Chapter 22 #2
His father shook his head. “There is no if. I will die sooner or later, and if it’s sooner, we need to take action now for a seamless transition.
” He drew a breath, and Colin convinced himself it didn’t have the rattle of death.
“It’s taken me a while to come around, I’ll admit, but we’re so close to winning a victory for reform.
One more vote in favor would help. Forget about that nonsense of running for MP in Commons; you belong in Lords.
” He grabbed Colin’s hand lying on the bed next to him. “Promise me.”
“I will promise if you allow Ashton to examine you fully and stop seeing that charlatan you call a doctor.”
A grim smile crossed his father’s lips. “See, you are an excellent negotiator already. Ashton, can I count on your assistance?”
“You may, sir. For both your health and your appeal for a writ of acceleration,” Ashton said.
Slumping back on the bed, his father looked every bit of his sixty-eight years. “Now, leave me. You have a bride waiting for you and an heir to produce.”
Ashton glanced up as Colin rose to take his leave. “If you would, Manning, tell my wife where I’ll be.” Concern on Ashton’s face did nothing to alleviate Colin’s fears.
For long moments, Colin stood outside his father’s bedchamber.
All the hope, the anticipation, and yes, even the joy he’d felt that morning when he prepared for his wedding day transformed into bleak despair.
Like most children do, Colin once believed his father was invincible, a tower of strength who would live forever.
However, with Margery’s illness and death, the belief in his father’s immortality began to crack.
Now it was shattered, and along with it, his hope of becoming his own man, recognized for his own accomplishments in his own name. Not as Stratford in Lords, but as Manning in Commons.
Who was he fooling? He would always live in his father’s shadow, even when he inherited the marquessate. At least if a writ of acceleration was issued, he would serve in Lords as Baron Amesworth while his father still lived.
Finally gathering his composure, he went in search of the duchess and found her in the ballroom, directing the servants to remove the last vestiges of the evening’s ball.
He hadn’t had many interactions with Ashton’s wife, but when he delivered Ashton’s message, she confirmed all accounts that she was an uncommonly kind woman.
“I expected no less of Harry, Lord Manning. Of course he would insist on remaining with your father.” She placed a slender hand on his arm and squeezed.
Her incredible violet eyes, filled with compassion, met his.
“Rest assured, Harry will do his utmost for your father. My husband takes all of his responsibilities seriously, but practicing medicine is his one great love.”
Colin found a genuine smile tugging at his lips. “Aside from you. You are both very fortunate to have found each other.”
“We’ve had our share of trials.” She gave another squeeze and then released him. “But here I am detaining you when I’m sure you wish to be with Anne. I’m so sorry the joyful spirit of the day was dampened.”
So was he.
After excusing himself, he went in search of his bride. His father’s last words rang in his mind. You have a bride waiting for you and an heir to produce.
It would be foolish to think he might have already accomplished the last, and as much as he had eagerly anticipated being alone with Anne again, under the circumstances, the thought of making love to her seemed selfish. But at least he might find comfort in her arms.
A maid carrying a tea service curtsied before proceeding up the stairs.
“Hold,” Colin called. “Do you know where Lady Manning is?”
The woman, no more than a girl, blinked, and a slight frown creased her forehead. “Lady Manning?”
“Yes. My wife. We were married this morning.”
Her face brightened. “Oh, yes, sir. Sorry, sir. She’s with Her Grace and Lady Stratford.” She lifted the tray slightly. “I’m taking this tea to them.”
Colin motioned for her to continue and followed her to Honoria’s sitting room.
The sight of his sister comforting his mother gave him pause. Was it a portrait of things to come? Only with the women he loved dressed in black? As he stood in the doorway, Anne saw him first. “Colin.”
They all rose, and Honoria waited until the maid placed the tea on the table and exited before asking, “How is he?”
He forced a smile for their benefit and motioned for them to resume their seats. “Stubborn as ever. Ashton’s still with him, and I just informed the duchess.”
Honoria’s hand shook as she poured tea, and Anne gently removed the teapot from Honoria’s hands.
Face pale and drawn, his sister looked ghastly. However, his mother looked worse.
His gaze darted back to Anne. Even she bore signs of distress, her usual exuberance somehow muted as if color had leached from her very spirit. Three of the most important women in his life were in pain, and he couldn’t do anything to fix it.
Without warning, the thought slammed into him.
Damn. The girls.
Sound asleep, his daughters had no idea their grandfather was ill.
As strict and demanding as his father had been while Colin was growing up, when witnessing how lenient his father was with his grandchildren, Colin would swear he wasn’t the same man.
“That’s not the father we grew up with,” he said once to Honoria.
The girls adored their grandpapa, who indulged them with ponies and sweets and promises of lavish balls in their honor when they came of age.
“Colin? Did you hear me?”
His mind reeled back to the present at Anne’s voice. “Forgive me. What did you say?”
“Would you like tea? There are only three cups, but you can have mine if you wish.”
He shook his head. All he wanted was to be alone.
No. Not alone, alone, he realized. He wanted to be alone with Anne.
But first, he had to be a dutiful son and brother, to be the man of the house. “Mother? Honoria? Is there anything I can do for either of you?”
Honoria rose and stood before him. “It’s your wedding night. I’ll take care of Mother. Go. Be with Anne.” She kissed him on the cheek and returned to their mother.
He held out his hand to his bride and prayed it wouldn’t betray how vulnerable he felt at that moment. “Anne? Will you come with me?”
Silently, she rose and joined him. Slight and refined, her hand slid into his with a natural rightness, as though it had always belonged there.
And that small, soft hand gave him strength.