In the short fifteen-minute drive from the park to her father’s town house, Tabitha’s disquiet increased. What must her father be thinking? What would he say when he saw her? Worse, what if he wouldn’t see her? Or—God help her—what if he couldn’t see her, and her picnic in the park meant she would arrive too late for any hope of reconciliation?
Hudson paused the horses in front of the crescent and turned to Tabitha with his eyes full of compassion. “Shall I come in with you?”
She shook her head. “I must do this by myself.”
He kissed her forehead. “Take your time. I’ll be here waiting, no matter how long it takes. And I’ll bring you back as often as you like.”
“Thank you,” she said, and meant it. The sensation of being heard and respected and cared for was still new and heady. Yet there was no doubt in her mind that Hudson would be right here in this carriage even if she didn’t leave her father’s side until two o’clock in the morning.
The question was whether Father would admit her into the house at all.
She presented herself at the door with trepidation, smoothing the skirts of the pretty green day dress Hudson had procured for her. Unlike her wedding gown, this dress did not feel like a strait-jacket. It felt like love. And caring. And thoughtfulness.
She hoped the streak of good fortune would continue a few minutes more.
When Yarrow, the butler, answered the door, his eyes widened at the sight of her.
“Lady Tabitha.” Yarrow paused. “Are you still Lady Tabitha?”
Her cheeks heated and she nodded quickly. “Mr. Frampton and I haven’t married yet… but we will.”
Yarrow stepped aside. “Come in.”
Her shoulders sagged in relief. “He hasn’t barred me from entry?”
“I have heard no such orders.” The butler gave her a conspiratorial wink. “And my aging mind would promptly forget them, even if I were so commanded.”
“Thank you, Yarrow.” She flashed him a grateful smile and then raced up the familiar stairs before the order could come down from above.
When she reached her father’s sickroom, Tabitha paused to collect her breath. The door was ajar, and she could hear voices inside: the physician Dr. Collins and his patient, the marquess.
Her father was still alive.
Whether he’d consent to see her or not…
Instead of knocking on the door, she boldly pushed it open. Both men glanced in her direction, the physician’s hushed words cutting off mid-sentence.
Tabitha didn’t say anything foolish like, Am I interrupting? Obviously she was interrupting. Once upon a time, it wouldn’t have mattered. Once upon a time, she would have been seated at her father’s side to begin with, and be the one to answer the door to admit the doctor, rather than the other way round.
The physician’s eyes were kindly. “I’ll give you two a moment alone.”
Tabitha’s gaze darted from Dr. Collins to her father, who had said nothing since her unexpected arrival. His face was impassive even now, his unfocused blue eyes gazing at nothing rather than bothering to so much as glance at her face.
Dr. Collins closed the door as he exited.
Tabitha immediately took the empty chair next to the head of her father’s bed. She reached for her father’s hand, then thought better of it, and folded her fingers tightly in her lap instead.
She took a deep breath. “Father…”
His eyes slashed over to her at last, glinting like chips of ice in the afternoon sun. “How could you, Tabitha?”
“Oldfield doesn’t even want me,” she burst out. “He wants my dowry. Give it to him, if it makes you happy.”
The marquess coughed. “You haven’t wed that bulldog?”
“Not yet, and his name is Hudson. He loves me, Father. And I, him. Ours is a love match—”
“You were already betrothed.”
