But he kept those thoughts to himself. No one would need know. He looked at his siblings. Their faces reflected the same shock and sorrow that churned through his gut. “I hadn’t spoken to him for a few weeks; I was too busy at the clinic and with other… matters.”
Trey snorted, but then remorse skated through his expression. “Your social calendar aside, I hadn’t seen him for just as long. There have been a couple of interesting speakers that have theories regarding how the human brain works, and I’ve buried myself in reading their papers during my free evenings…”
“Boys, don’t lose yourself in guilt.” Jane squeezed Trey’s fingers and dabbed at her streaming eyes. “How do you think I feel? I’ve been so wrapped up in my husband and learning how to navigate that new life and all that it entails, as well as my charity, that I’ve only popped in on Papa here and there.” Then she shot him a watery glance. “Oh, Royce, you’ll be the earl.”
“I’m not ready.” Royce could barely speak above a whisper for a wad of tears clogged his throat. “Perhaps I’ll never be ready; it’s too soon. Too much to ask of me.” He rubbed a hand along the side of his face. Worry tightened his chest. “I don’t want to do this. What will become of the clinic or my call to heal?” How could he leave that behind to attend to the responsibilities that would come with the title?
“You shouldn’t worry about all that right now.” Jane leaned forward and grasped his hand. “I don’t think any of us was ever ready for anything that’s happened to us thus far.”
“Indeed.” Trey rose to his feet. He laid his hand on Royce’s shoulder. “Give it time, Brother. We’re here to help in every way we can. Until you’re ready, we shall concentrate on living one day and then the other. This is the way of things.”
“Yes.” Still mired by shock and doubt as well as the inexplicable feeling that nothing would ever be the same, Royce nodded. “There are plans to make, but just now, I’m glad the two of you are here.”
*
July 8, 1818
Royce frowned atthe rain that dotted the drawing room windows as he stared down at the Mayfair streets. His father had been laid to rest in the churchyard he’d indicated within his will. It was in London, for when they’d buried the countess, his father had wished her close so he could visit her grave often. Now he would spend his eternal rest beside Royce’s mother. May they both find peace. Shortly afterward, Royce had moved his belongings into the Marsden townhouse in Berkley Square, for it was only befitting the newest Earl of Worchester would reside there instead of sharing a bachelor house with his brother in the Marylebone neighborhood.
Yet he hated every second of it, for nothing was familiar, and every corner and nook reminded him of his father as well as the grief found therein.
The clearing of a masculine throat at the doorway interrupted his maudlin thoughts. “Your Lordship, there is an Inspector Storme here to see you as well as his sister, Miss Storme.”
At the mention of Isobel’s name, his heart seized, and his pulse quickened. Squaring his shoulders, Royce turned about. “Very well, Boswell. Show them in here and you might as well bring tea. It’s a miserable afternoon, and a trifle chilly with the rain.”
“Very good, my lord.” Then the butler left, and Royce was alone once more.
He cringed at the change in address. Gone were the days when his father’s butler called him Doctor Marsden no matter how many times he’d instructed that good man to do so in the last week since he’d been in residence. But how could he be the doctor when he’d only been to his clinic a couple of times since it was discovered that his father had died?
I’m doing a piss-poor job at tying both threads of my life together.
By the time his visitors entered the drawing room, he’d tamped most of his rising emotions… until he laid eyes on Isobel. Dear God, she was gorgeous in jonquil silk, looking as brilliant as the sun itself. How did he ever think he could ignore her?
“Good afternoon, Miss Storme. Inspector.”
“You have my condolences, Worchester,” the inspector said with a countenance that conveyed his grief. “Your father was a good, fair man.”
“Thank you.” His chest tightened, for it was entirely too soon to talk about his father.
Isobel extended a hand as she crossed the room. “I’m sorry for your loss, Your Lordship.”
As he took her hand and brought the gloved fingers to his lips, heat careened down his spine, for he wanted her regardless of his personal crisis. Yet when he peered into her eyes, saw the sorrow and disappointment there, he knew their status had changed, and it wasn’t merely due to him refusing to see her while his immediate life had been in upheaval. He held a title now, and that was something she could never forgive. “Thank you, Miss Storme. Your words are appreciated.” Then he kissed her middle knuckle, lingering over her hand a fraction too long before releasing her.
“How have you kept yourself since it happened?” There was a certain hunger in her eyes as she raked her gaze up and down his person, and it fired his own.
“Well enough.” He gestured to a grouping of low sofas and delicate chairs. “Please, sit, and for God’s sake, leave off with the titles. I am too tired and at enough sixes and sevens to have my friends use them.”
“I can’t say as I blame you, Doctor.” The inspector dropped heavily onto one of the sofas. Isobel perched on the daintily on the edge next to him, but while her brother was relaxed and unconcerned, she fairly vibrated on her cushion. “I imagine your time hasn’t been your own of late.”
“No, it has not.” Tears and emotion crowded his throat. When all he wished to do was whisk Isobel upstairs to his rooms and have his wicked way with her merely to escape his new reality, none of that was possible. Not even if she’d come alone. “I fear for the future of my clinic. It would break my heart if I was forced to close it, but since I’m the attending physician and I’m not there…” He let his words trail off as an ache set up around his heart. “Well, that’s neither here nor there and certainly not your concern.”
Boswell returned with a tea service. Once he left, Isobel busied herself in pouring out.
Odd, that. Seeing her do something so domestic without complaint bothered Royce more than he would like. She wasn’t one to let the dictates of society tame her, and he rather missed the wild and free woman he’d come to know over the last few weeks. When she spilled a few drops, he couldn’t contain his grin. Ah, there she was. His hoyden.
“Of course it’s our concern, Doctor.” The sound of the inspector’s voice yanked Royce’s attention from the contemplation of Isobel. “You are our friend, and you’re related by marriage. You are family, and Finn reminds us all time out of hand that you are an honorary Storme.”
“Yes, perhaps I am.” He accepted a cup from Isobel. When their fingers brushed, heat rushed to his elbow. She met his gaze. Such want was reflected there that he nearly gawked, but he couldn’t betray their secret. “In any event, I don’t wish to put my troubles on anyone else’s shoulders. It’s early days yet. If possible, I shall find a way to sort everything.”