Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
ROWEN
“His what?” Mrs. Bellamy’s face reddened. “What did you say?”
“Father is engaged to be married to Lady Cassandra. She is the—”
“Preposterous. Is this some sort of joke?”
Cassandra only adjusted the pillow under His Grace’s head. The Duke wheezed a sigh, and she soothed his chest with a gentle stroke of her hand.
“Take your hands off him!” snapped Mrs. Bellamy.
“Madam, I am tending to him,” said Cassandra. “I have cared for him all this night long. He has not rested, nor eaten.”
Oh, she played her part well. She knew what was at stake.
His father’s face slowly turned toward Mrs. Bellamy, his eyes twitching. He only grunted in a most grotesque manner. Rowen noted how he looked neither relieved nor happy to see his mistress. The Duke’s hand grabbed hold of Cassandra’s arm.
“Yes, my darling,” Cassandra murmured, stroking his hand. “I won’t leave you.”
We are all playing our parts.
“What the devil is happening here?” Mrs. Bellamy shouted.
“Madam, you are upsetting my father, and he is in a very vulnerable state at present.”
“I am upsetting him?” she spit out, her body shaking. “This cannot be.” She grabbed hold of the armchair, her body slumping forward. “I came to celebrate His Grace’s birthday. We were both most eager to…no, it cannot be.”
“This is why he and Francis argued so violently. Upon Father’s announcement of his engagement.”
“My poor boy. What a shock it must have been for him.” Her eyes narrowed at him. “Perhaps you’re not telling me the whole truth, Rowen? Is this some sort of ruse? Something you’ve done?”
“Mrs. Bellamy, I assure you, this was purely my father’s choice.
In fact, I only learnt of it when I arrived from London the other day.
” Clasping his hands together, Rowen schooled his face into the calm mask his father had always worn when delivering a blow.
“It seems he is unable to deny himself his deep passion for the young lady, and he asked for her hand. The girl came to Tidesfar last night with her uncles, and the announcement was made to his guests. Francis was most put out. Indeed, quite shocked. And you see here the aftermath of their terrible argument.”
“I know your father. This is theatre.”
“This all has been quite a shock for me as well, I assure you. Do you think I wish for my father to marry a girl younger than myself and beget a horde of children?”
She let out an anguished cry at Rowen’s words, her hand flying to her mouth. “No. No, I do not.” Raising her trembling chin, she took in a long sniff of air, her hand on her chest as she took in the sight of her lover and his young fiancée. “Get down from his bed!” she yelled at Cassandra.
Still holding onto Cassandra, the Duke coughed and sputtered as he tried to turn his body away from his mistress.
Rowen gently took Mrs. Bellamy’s arm. “Come, madam, come away. You must be exhausted after your journey and now this news. I shall order tea for us.”
Her face pinched. “First, I wish to have a private word with His Grace. Surely I am owed that much?”
“Certainly.” Rowen cleared his throat. “Lady Cassandra, let us give Mrs. Bellamy a moment with His Grace.”
“As you wish, my lord.”
He grit his teeth at her obedient words, at the soothing sweetness of her voice that slid over him like honey he wished to lick.
Cassandra placed a deliberate, chaste kiss on his father’s temple, her breasts brushing against his arms, upon which the old man let out a moan, clutching at her still.
“I shall return shortly, Your Grace. I promise.” Peeling his fingers off her arm, she stood up from the bed, her dressing gown sliding off one shoulder, revealing her pale, bare skin.
Cassandra adjusted her dressing gown as she eyed Mrs. Bellamy.
“You little minx,” Mrs. Bellamy gritted out.
Cassandra only tilted her head. “His Grace had told me about you, madam. But I shall be his wife and you—”
“How dare you speak to me!” Mrs. Bellamy raised a hand in the air, and Rowen grabbed it immediately.
He squeezed her cold hand in warning, and she gasped. He let it go. “Mrs. Bellamy, my father is very weak at present. If you cannot control yourself, I cannot allow you—”
“I only wish a final word.” Her voice was calmer. She was determined.
“Very well.” He led Cassandra out of the room and closed the door behind them. “Well played,” he whispered to her as he led her down the hall to her bedchamber.
Glancing up at him, she whispered. “I felt that as His Grace’s fiancée, it was my duty to follow his wishes, especially as he cannot communicate at present. Did he not intend for her to find out this way?”
“He did indeed. The Duke and I are most obliged to you.”
He opened the door to her chamber, and she entered her room, the lilac smell of her hair as she brushed past him delectable. “When you are dressed, come down to the morning room. I require your presence at tea with Mrs. Bellamy to drive the point home.”
“Yes, my lord.” She bowed her head, and he closed the door.
He wished to be rid of Mrs. Bellamy quickly, but he would be a gentleman. He went downstairs and found a servant, and ordered tea for three persons.
Yes, tea with the Duke’s discarded mistress and his young fiancée, that would be a most relentless lesson in succession, just as his father had hoped to do himself. What were sons for if not to finish what their fathers began? He’d give the old man a full report after.
That was if Rowen survived it.
He turned to go up the stairs back to his father’s chamber, but the galloping of hooves had him standing on the front steps. A messenger arrived. The servant brought him the note. “From the doctor, my lord.”
He opened it and read. Doctor Clive apologized for not having returned yet, but he would come by this evening. Lady Stockton’s delivery had a small complication, and it had taken him longer than he’d hoped, but, thankfully, all was now well with babe and mother.
His father had survived, and so had the newborn. A favourable turn.
Rowen headed back up the stairs. He imagined Mrs. Bellamy was most probably crying and railing against Fate and her false lover, meanwhile others were celebrating a healthy new life in their family, a future full of bright possibilities.
Unlike here at Tidesfar.
He forgot what celebration, joyous anticipation felt like. Nay, he’d never known that sort of happiness—isn’t that what they called it?
Morgan met him in the hallway, holding a tray with tea and medicinal powders.
“Dr. Clive should be here this evening to see His Grace.”
“Very good, sir.”
Rowen opened the door to his father’s bedchamber, and his ears filled with howls and sobs. Muttering and weeping, Mrs. Bellamy clawed at his father’s dressing gown, ripping the material as she shook him, but only his head rolled back onto the pillows; his limbs were slack, his body, slack.
Rowen lunged at his father. The Duke’s fixed gaze was vacant, empty. Lifeless. “Dear God, what have you done to him?”