“Thank you, Gransdon,” came the weak reply.
Only then did the butler step aside and allow Elias to enter.
Duchess Thea reclined on a lounge placed beside a wall of windows. While her color seemed much improved, she appeared weaker and somehow a great deal smaller in her plush nest of pillows and throws.
“Your Grace.” Elias offered a respectful bow.
She fluttered her fingers at a nearby chair. “Pull it closer and have a seat, Lord Raines, so we might review the document together. I have no time for niceties or the rules of etiquette today.” She pulled in a slow, deep breath, and behaved as though the effort exhausted her. “Forgive me. This afternoon has been particularly trying.”
“Think nothing of it, Your Grace.” Elias moved the chair as close as he could and had a seat. It pained him to see the lady becoming even more fragile. He pulled the document from his bag and held it so she could read it without expending the effort to hold it.
“Next page,” she said repeatedly until they reached the last sheet, then she frowned and squinted at the text. “I do not recall requesting what is noted in item twenty-one, section c.”
“Do you wish me to strike it from the copies?” He prayed she wouldn’t but refused to dishonor her by arguing his point.
She closed her eyes. “No. I am grateful you thought to include it. It will better protect her.”
“There are three copies to sign in front of witnesses, Your Grace.”
She winced without opening her eyes.
“Gransdon and your lady’s maid can serve as witnesses, then I shall attach the seal, and leave a copy here with you.” He glanced up at the butler and the maid. They both nodded.
“And the other two copies?” she said, barely opening an eye and pinning him with a hawkish glare.
“One will be sent to your solicitor in Germany, and the other will be filed at my office in case of any issues in the future.” He would not mention her children contesting the will. Upsetting the lady now would be reprehensible.
She smiled and slowly opened both eyes. “Celia can handle them. She is fierce.”
It was his turn to smile. “She is indeed, Your Grace.”
The duchess turned her head and studied him closer, her expression unnerving. “I charge you with protecting my Celia, Lord Raines.”
“I beg your pardon?” The back of his neck tingled, and the hairs stood on end.
She arched a sleek brow and gave him a chiding glare. “I spoke quite clearly, but I shall repeat it, since I want no misunderstandings between us.” She paused and glanced at Gransdon and her maid. She waited for their nods that they would witness her words before returning her attention to him. “I charge you with protecting Celia Bening, Lord Elias Raines. Do you swear to honor this dying woman’s last request?”
Elias’s heart pounded so hard it made his chest ache. “I will protect Celia any way I can, Your Grace. I swear it.”
“Even from herself?” the duchess continued.
“You ask a great deal.” He wondered at the woman, and what she truly meant by his protecting Celia once she was gone.
“I am allowed to ask a great deal,” she said, “because I am dying.” She managed a more congenial smile. “Celia is her own worst enemy, Lord Raines. But if you endeavor to love her and win her love in return, you will discover yourself blessed beyond your wildest imaginings. I promise you that.”
“You asked me to protect her,” he gently reminded her. “Not love her.”
“Love is the greatest protection of all, Lord Raines. If she is loved and knows herself to be loved, she can survive anything.” She pointed at him. “And the same goes for you. You should thank me for such words of wisdom.”
“And have you told her of this last request of yours?” He could picture Celia’s reaction. Vividly.
The duchess managed a weak, lilting chuckle. “At present, she is confused about her feelings for you. But you can change that.” She lifted her hand. “Gransdon—ink and quill before my strength fully leaves me for the day.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Gransdon hurried over to the table in the corner and fetched them along with a small rosewood lap desk.
“Berta, raise me up.” The duchess weakly waved her maid closer.
Berta hurried to prop the dowager higher among her pillows and steadied the desk on her lap while Gransdon held the inkwell for her.
