Page 58 of An Arranged Marriage with a Cruel Earl
Chapter 20
Andrew walked slowly down the hallway towards his grandmother’s bedroom. His heart ached; his chest tight with almost physical pain. Emmeline’s face haunted him, her big green eyes brimming with unshed tears even as she tried to hide her pain from him. His stomach was knotted with a mix of guilt and sorrow. He could not explain to Emmeline why he had to do what he did.
The only person he could talk to about it was his grandmother. She could help him understand. She could tell him what to do.
As he reached the door to her room, it opened. Dr Wainwright appeared.
“I am sorry, my lord.” His voice was sombre. “Your grandmother is slipping from us.”
“What?” Andrew rooted to the spot. “But that’s notpossible.” Grandma was perfectly lucid only yesterday. She had been talking, reading books, full of life. It was not possible that within the space of twenty-four hours she had gone from recovering to being near death. His heart missed a beat.
“I regret to bear such tidings, my lord,” the physician said somberly. “But I cannot doubt that it is so. She has lost consciousness, and her breath is laboured and shallow.”
“What?” Andrew repeated. It seemed preposterous.
“I am sorry, my lord. But we must prepare for her departure from us.”
“No.” Andrew shook his head. “No.” He paused. “I shall see her now.”
The physician inclined his head. “Of course, my lord.”
Andrew went into the room and Wainwright followed. Andrew sat down by his grandmother’s bed. She was still, her white hair dishevelled about her face, clinging to her brow with sweat. Her eyes were closed. Her breath was very shallow, as the physician had said.
“Grandma,” Andrew whispered. “No. No!” He wanted to scream, to shake her, to make her come back to him. He could not lose her. She could not go. He needed her! He turned accusing eyes to Wainwright. “How is this possible?”
“She is an elderly lady, my lord, who has suffered more than one dangerous fall of late.” His reply was smooth.
“And that’s fatal, is it?” Andrew demanded. “A fall?” Red, fiery anger rose up in him. Annihilating the physician wouldn’t help, but it was something he could do. The fellow had let a perfectly healthy patient deteriorate into an almost comatose one in the space of a day. That was certainly a ground for anger.
“Not usually, my lord. But in one already frail...” Dr Wainwright spread his hands. “I am sorry, my lord. I did all I could.”
“Get out,” Andrew said in a whisper. “Get out so I may speak alone to my grandmother.”
The physician raised a warning hand. “My lord...she has almost no strength. Do not tax her too hard...”
“Out,” Andrew demanded.
The physician bowed and left the room without further protest. Andrew sat with Grandma, taking her hand in his.
“Grandma,” he whispered, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Please. Please, do not leave me. I need you. You are all the family I have left... you and Emmeline.” His voice broke as he spoke, his heart twisting painfully.” It felt as though he was a child again, losing his parents. The terror and fear were as big as they had been then.
His grandmother’s hand seemed to tighten on his for a second, but it was so brief that he was sure it was his imagination, since it went instantly slack again. He took a deep breath.
“Grandma,” he said in a tight, raw voice. “I love you. I love you so much. Please. Please don’t go.”
This time he saw her eyelids flutter, but no other sign of life came to him. The slight motion gave him hope that she could hear and understand. He had found one of Grandfather’s letters to Grandma from when they were courting. Theirs was not a love match, but they had exchanged romantic notes that had melted Grandma’s heart—or so she always said. Perhaps one of Grandfather’s letters would get through to her where his own words seemed not to make much impression.
“Wait here,” he whispered.
He hurried up the hallway to his study. He caught sight of a figure in the corridor. He frowned. It was a tall figure, dressed in a long frockcoat that he was sure was his cousin’s. He considered calling out to him, but the last thing that he needed just then was Ambrose’s company and so he ignored the shadowy form, which was, in any case, heading towards the stairs. He reached the study door and went in.
He paused.
“Someone’s been in here,” he said aloud. Horror rooted him to the spot.
Papers on his desk had been moved, books pulled from the shelf. Drawers had been opened, and a sheet of paper floated to the floor from the top of the desk. Andrew would never have left his own study in such disarray—he was always extremely neat and tidy. Chills moved down his spine.
“Ambrose?” he said confusedly.
