Once and Always
Page 61
Beside her, a handsome young man of about twenty-five reminded her that she had promised him the next dance.
“Yes, of course,” Victoria said, politely but not enthusiastically. “Do you happen to know the time, Mr. Bascomb?” she asked as he led her onto the dance floor.
“Yes, indeed,” he declared proudly. “It is half past eleven.” Victoria stifled a groan. It would be hours yet before the evening’s ordeal would come to an end.
Charles fitted his key into the lock and opened the door just as Northrup hurried into the entrance hall. “There was no need for you to wait up for me, Northrup,” Charles said kindly, handing him his hat and cane. “What time is it?”
“Half past eleven, your grace.”
“Jason and Victoria won’t be home much before dawn, so don’t try to wait up for them,” he advised. “You know how late these affairs go on.”
Northrup bade him good night and vanished in the direction of his rooms. Charles turned in the opposite direction and started toward the salon, intending to relax with a glass of port and savor at leisure thoughts of the romance between Jason and Victoria that had finally burst into full bloom last night in Jason’s bedroom. He started across the foyer, but a loud, imperative knocking upon the front door made him stop and turn back. Thinking that Jason and Victoria must have forgotten their key and come home early, he opened the door, his smile fading to a look of mild inquiry when he beheld a tall, well-dressed man of about thirty.
“Forgive my intrusion at this late hour, your grace,” the gentleman said. “I am Arthur Winslow, and my firm has been employed by another firm of solicitors in America, with instructions to see that this letter is delivered to you at once. I have another one for Miss Victoria Seaton.”
An uncontrollable premonition of disaster began to thunder in Charles’s brain as he accepted his letter. “Lady Seaton is out for the evening.”
“I know that, your grace.” The young man gestured ruefully over his shoulder at the carriage in the street. “I’ve been waiting there for one or both of you to return since early this evening, when these letters were placed in my hands. ”In the event Lady Seaton was not here, our instructions were to deliver her letter into your hands and to ask you to be certain she receives it at once.“ He placed the second letter in Charles’s clammy palm and tipped his hat. ”Good evening, your grace.“
Icy dread racked his body as Charles closed the door and opened his letter, searching for the identity of the sender. The name “Andrew Bainbridge” leapt out at him. He stared at it, his heart beginning to hammer in painful jerks; then he forced himself to read what was written. As he read, the color drained from his face and the words swam before his blurring eyes.
When he was finished, Charles’s hands fell to his sides and his head dropped forward. His shoulders shook and tears trickled down his face, falling to the floor, as his dreams and hopes collapsed with an explosion that made the blood roar in his ears. Long after his tears stopped, he stood staring blindly at the floor. Finally, very slowly, his shoulders straightened and he lifted his head. “Northrup,” he called as he started walking up the stairs, but his voice was a choked whisper. He cleared his throat and called again, “Northrup!”
Northrup rushed into the foyer, pulling on his jacket. “You called, your grace?” he said, his alarmed gaze on the duke, who had stopped halfway up the staircase, his hand gripping the railing for support.
Charles turned his head and looked down at him. “Summon Dr. Worthing,” he said. “Tell him to come at once. Tell him it’s urgent.”
“Shall I send for Lord Fielding and Lady Victoria?” Northrup asked quickly.
“No, dammit!” Charles ground out, and then he recovered control of his voice. “I’ll let you know, after Dr. Worthing arrives,” he amended, continuing slowly up the staircase.
It was nearly dawn when Jason’s coachman pulled the spirited grays up before the house at #6 Upper Brook Street. Neither Jason nor Victoria had spoken a word since leaving the Mortrams’ ball, but at Jason’s sudden intake of breath, Victoria straightened and looked around. “Whose carriage is that?” she asked.
“Dr. Worthing’s. I recognize the bays.” Jason flung open the door, leapt out of the carriage and unceremoniously hauled her down, then vaulted up the steps toward the house, leaving Victoria to fend for herself. Victoria snatched up her long skirts and ran after him, panic throbbing in her throat as a haggard Northrup opened the front door.
“What’s wrong?” Jason snapped.
“Your uncle, my lord,” Northrup replied grimly. “He’s had an attack—his heart. Dr. Worthing is with him.”
“Dear God!” Victoria said, clutching Jason’s sleeve in a grip of terror.
Together they ran up the staircase, while behind them Northrup called, “Dr. Worthing asked that you not go in until I informed him of your arrival!”
Jason lifted his hand to knock on Charles’s door, but Dr. Worthing was already opening it. He stepped out into the hall, firmly closing the door behind him. “I thought I heard you come in,” he explained, combing his fingers through his white hair in a harassed gesture.
“How is he?” Jason demanded tightly.
Dr. Worthing removed his wire-rimmed spectacles and carefully concentrated on polishing the lenses.. After an endless moment, he drew a long breath and raised his eyes. “He’s suffered a very grave setback, Jason.”
“Can we see him?” Jason asked.
“Yes, but I must warn you both not to do or say anything to upset him.”
Victoria’s hand flew to her throat. “He isn’t—isn’t going to die, is he, Dr. Worthing?”
“Sooner or later, everyone must die, my dear,” he told her, his expression so grim that Victoria began to shake with terror.
They entered the dying man’s room and went to stand beside his bed, Victoria on one side, Jason on the other. A brace of candles was lit on the table beside the bed, but to Victoria the room already seemed as dark and frightening as a waiting tomb. Charles’s hand was lying limply on the coverlet and, swallowing her tears, she reached out and took it tightly in hers, trying desperately to infuse some of her strength into him.
Charles’s eyes fluttered open and focused on her face. “My dear child,” he whispered. “I didn’t intend to die so soon. I wanted so much to see you happily settled first. Who will care for you when I am gone? Have you anyone else who can take you in and provide for you?”
