Chapter 23
L eander had never wanted out of a coach more in his life than he had during the ride from London to his country estate with his new wife. Now, thank God, he was out of that small box and in his study, scribbling away. He had been scribbling all through the night.
When he was in this particular phase of an episode, he couldn’t sleep, sometimes for a few days. The ideas just kept coming, and he would write until his hand could simply write no more. The scrawling ink of his words took over the page. He did not see anyone. He barely ate. He barely drank. He just worked, and worked, and worked, and then he paced the floors of his beautifully appointed study.
He would stare at the portraits of his father and grandfather, willing them to help him through.
He would take book after book off the shelves and then put them back in a frenzy. And he would cross to the windows and stare out at the land that was his to protect, land that had been in his family for hundreds of years.
It was better than going into London and acting like this in Southwark or the East End or, bloody hell, the House of Lords or the Devonshire’s ballroom. No, this was exactly what he needed.
Actually, he could often use a great deal of the work he produced during these frenzied states.
Still, he was not easy to be around like this. He knew it. His servants had taken one look at him when he’d arrived and immediately began preparing. They’d been not grim faced but accepting. They all knew it was an ordeal for him, one that left him exhausted and sometimes feeling ashamed, which was no easy thing for a household that was supposed to be exceptionally proud of having a duke in residence.
And yet most of the servants had known him since he was a small boy, and so they were tremendously kind. And sometimes he felt like they pitied him. He hated feeling that he needed to be pitied, or that something was wrong with him. Still, he worked and he worked. It was all he could do.
He blotted and sanded his parchment, then dipped his quill in the ink and started a new page.
Then a sick spiral of soul-shaking thoughts hit him.
Dear God, Mercy was going to leave him. She would leave him if she truly understood what he was like right now.
He had to send her back to Heron House. If she continued to see him like this, she would become disgusted. She would see him as an invalid. She could not love him. How could anybody love someone like him, like this? The thoughts kept pounding around his head, whirling one after another. Yes, he needed to simply send her a note and tell her to go back to London. That was the right thing to do.
It was the only way to prevent her leaving him.
The thought felt wrong and suddenly grating, as if he was about to create his own catastrophe. And then he shook his head, pushing the thoughts away. He had to stop himself before he took a hammer to his life.
He did not make decisions when he was like this. He knew he could not, but the burning urge was racing through him like an impossible force, like a river rushing towards the sea or an avalanche coming down from a mountain. He had to send her away. If he did not send her away, then she would leave him. It sounded like such a terrible dichotomy, but surely it was the truth.
And so he forced himself up from his desk.
He began striding forward, and just he was about to wrench open the study door, find her, and tell her to go, he stopped, stunned.
She was standing there with a tray in her arms.
“You need to eat something,” she stated simply. “Now, step aside.”
He blinked down at her and, much to his surprise, did exactly as she said.
She let out an exasperated sigh as she moved forward with surprising efficiency. “You are going to burn yourself out. I’ve brought you beef tea. It’ll be just the thing.”
“Beef tea,” he echoed and then he followed her back into the depths of the room.
How had she done that? She was such a force, like a general on a battlefield, and suddenly he realized this was why he’d married her. This was why he had picked Mercy. He had known she wouldn’t run away like a coward or a man who could not face his worst fears. No, she was going to plant her flag and stand resolved. He had known when he’d seen her that of all the other young ladies he’d met, she would not be afraid.
And in that moment, he had a wave of clarity as he remembered why it had burst out of his mouth—that proposal to her. It had seemed a mad thing to do. The marriage had seemed mad, but it was the most sensible thing he had ever done, and this moment proved it.
“Now,” she said as she set the tray down on his desk, “you were muttering something when I came in. What was it?”
“Do you wish me to be honest?” he said.
“Of course I wish you to be honest,” she said, adjusting the items on the tray. “We must not have lies.”
“I was going to try to send you away.”
She turned to him, her eyes wide, but then she propped her hands on her hips and pursed her lip.
“Again?” she teased. “Don’t you dare. I’ll poison your beef tea.”
He let out a burst of a laugh. “You mean it, don’t you?”
