Lockhart stood, his heart bursting with pride and respect for the woman whose loyalty to her husband flowed like blood in her veins. “Then I shall accompany you. The welfare of you and our child is what matters now.”
He caught himself.
The lines between fantasy and reality were becoming blurred. It occurred to Lockhart that he might grieve for the loss of his wife and child once the week was out.
“What?” His mother gasped. “You’ve been away for five years, and you intend to leave before seeing your father? The man is on his deathbed.” She shook her head and muttered, “Oh, why am I surprised?”
Lockhart had every intention of rushing upstairs to pay his respects to the man who’d sired him. “A wise man once told me that acceptance brings peace. Perhaps you might consider that when Terence and Selina return to stir the hornet’s nest. Good day, Mother.”
“Peace?” the matron mocked.
Pressing his hand to Miss Darling’s back, Lockhart guided her to the drawing room door. He did not take a backwards glance or acknowledge his mother further.
“How can a mother have peace when her son insists …” His mother’s words faded to a garbled mumble as he closed his ears to her constant complaining.
* * *
Gesturing for Miss Darling to climb the stairs in search of his father, Lockhart followed behind, his gaze fixed on the gentle sway of her hips in the hope of calming his volatile mood.
He opened the door to the master bedchamber to find the room unoccupied. Hearing the squeak of the floorboards across the landing, he decided to investigate.
As soon as he opened the door, the sour stench of sickness attacked his nostrils. With Miss Darling two steps behind, they entered the dark, dingy room lit by a single candle positioned on the bedside table. The flame flickered in protest at the sudden interruption.
Lockhart’s gaze searched through the gloom to locate the figure lying motionless in bed, his head lolling to one side. He stepped closer, shocked that his father’s once ruddy complexion was now sallow, that his chubby cheeks were sunken and sagged from protruding bones.
“Father?” Guilt stabbed Lockhart’s conscience. Despite his father’s illness, he could not rouse the love and respect a son should feel for the man who had raised him. How he wished things were different.
“He cannot hear you for he is heavily sedated.” Justin Perigrew’s jarring voice pierced the morbid atmosphere. Every word conveyed the man’s arrogance, the right of entitlement that informed every aspect of his character.
Lockhart noted the rainbow of glass bottles littering the bedside table. The assortment explained the sickly sweet smell that wafted through the air on occasion.
“Sedated with laudanum?” Lockhart turned to face his pompous cousin whose upturned nose saved him from having to thrust his chin in the air when affronted.
“Yes, with laudanum.” The fop slunk from the shadows. He dried his hands on a towel and rolled down the sleeves of his shirt. “I administer a dose every four to six hours depending on the pain.”
He administered the dose?
“You sleep here?”
Justin Perigrew would slice off an ear to inherit a healthy portion of his uncle’s wealth. How else would he afford his Parisian rouge and gentlemen’s corsets?
Justin gathered his green brocade coat from the chair and shrugged into it as if it were chainmail and he was preparing for battle. “Someone had to take care of things in your absence.” He brushed his hand through his mop of blonde hair. “Someone had to take responsibility while you were away at your leisure.”
“Terence is capable of dealing with all family matters.” Lockhart felt Claudia’s light touch on his back. The simple gesture banished the sense of isolation he experienced when in the presence of family.
Justin’s snort of contempt mocked Lockhart’s opinion. “Terence objects to me being here, but his after-dark pursuits keep him busy. W
e should be grateful he finds the time to collect the medicine.” His arrogant gaze swept over Claudia as if she were a street hawker selling inferior wares. “Selina, on the other hand, knows what it means to support one’s family during trying times.”
Anger rose from the fiery pit of Lockhart’s stomach.
He’d spent years dreaming of putting this dandy on his arse. Respect for his fake wife prevented him from acting like a bare-knuckle brawler now. One derogatory word said to Miss Darling, and he would not have the strength to control himself.
“Let us step closer to the bed,” Claudia said in a hushed voice, “so we may examine your father’s symptoms.”
“He’s dying,” Justin snapped. “What is there to examine?”
Claudia arched a brow. “We will be the judge of that, Mr Perigrew.”