Page 14 of Healing the Duke's Desires
Then, it was just a matter of apologetically letting her know that hedidhave obligations already scheduled for tomorrow and Rose would understand.
“I would love to join you, my dear.” He smiled. “Only I don’t know what my plans are for the next couple of days. Why don’t you let me check my diary, and I will let you know later this evening.”
Rose smiled with an approving nod. As breakfast continued, the conversation shifted to lighter topics, and the tension eased somewhat. Alexander enjoyed the company of Helen and Rose, finding solace in their presence. Solitude was sometimes a heavy burden to bear, and someone else’s voices reverberating through these old hallways was a welcome sound.
A few hours later, Alexander found himself in his study, with his open diary in front of him, lying on the polished mahogany writing table. It revealed all of his worst fears. He had absolutely no plans for the following day. If he were to refuse Rose’s invitation, he would have to come up with a reason. In other words, he would have to lie to her. The thought made him sick to his stomach.
He got up and started to pace about the room, like a caged animal, raking his fingers through his hair, when a knock on the door interrupted him.
“Yes?” he called out. The door opened to reveal Mr. Stirling with a stack of mail in his hands.
The old butler immediately recognized the painful look of anguish on his master’s face. “Is everything all right, Your Grace?” he asked, gently placing the mail onto the writing table, right next to the still-open diary. His quick gaze skimmed through, then it locked again with Alexander’s.
“Has anything been all right since Amelia’s passing, Stirling?” Alexander inhaled deeply, feeling no relief from this action, although his physician had told him several times that it was good for his stress and nervousness. Alexander couldn’t see it work.
“I know that is how it must seem, Your Grace.” Mr. Stirling spoke calmly, used to such responses. “But every new day brings forth new challenges, as well as new joys. You should remember that.”
“I think I am facing something that is both of those things in one.” Alexander sighed, feeling the burden of the world press heavily upon his shoulders.
“Both a challenge and a joy?” Mr. Stirling echoed.
“Indeed.” Alexander walked over to his writing table and sat down. He proceeded to tell Mr. Stirling what happened, what Rose had asked of him and what his response was.
“Why would you not want to keep Lady Rose company?” Mr. Stirling wondered, sounding truly stunned.
“It is not the company, but rather the place,” Alexander clarified. “The art exhibition. There will be… art there.”
This time, Mr. Stirling chuckled, which happened rarely, but every time, Alexander welcomed it. “I suppose it will, Your Grace. That is what an exhibition is for. Besides, you used to paint yourself, but then, with the passing of our dear Lady Amelia, you bid me lock up all of your paintings in the attic.”
“And that is where I plan on keeping them, thank you,” Alexander added more curtly than he intended to, but luckily, Mr. Stirling never took offense to such remarks.
“And the exhibition?” Mr. Stirling inquired.
Alexander shook his head. “I can’t. I just… can’t. When I lost Amelia, a part of me died. Painting was the part she took with her. I don’t have it in me anymore. I don’t have the desire, the will, or the inspiration. Nothing. Now, paintings are just white canvases with color, nothing more. Without her, it is not the same. Nothing is the same.”
Mr. Stirling walked around the writing desk and placed a gentle hand on Alexander’s shoulder, offering a supportive presence in his time of uncertainty.
“I understand, Your Grace. I’ve seen you with Lady Amelia and I have seen you without her. But perhaps attending the exhibition with Lady Rose could be a step toward healing. It will certainly not be the same, but it might aid you in finding some new joy. I am also certain that Lady Amelia would not want you moping around here, if you’ll pardon my expression.”
Alexander tilted his head a little. “Have you spoken with Helen?”
Mr. Stirling’s eyes widened. “We speak on a daily basis, Your Grace. Why?”
“Because she told me the same thing several days ago, so I’m just wondering if you are in cahoots to get me to start going out—which, might I add, will not work,” Alexander said seriously, but it took all of his conscious effort to keep a straight face.
“I haven’t spoken to her about that, but yes… the dowager duchess does have some sound ideas.” Mr. Stirling stifled a small smile.
Alexander inhaled deeply. “You are right, old boy. I know Amelia wouldn’t want me to be consumed by grief and neglect my talents. She was the one who pushed me to paint more than I pushed myself. She always encouraged me to embrace my creativity, to find solace and inspiration in art, even in the darkest of times.”
“Lady Amelia was a wise woman for her tender age,” Mr. Stirling said solemnly.
“Thank you for being there, Stirling,” Alexander said gratefully. “Your words mean a lot to me. You somehow always manage to put things into perspective. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to attend the exhibition. I’m not sure what I will find there, but maybe by looking at other people’s art, I might discover some of my own.”
“That’s the spirit, Your Grace.” Mr. Stirling smiled this time, clearly happy with the turn of events. His eyes softened with approval. “I’m certain that Lady Rose will be delighted by your decision. And who knows, you might be surprised at how much you still enjoy painting.”
“Anything is possible, I guess.” Alexander smiled, feeling strangely jubilant. For some reason, he now couldn’t wait to tell Rose that he would accompany her. There was fear inside of him, but at the same time, he was thrilled to realize that it was possible not to become a slave to one’s sorrow and emotions. Rose needed him and he would be the uncle she deserved.
Upon being told that would be all, Mr. Stirling excused himself, leaving Alexander alone. He turned his attention back to the stack of mail on his desk. With a renewed sense of determination, he began to sort through the letters and documents, ready to face the challenges of the day, as well as the exhibition. He wasn’t hoping for much.
