The Games She Played

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

We will go directly to the tailor,” Michel announced suddenly, pulling Andrew from his thoughts.

“What? To the tailor? No, of course not. I must go home and see my parents.”

“Not looking like that,” Michel said, looking Andrew up and down.

“Michel, I could be dressed in rags and I would still go to my parents first. But…” He held up his hand to stop his valet from screaming out in horror. “I am not. These clothes are perfectly fine.”

“You are not dressed the part of the heir to the count,” Michel argued.

“My father is an earl, not a count, and it doesn’t matter. I can attend to my clothes later—or you can do it for me. You have my measurements.”

Michel’s mouth opened and closed in dismay. “It is how all of your clothes have been purchased. You need to go yourself and see the fabrics. Feel them. Decide on the color.”

“I have full faith in your expert opinion. If you remember, that is why I hired you,” Andrew said.

“Oui, Docteur, but…”

“No, Michel, I will not change my habits just because I am now my father’s heir.”

“But…”

“It is not open for discussion. We will talk about it further when it becomes necessary, but for now, I simply need to see to my parents. They are grieving, Michel, they won’t care what I’m wearing.” If only he was certain what he said was completely accurate. He did not, in fact, want to see his parents, but he knew he should. That he had to do so.

Their favorite son had died, and they were left with number two, the disappointment. Oh, he didn’t feel bad about being the less favored son. In fact, it had allowed him to do exactly as he’d wanted—follow his passion and go to medical school. Poor Ian had had no choice in what he did with his life. He’d been the heir. He’d had to behave with impunity, follow their father’s dictates, and in short, be the perfect son whether he wanted to or not. No, Andrew had felt no malice toward his brother at all. Happily, Ian had seemed to enjoy his lot in life—what a shame it had ended too soon.

What pained Andrew more was the fact that he and his brother hadn’t had much of a relationship. One would think that brothers, close in age, would have been friends, companions, playmates, but he and Ian had had very little of that. Their father had seen to it that even in play, Andrew’s brother had been directed more toward his eventual role as the marquess. Andrew had mostly been left to his own devices, and now he would never have the opportunity to truly know his brother. That was what hurt more than anything.

~June 2~

“No! I said no,” Lord Rivers raised his arm and threatened to knock the glass of laudanum out of the surgeon’s hand.

“But, my lord, it’s going to be a very painful journey,” the man protested.

“I understand that…but I will not…take any more of that…vile stuff. Now…see to…the footmen…who will carry…me down…the stairs,” Rivers commanded and as forcefully as he could, given his weakened state. Just this small argument had him gasping for breath.

“Go and do as my father says,” Diana said, intervening on her father’s behalf.

“Thank you…Diana…my dear…sweet girl,” her father said. He was clearly trying to take slow shallow breaths. His ribs must be causing him a great deal of pain. Poor Papa! How he was going to survive the nearly two-hour journey back to London, she just couldn’t imagine.

“It’s all right, Papa. It’s all right. If you don’t want the laudanum, you shan’t have it,” she said, brushing a wisp of hair that always fell onto his forehead.

He breathed a little easier and closed his eyes, now satisfied his wishes would be seen to.

He didn’t open them again until he’d been conveyed down the steep stairs of the tavern and into the wagon on a stretcher. The doctor wanted him to remain flat on his back due to the breaks in his ribs and his leg. Of course, at first, the surgeon had protested vehemently at Lord Rivers being moved at all this early in his recuperation, but Diana’s father had insisted. He wanted to be at home, in his own bed, tended by his own people. Nothing anyone could say would dissuade him from this course of action.

Diana climbed up into the wagon and sat down on the hay-strewn floor, heedless of her dress. It wasn’t a particularly fine dress, just a simple blue cambric, which made it perfect for traveling. Within minutes, they were going along at a smart pace. Both she and her father, however, could feel every bump and dip in the road.

“It should get easier the closer we get to London,” Diana reassured her father. She held tightly onto his hand as they traveled over the rough roads, leaving the racecourse area.

Lord Rivers gave a short nod. He managed to open his eyes and look up at his daughter. “Diana,” he whispered through clenched teeth.

She leaned down closer to hear what he had to say.

“I tried…to tell…that i***t doctor…yesterday…but he…wouldn’t listen…” he ground out.

“What, Papa?”

“The reason…I fell…”

“Yes! I have never in my life known you to fall from a horse. At first, I’d thought you’d been shot. It was the only explanation I could find. But the doctor checked and you had no bullet wounds.”

He shook his head a bit. “Not…not a bullet… My chest…a pain…in my chest.”

“You had a pain in your chest?”

“So sharp…I couldn’t hold…on…to the…reins.”

“Oh, my goodness!”

