Page 88 of The Duchess in His Bed
“I’ve been expecting him to do something for some time.” The countess looked up at Aiden. “Another reason I didn’t object to that tart he brings here. My amenability ensured I drew breath a while longer. For some time I’ve suspected he disposed of his first wife to make room for me.”
“Bastard,” his two illegitimate sons growled, at the same moment his heir proclaimed, “Rotter.”
Wyeth shoved himself to his feet and began to pace, clearly agitated, his fists clenched. “We’ll have to find a way to deal with Father. I haven’t it within me to kill him.” With a nod, he came to a halt and faced them. “But I could see that he is committed to an asylum. He is obviously not well and is a danger. I will not allow my mother to be put at further risk.”
“If what Finn and I witnessed regarding his apoplectic fit is any indication,” Aiden said, “I don’t think he’s going to be capable of creating much havoc in the future.”
“So how is it that you two happen to be here?” Wyeth asked, returning to his mother’s side.
After settling into a chair, Aiden explained the entire story, including the beating he’d given the old man.
“I wish I’d been here with you to deliver a few blows of my own. I’ve lived my entire life ashamed to be called his son. He flaunts his mistresses, spends a fortune keeping them in residences, clothes, and baubles. Disposes of the children they bring into the world.”
“Disposeis a rather harsh term,” the countess said. “He finds loving homes for them. Aiden and Finn here are proof of that.”
Wyeth glanced over at Aiden, and he could see the battle the young man was facing. Did he hide the truth from this woman he loved?
“No, Mother. I fear they are the exception. When he is in his cups, he gets rather loud, likes to hear the sound of his voice, wants others to hear it as well. On occasion, I’ve heard him advise others on how to rid themselves of their by-blows so as never to be inconvenienced by them again.”
“But he promised me.”
“Perhaps he made an exception for you.”
But Aiden could tell from Wyeth’s tone that he didn’t think exceptions were made. How fortunate he and Finn were to have been given over to Ettie Trewlove.
“I always imagined his heir had a charmed life,” Finn said.
Wyeth snorted. “When he gave me attention, which was rare, it was usually to find fault or to reiterate how I was falling short of his expectations. He was the better cricket player, the better yachtsman, the more skilled horseman. The better shot. It was as though we were always in competition. And when I did best him, he would get angry and somehow find fault with my achievement. It got to the point where I no longer cared if I pleased him.”
Footsteps sounded, increasing in volume as someone descended the stairs. With a somberness hovering around him, Graves walked into the parlor. The men stood while Lady Elverton remained seated. Aiden wasn’t certain what message Graves communicated to Wyeth, but the young man moved aside, and Graves joined the countess on the sofa, taking her hand. “As we feared, Lord Elverton has suffered apoplexy. Quite severely. A good bit of his body has gone numb. He seems to have lost his ability to speak. I fear, dear lady, that he is presently bedridden, and I do not hold out much hope that situation will change.”
With very little expression revealed, the countess nodded sagely, as though she’d expected his dire words. “How long? How long will he suffer?”
“It’s difficult to tell. It could be as short as a few hours or as long as several years.”
As unkind as it was, Aiden hoped for years. He wanted the man to have nothing else to do but ponder his actions and live with the unhappiness he’d brought others.
“Is there no treatment?” Wyeth asked.
Graves shifted his attention over to the viscount. “I fear not, my lord. You could hire a nurse to see to him, move his limbs about so the muscles don’t atrophy on the off chance he gains the ability to use them again.”
“No,” the countess said. “We’ll have no need to hire a nurse. He is my husband and I shall tend to him. His valet can handle the unpleasant tasks such as washing him up and keeping him tidy. I’ll increase his salary.”
“Extreme patience is required to attend to the needs of an invalid,” the doctor told her kindly.
“Tending to any of my husband’s needs has always required significant patience.”
“Lady Elverton—”
She patted his hand gently. “Do not worry yourself, Doctor. I won’t slip arsenic into his food. I will do naught to hasten his demise.”
He nodded. “How are you feeling, my lady?”
Her smile was gentle and kind. Aiden imagined she might have looked at him that way when he was a lad and got into a scrape—had he been allowed to remain in her life. “Weary. But I have my sons to look after me. We shall persevere in the face of this tragedy.”
Two things struck Aiden. That she didn’t view this turn of events as a tragedy at all. And that she was referencing him as her son.
Graves must have concluded to whom she was referring or perhaps she’d confessed to him while he was tending her, but in either case he shifted his gaze between Wyeth and Aiden before rising to his feet. “Then I leave you in their care. Send for me if you have a need.”
