do so himself.”
“No,” Mr. Wolfe said quickly, his eyes greedily fastened to the money in her hands. “No that will not be necessary. Thank you, Miss Wexley.”
With the physician and the accountant taken care of, and her dear friends handling the new instructions for the staff, Ophelia finally climbed the stairs to her father’s room.
When she opened his door she found him settled into his bed, just as pale as before.
He appeared so small in his large, ornate bed, and the sight renewed her earlier distress.
“I forgot the accountant was coming,” she said in way of apology as she came in, “Worry not, though, that is all settled.”
“Ollie girl,” John said.
“Mr. Grimes also gave me a list of medicines for you that will help,” she pushed on, busying herself plumping his pillows, “Mr. Potter has sent a maid to fetch them. They should be here forthwith.”
“Ollie…” John said, his eyes following her as she fussed about his nightstand.
“Theo and Amelia are speaking with the staff,” she pressed on, “I regret to say that there will be no more red meat you, Papa. Or spirits or smoking. Take heart, though, that lack of such will actually help our pocket book. I should believe that vegetables are much less expensive than cuts of meat.”
“Ophelia!” John said in an insistent tone, then coughed hard.
“Papa!” Ophelia scolded, flying to his side, “No yelling and no stress!”
“I’m sorry, my darling,” John wheezed.
She poured him a glass of water and he took it, drinking in half of it one long swig.
“I just needed you to stop for a moment,” he went on, handing the glass back to her, “I need to speak with you about something important.”
Though Ophelia’s nerves screamed at her not to sit down or stop fussing, she sat on the side of her father’s bed, and let him take her hand. John’s face smoothed into relief as she finally did so, and he settled back into his pillows.
“Now, darling, you know I have always loved you for who you are,” John began.
Ophelia shook her head, already knowing where he was going, but when she tried to pull her hand away he held it fast.
“Papa, no-”
“It is time, my Ollie girl,” John pushed forward, “You need a husband. I wish I would have left you something better but we are where we are.”
“I need no such thing!” She insisted, “I have received steady work. I shall be getting our debts cleared soon, I promise-”
“My current debts, possibly,” John agreed, cutting her off. “But what of the future? The upkeep of this house alone is a small fortune. Not to mention the country house.”
“Then I shall sell this house and move permanently to the country,” she quickly replied, her heart starting to race. “I am certain the funds from such would pay off any debts remaining and leave me with a nice little egg to live on.”
“For a while,” John agreed, “But not forever. And darling, that would only be allowed to happen if the Crown does not find a next male heir, which you and I both know that they would. Your uncle Curtis has three sons. His oldest, Bartholemew, will most likely be given ownership.”
Ophelia grit her teeth, hating that she knew what he said was true, and there was nothing she could do about it.
His voice trembled with regret as his eyes grew misty. Ophelia was not a woman that shed tears often, but seeing her father like this had her blinking back her own tears, and she had to look away.
“It is too late,” she whispered, hoping one last time to dissuade her father, “This season is over. I am now considered an old maid. Even if I wanted to, no one would marry me now.”
“You need to try, dearest,” John said softly. He tugged at her hand, and she looked back down at him. His eyes were begging her to listen, and the look of such was breaking her heart.
“I do not wish poverty for you. Whether it be now or later in life. A good marriage is the only way to ensure that does not happen.”
He patted her hand, a small smile spreading across his face.
“I do not mean a marriage in the future, either. I mean right now. It may be selfish of me but I would like to see you wedded before I go. It will help my soul rest easier.”
“Do not talk like that,” Ophelia whispered, “Mr. Grimes said a lifestyle change could ease your ailment.”
“Ease” John agreed with the nod of his head, “But not cure. The sand of my hour glass is running out, my darling Ollie girl. And I need to know that you are taken care of before it does. Please. Do this. For me.”
Ophelia’s breath started to quicken. The world she’d had the freedom to build around her suddenly feeling very small as she realized that the truth of her future reality could not be changed.
She had fought so hard- resisted society for nearly all of her life- and it was about to amount to nothing.
The lump in her throat appeared fast, and it took her several moments to successfully swallow around it.
“There are always a few autumnal celebrations before most of the ton leave for their winter homes,” she rasped, hating every word she spoke. “I shall do what I must to attain invitations. With luck, I will find someone willing to court me at one of them.”
Everything. She was going to have to change everything about herself to pull this particular feat off. The acknowledgment of such pained her nearly as much as her father’s condition. Her life, her dreams…were gone.
Yet at her side her father let out a sigh of relief, and his grip on her hand loosened.
“Thank you, Ollie girl. Have hope. You never know. You could be lucky like your mother and I, and find your soul mate.”
Though Ophelia nodded, she very much doubted it.