He opened his eyes, which had closed again with the pain of the jostling road. His blue eyes, so very much like her own, looked up at her with a wisdom and determination Diana feared she would never have. “You…must marry…Diana. No…no more dawdling… looking for…the perfect man. I want… I want to see…you married…before I…die.”

“Die! Papa, don’t be ridiculous! You’re not going to die.”

Her father managed to tilt his head just a touch and raise one eyebrow. He didn’t believe her. “Promise,” he whispered.

Diana sat up and huffed out a breath.

“Diana!” Her father’s voice grew slightly stronger, but it was clearly taking him a good deal of energy to make it so.

“Fine, Papa. I will stop being quite so picky and truly look around for a husband if it will make you happy. But no more talk of dying!”

He gave her a small smile, which lingered on his lips until the wagon hit another rut in the road.

This was going to be a very long, very painful journey.

It felt like ten hours later, but finally they reached their townhouse. The two Rivers footmen each took an end of the stretcher and carried their master up to his bedchamber. As they did so, Diana was waylaid by a man in a slightly threadbare gray coat.

“I beg your pardon, but are you Miss Rivers?” the man asked. He carried a leather medical bag in his right hand.

“Yes,” Diana said, stopping her ascent up the three steps into her home.

“I am Mr. Wheat, Lord Audley sent me. I’m the surgeon.”

“Oh! Yes, of course. Thank you so much for meeting us, Mr. Wheat. Please come in.”

“Thank you.” He followed Diana into the house. “I just want to check on your father and see if there’s anything else I can do for him. I understand he’s already been seen by a surgeon?”

“Yes, but I wanted another opinion. Thank you so much for coming. Please, this way.” She led him up the stairs to her father’s bedchamber. Susan, the chambermaid, came out of the room just as they reached the top of the stairs.

“Oh, Miss Rivers. If you would just give your father a moment before you go into see him. Mark and Harry are just getting him changed and into bed.”

“Of course,” Diana said. She and the doctor stood out in the hall for the few minutes until the footmen came out to inform them that Lord Rivers was ready.

The doctor made quick work of examining what the other surgeon had done. He rewrapped his leg in its bindings, which would keep it steady while the bone healed, but other than that, he declared the man had done a fine job.

“There is one thing, Mr. Wheat,” Diana said, stepping forward as he was putting his things back into his medical bag. “My father said the reason he fell from his horse was because of a sharp pain in his chest. Might you be able to do something… know, perhaps, a reason for this?”

The doctor stopped and looked back at his patient, who was resting as well as possible. His chest rose and fell quickly with his short breaths.

“I would recommend a physician see him. I’m afraid I am a surgeon. Broken bones and wounds I can manage. Chest pains?” The man scratched his head. “They’re out of my purview. I’m sorry.”

“Do you know of a good physician?” Diana asked.

“Dr. Beaumont is quite popular. He’ll be able to come and cup Lord Rivers. Bleed out any bad humors that might be lurking.”

“Bleed?” Diana shook her head vigorously. “Oh, no. I don’t want him bled. I’m sure that wouldn’t be the right treatment.”

The man smiled down at her condescendingly. “And what would you know of chest pains and medicine, Miss Hemshawe?”

Diana opened her mouth for a moment, wishing she could say something clever, but unfortunately, he was absolutely correct. She knew nothing. Perhaps bleeding would be the best thing for her father, but she wanted to explore all the possibilities before committing to the first treatment at hand. “Thank you for your advice, sir. I will speak with my cousin, Lord Audley, and decide on our next step.”

The man gave a nod and headed out the door.

“Don’t… Don’t let…them…bleed me. Hate those bloody leeches,” her father whispered from the bed.

Diana rushed over and took hold of his hand that had been resting on his chest. “I promise, Papa, I won’t.”

~*~

“Well, it’s about time!” Lord Darby said, coming out of his study at the commotion being caused by Andrew’s arrival.

Andrew stopped short just inside the door. His father looked as if he’d aged twenty years. Lines crossed his forehead and radiated from his eyes. His face was still strong, however, his eyes still piercing in their disapproval, and his hair was still the same pale blond as Andrew’s own. “Father.” Andrew bowed before coming forward. “Please accept my most sincere condolences.”

His father’s mouth pinched together, but he gave his second son a quick nod of acknowledgement. “What took you so long to get here?” the earl asked, turning and leading the way into his study.

“Er, nothing, sir. I came as quickly as I could, as soon as I received your letter.” Andrew was a touch confused. “I resigned my position, packed all my belongings—”

“Why the hell didn’t you leave that to your man? You could have come right away and left him to deal with all that.” He waved his hand in the air. “Nonsense,” he finished, “you were needed here.”

“What was the emergency? When I received your letter, it said you’d already had the funeral.” He paused when his father winced. “I’ll travel to Darby as soon as I can to pay my respects.”