“Yes, of course,” Victoria said, politely but not enthusiastically. “Do you happen to know the time, Mr. Bascomb?” she asked as he led her onto the dance floor.
“Yes, indeed,” he declared proudly. “It is half past eleven.” Victoria stifled a groan. It would be hours yet before the evening’s ordeal would come to an end.
Charles fitted his key into the lock and opened the door just as Northrup hurried into the entrance hall. “There was no need for you to wait up for me, Northrup,” Charles said kindly, handing him his hat and cane. “What time is it?”
“Half past eleven, your grace.”
“Jason and Victoria won’t be home much before dawn, so don’t try to wait up for them,” he advised. “You know how late these affairs go on.”
Northrup bade him good night and vanished in the direction of his rooms. Charles turned in the opposite direction and started toward the salon, intending to relax with a glass of port and savor at leisure thoughts of the romance between Jason and Victoria that had finally burst into full bloom last night in Jason’s bedroom. He started across the foyer, but a loud, imperative knocking upon the front door made him stop and turn back. Thinking that Jason and Victoria must have forgotten their key and come home early, he opened the door, his smile fading to a look of mild inquiry when he beheld a tall, well-dressed man of about thirty.
“Forgive my intrusion at this late hour, your grace,” the gentleman said. “I am Arthur Winslow, and my firm has been employed by another firm of solicitors in America, with instructions to see that this letter is delivered to you at once. I have another one for Miss Victoria Seaton.”
An uncontrollable premonition of disaster began to thunder in Charles’s brain as he accepted his letter. “Lady Seaton is out for the evening.”
“I know that, your grace.” The young man gestured ruefully over his shoulder at the carriage in the street. “I’ve been waiting there for one or both of you to return since early this evening, when these letters were placed in my hands. ”In the event Lady Seaton was not here, our instructions were to deliver her letter into your hands and to ask you to be certain she receives it at once.“ He placed the second letter in Charles’s clammy palm and tipped his hat. ”Good evening, your grace.“
Icy dread racked his body as Charles closed the door and opened his letter, searching for the identity of the sender. The name “Andrew Bainbridge” leapt out at him. He stared at it, his heart beginning to hammer in painful jerks; then he forced himself to read what was written. As he read, the color drained from his face and the words swam before his blurring eyes.
When he was finished, Charles’s hands fell to his sides and his head dropped forward. His shoulders shook and tears trickled down his face, falling to the floor, as his dreams and hopes collapsed with an explosion that made the blood roar in his ears. Long after his tears stopped, he stood staring blindly at the floor. Finally, very slowly, his shoulders straightened and he lifted his head. “Northrup,” he called as he started walking up the stairs, but his voice was a choked whisper. He cleared his throat and called again, “Northrup!”
Northrup rushed into the foyer, pulling on his jacket. “You called, your grace?” he said, his alarmed gaze on the duke, who had stopped halfway up the staircase, his hand gripping the railing for support.
Charles turned his head and looked down at him. “Summon Dr. Worthing,” he said. “Tell him to come at once. Tell him it’s urgent.”
“Shall I send for Lord Fielding and Lady Victoria?” Northrup asked quickly.
“No, dammit!” Charles ground out, and then he recovered control of his voice. “I’ll let you know, after Dr. Worthing arrives,” he amended, continuing slowly up the staircase.
It was nearly dawn when Jason’s coachman pulled the spirited grays up before the house at #6 Upper Brook Street. Neither Jason nor Victoria had spoken a word since leaving the Mortrams’ ball, but at Jason’s sudden intake of breath, Victoria straightened and looked around. “Whose carriage is that?” she asked.
“Dr. Worthing’s. I recognize the bays.” Jason flung open the door, leapt out of the carriage and unceremoniously hauled her down, then vaulted up the steps toward the house, leaving Victoria to fend for herself. Victoria snatched up her long skirts and ran after him, panic throbbing in her throat as a haggard Northrup opened the front door.
“What’s wrong?” Jason snapped.
“Your uncle, my lord,” Northrup replied grimly. “He’s had an attack—his heart. Dr. Worthing is with him.”
“Dear God!” Victoria said, clutching Jason’s sleeve in a grip of terror.
Together they ran up the staircase, while behind them Northrup called, “Dr. Worthing asked that you not go in until I informed him of your arrival!”
Jason lifted his hand to knock on Charles’s door, but Dr. Worthing was already opening it. He stepped out into the hall, firmly closing the door behind him. “I thought I heard you come in,” he explained, combing his fingers through his white hair in a harassed gesture.
“How is he?” Jason demanded tightly.
Dr. Worthing removed his wire-rimmed spectacles and carefully concentrated on polishing the lenses.. After an endless moment, he drew a long breath and raised his eyes. “He’s suffered a very grave setback, Jason.”
“Can we see him?” Jason asked.
“Yes, but I must warn you both not to do or say anything to upset him.”
Victoria’s hand flew to her throat. “He isn’t—isn’t going to die, is he, Dr. Worthing?”
“Sooner or later, everyone must die, my dear,” he told her, his expression so grim that Victoria began to shake with terror.
They entered the dying man’s room and went to stand beside his bed, Victoria on one side, Jason on the other. A brace of candles was lit on the table beside the bed, but to Victoria the room already seemed as dark and frightening as a waiting tomb. Charles’s hand was lying limply on the coverlet and, swallowing her tears, she reached out and took it tightly in hers, trying desperately to infuse some of her strength into him.
Charles’s eyes fluttered open and focused on her face. “My dear child,” he whispered. “I didn’t intend to die so soon. I wanted so much to see you happily settled first. Who will care for you when I am gone? Have you anyone else who can take you in and provide for you?”