“Perhaps not with actual poison,” she allowed. “But with castor oil. You’d have a terrible time for a few days, you know? They say that it does the most horrible things to one’s system.” Another laugh burst from his lips, and the fear began to dissipate as if it had been a phantom or a mirage.
“Yes, Nanny used to give it to us wherever we were sick as children. I shall never recover from the horror of it.” He gave an exaggerated shudder.
“There. You see.” But then she lowered her hands from her hips and said more seriously. “Never threaten it again. Besides, you don’t really mean it. It’s just whatever’s in your head telling you those things. Sometimes we cannot trust our thoughts,” she said tightly as she poured beef tea into a large cup. She thrust it at him. “Drink this.”
He frowned. “I don’t want you behaving like a nanny with a child.”
“How utterly ridiculous,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Of course, I’m not like a nanny with a child. I’m like a wife with her husband. A wife is supposed to take care of her husband, Leander. Are you saying that you wouldn’t take care me if I was sick or if I—”
“I’m not sick,” he ground out.
“If I was in some difficulty,” she clarified patiently. “Will you leave me to struggle with it alone?”
“No,” he admitted, struggling to deny her logic even if his emotions wished to. “Of course I won’t.”
She smiled at him and lifted the cup again as if that settled the matter. “Then there’s nothing to discuss. Drink it.”
She thrust it at him again.
He took the cup and stared at his wife, amazed by her strength, her loyalty, her love. Then he drank the beef tea, and he suddenly began to wonder if perhaps things weren’t going to be terrible after all.
The tea warmed him, soothing him.
And then his body began to sag, and the frenzy began to leave him, and a wave of dread began to channel through him.
“Oh, Mercy,” he whispered, “I think you’re going to see the next part of it.”
“Good,” she said.
“Good?” he queried, shocked.
She blinked, clearly unbothered and seemingly in her stride. “It means that you’ve moved through the first part of it, and if you’ve moved through the first part of it, you are heading towards the end of it. Isn’t that what that means?”
He laughed again, though this time it was not his full humor as before. “You are remarkably sensible.”
“Of course I am. It’s why you married me.”
“What?” he gasped.
“It’s why you married me,” she repeated proudly. “I’ve realized that now. You picked me because I’m sensible. I’ve seen difficult things. I’m not a frothy bit of lace, and I know what it is like to be hurt. You’ll do everything you can to make the people around you happy, Leander. Now let us, let me, try to do the same for you.”
Leander contemplated her for a long moment. And then he did what she said. He allowed her to take care of him. It was not easy.
But if he wanted to keep her, it had to be done.
Suddenly exhausted, as if everything had been drained from him, he closed his eyes.
Gently, she took his arm. “Come and sit and finish your tea. You look as if you have been running in the Greek Olympics. Your father would be very proud.”
“Apparently, my grandfather was quite like this,” he said as she walked with him to a chair where he could look out the windows.
“And your grandfather, was he a good duke?” she queried as she knelt down beside him and rested her hand upon his thighs.
He gave a tight nod. “Yes. The people here loved him. Some of his antics were legendary. He was found upside down naked in a ditch one night. But in general, he managed his own affliction with the help of my grandmother. My father loved him dearly.”
“Good,” she said softly, firmly. “Then all is not lost. And you have people who will care for you. You have me.”
Then she took the tea from him and placed it on the floor before winding their hands together. “And you remember my threat, Leander. If you ever try to send me away, I shall make good on it.”
He did not smile because all of the energy that had filled him just a moment ago had slipped away but… He felt hope. Hope like he had never felt before.
His family had always made him feel worthy of love. But he’d worried all his life that he’d never find a woman who would truly see him and feel that he was worthy.
Now he had.
As if he had been holding on too tight for all his life, he felt the tension leave his body and he felt sapped like Samson after Delilah had cut his hair.
Despite his hope and his joy at Mercy’s love, he knew what was coming now. Deep sorrow. Deep darkness. After the intense frenzy, it always followed.
But Mercy would be on the other side of that melancholy. It seemed like she would be with him through it all, actually. And that was all that mattered.
“No more secrets from me,” she whispered. “You don’t need to keep them, Leander. I shall never leave.”
With those words, his heart felt at ease for the first time in as long as he could remember.