“Don’t bother,” his father growled. “Your…your mother…” He turned and looked out the window. “She’s not been well.” He spun around to face Andrew, pointing an accusing finger at him. “I paid a small ransom to that medical school, and you dawdle, taking your sweet time to come here when she is in desperate need of a physician.”

“What? Why didn’t you say so in your letter? Why hasn’t she been seen by someone already here?” Andrew exclaimed. “Where is she? Is she still unwell?”

“Of course she’s still unwell! You think these things just go away on their own?” his father bellowed.

Andrew took a step backward, his spine straightening. “I will go and see her, then. Excuse me.” He spun on his heel and left the room.

Patience, he reminded himself. He would need all the patience in the world in order to deal with his father. He’d never been an easy man, but now—grieving and obviously upset about his wife’s health—he would be even more trying.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he went to his own room, where his luggage had been taken, to find his medical bag before going to his mother. His knock on her door was answered by her maid.

She curtsied briefly as she let him into the room. “Lord Colburne, my lady,” she said, announcing him.

Andrew nearly stopped her—Colburne was his brother—but no, now it was him, he supposed, assuming his father would transfer his lesser title from one son to the other. With the greeting his father had just given him, Andrew wasn’t sure this was a certainty. He set these thoughts aside to focus on his mother and her health.

“Andrew,” his mother said on a sigh. Her voice sounded weak and breathless.

He drew up to her bedside and lifted his lips into a smile. “Mother. How are you feeling?” Like his father, she too had aged more severely than she should have. Her skin hung from her cheeks, softened with age, and her green eyes, always so full of life and vigor, had dulled. Andrew felt for his parents. Clearly, their grief was taking a toll on them both.

She gave a weak cough as she shook her head. Her hair was in a long braid resting over her shoulder. It had been a mix of light brown and blonde when Andrew had left for France, but now there was more silver than anything else. “Well enough, considering…”

“It doesn’t sound that way to me.” He set down his medical bag at the end of her bed. “May I have a listen?” he said, opening it and reaching for his new stethoscope.

She held up her hand. “It’s nothing, Andrew… I’ll be fine.”

He stopped. “Please?”

She shook her head. “No. It’s simply… simply the shock. That’s all.”

She seemed to be having problems breathing. He didn’t like this. “If you allow me to listen, perhaps I can prescribe something to make you feel better more quickly.”

“I said no,” she repeated more forcefully this time. She fell into a fit of coughing.

Andrew rushed to her side and helped her to sit up so she could breathe more easily.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He gently propped her onto her pillows. “Father is insisting—” he began, hoping he could convince her to allow him to see to her health.

“Your father is making…a big deal of nothing…. He is overthinking everything now…seeing illnesses where there are none,” she managed. It was the longest speech she’d said since he’d come in.

“But Ian didn’t die of an illness—at least, not according to the letter Father sent me. He said that he’d fallen off his horse while hunting,” Andrew pointed out.

Lady Darby lifted a shoulder. “Still…”

“Please, Mother,” Andrew made a move toward his medical bag once more.

“If you dare take anything from that bag… It had best not be for me,” she said, her voice hardening ever so slightly. Well, at least she was beginning to sound like the mother he knew.

He sighed and closed his bag again. “Very well. I can’t force you to allow me to examine you.”

“No, you cannot…and you will not do so.” She winced as she coughed violently before glaring at him. “How was your journey?” she asked.

“It was fine, thank you.”

“And Paris?”

He gave her a little smile. “Lovely, as it always is in the spring.”

“From your letters, I wouldn’t think…” She paused to cough again into her handkerchief. “…you’d seen much of it,” she finished.

He gave a little chuckle. “Well, I have been spending long hours in the hospital tending to patients, but happily, we had to travel to some patients. That meant going outside, so I did get a chance to get some fresh air every so often.”

She gave an understanding nod.

“For how long have you been unwell?” he asked, thinking that at least he could get a feel for what might be ailing her, despite not being allowed to examine her.

“Since Ian… Since we got the news,” she said softly, her eyes filling with tears, “I wasn’t… I wasn’t able to attend…”

“Well, perhaps that was for the best,” he said.

She gave a little nod and wiped at the corners of her eyes. “That’s what your father said.”

“So that was over a month ago.”

“I suppose so.”

“And you’re having problems breathing?” he asked.

“Have you eaten?” she countered, clearly catching on to his line of questioning.

“Er…” He had to think of whether he’d eaten or not. He had a tendency to forget to do so.

“Why don’t you go downstairs. I’m sure the cook…has some cherry tarts,” she finished after a brief cough. “I think I’d like to rest.”

She was looking terribly pale and worn out—even more so than when he’d come in.

“Of course. An excellent idea. I’ll go do that.” He came over and placed a kiss on her forehead. She wasn’t feverish, he was happy to discover. “I’ll be by later to check on you and perhaps then you’ll—”

“No,” she interrupted him, “I won’t.”