24. Chapter 24 #2
The stack in his hands weighed on him like a bag of rocks, each representing a responsibility he had to attend to before seeing to his own happiness. In the hall, a footman offered to transfer the stack to another crate. Algenon gladly agreed.
In the carriage with the crate at his feet, he watched the streets of London pass by.
Smoke hung low over the city, and the unusual warm spell had come to an end.
Women in drab dresses with baskets of laundry on their hips scurried through side streets as chimney sweeps and errand boys bustled along the sides of the road.
The dreary scene brought a feeling of foreboding that Algenon had tried to ignore since his father’s collapse.
Perhaps he should forgo his stop at Harris House in case his father’s condition worsened.
But as the carriage neared his destination, he could not bring himself to direct the driver to change course.
His whole life he’d put his father first, his edicts and desires, but for once he was going to do something for himself.
When the carriage rolled to a stop, his hands began to tremble.
If he wanted to gain Lord Upton’s approval, he’d need to show him the utmost respect instead of bounding up the steps, which was his preferred mode of arrival.
The driver opened the door and Algenon held out a card for him to take to the butler, instructing him to ask for an audience with Lord Upton.
Never had he held to this formality when visiting Harris House, but Javenia deserved the best from him now, especially after he’d quite thoroughly ruined her reputation.
The driver climbed the steps and Algenon watched as the man stopped and stared at the door. He looked up and down the street as if searching for something, then returned.
Removing his hat, the middle-aged man shifted from one foot to the other, worrying the brim. “Sir, the knocker has been removed.”
“Removed? That’s not possible. They were to remain until the end of next week.”
“Even so, it ain’t there.”
Algenon’s heart sank, his hands became clammy, and his chest tightened.
Had he waited too long? Had they decamped to the country, worried he’d not offer for Javenia?
He was an idiot, pure and simple. No matter his father’s condition, he should have attended to Javenia first—should have made it clear that he was declaring his love for her and an intention to make her his wife.
Instead, he’d become worse than Lord Penwick. At least Penwick had kept his blasted mouth shut after Algenon had threatened to expose his affair with Lady Jersey by petitioning the Duke of Bedford to have him brought before the House of Lords on grounds of assault—saving Javenia from further harm.
With him, she’d been quite thoroughly ruined. Society would never allow her in their midst again, too frightened that she’d lead their precious daughters and sons astray. He balled his hand and beat it against the carriage wall. Why had he waited?
The driver took a weary step back.
Algenon bit back the curses he wanted to hurl at the sky and snapped, “Take me to the Fortescues’, immediately.”
The driver jumped to do his bidding, shutting the door and climbing atop the box. When they reached the front doors of the townhouse, Algenon did not wait for him to open the door, alighting quickly and calling to the footman to bring the crate.
Taking the stairs two at a time, he reached his father’s room and burst through the door so quickly his stepmother startled.
Her pale, drawn face brought him up short. “Forgive me, Lady Roberts. I’d not meant to cause you distress.”
Lady Roberts’s hands fluttered around the handkerchief in her lap. “I had not expected you back so soon.” Her eyes were puffy, red rimmed and her lips quivered.
“Has something happened?”
She sniffled. “He is still with us… for now.”
Algenon’s heart sunk. For now? Until this point, he’d hoped it was only a sickness caused by one of his headaches. His father was too strong and stubborn to die.
His father stirred. “Roberts.”
The one word was quiet and raspy, but at least he’d recognized him this time.
Algenon crossed to the bedside, shoving down his own disquiet to really inspect his father. “I am here.”
“Book.”
“The footman is bringing them, but I didn’t know which one. You have six of them.”
One side of Lord Roberts’s face scrunched. Did he not remember how many green journals he had? Was his mind intact enough to know what he was in search of?
When the footman rapped on the door, Algenon called for him to enter. The tall, gangly youth set the crate on the side table and bowed his head before leaving.
Algenon pulled the first book from the box and flipped to the first page to find the date. “This one is from 1808.”
Lord Roberts stared at him but didn’t answer.
Lady Roberts scooted forward and took Lord Roberts’s hand. “Is that the book?” After a moment, she looked up. “That’s not the one.”
They went through the next three books this way until the second to the last one. Algenon didn’t have to wait for his stepmother’s answer.
His father’s eyes lit up. “L-look.”
Algenon held it out to him, and his father’s good hand came up and flipped the book open to a page that was bent in half, covering whatever was written there.
“Look,” he repeated.
Algenon peeled back the page and straightened it. He read three lines before stopping, his eyes going wide and his stomach swooping like he’d been dropped off the highest tower.
If the world ever finds out Algenon is not my own, but the result of my brother’s idiocy before his death, the Roberts title will be no more, for I have not fathered a legitimate son and my hopes are waning.