In front of his house,he found a carriage with a familiar ducal crest. The Duke of Morley! What did he want now?
He bound up the stairs, taking two at a time. He found the children in the drawing room, sitting on one side at the table, staring at a man who sat at the other side.
“Who’re you?” Philip demanded. He took in the man’s blue and gold livery.
The footman jumped up. “My lord,” he stammered.
“I offered him tea, but he didn’t want any,” Katy informed him.
“You are wanted at Morley House, sir. Immediately.”
Philip frowned. “What does he want?”
The footman fidgeted, looked at the children, looked back at him again.
“His Grace is dying, my lord.”
Sittingin the velvet cushion of the carriage, it occurred to Philip that he could’ve just declined to come. His grandfather was nothing to him.
And yet.
Yet, he was his grandfather.
The carriage stopped in front of the ducal house. He could get out and walk away. He stepped out of the carriage, and the door of the house opened. He climbed up the stairs.
He found himself in the vestibule. He took the stairs up.
Doors opened; people stepped away to let him through.
He was in the bedroom.
The four-poster bed was massive, swathed by heavy brocade curtains.
“My lord. We have to expect the worst,” someone murmured, probably the doctor.
Philip looked at the figure in the gigantic bed. He felt his antagonism drain away. This was a lonely old man. Frail and shrunken. The white skin papery thin.
He opened his eyes with difficulty. His lips formed some words. There was no sound, but Philip understood.
“Grandfather,” he said as he knelt next to his bed.
Chapter 31
“Oh, I wish that supper were already over.” Lucy groaned. She was sitting on her desk scribbling the seating order. “Do I put Grandmamma next to Billingstone, or do you think they will kill each other?”
The Dowager Duchess Augusta loathed formal dinners and tended to verbally assassinate her table partners. Other than that, she got along surprisingly well with Lucy. At times, Arabella was somewhat jealous of their relationship.
“If I put her next to Conway, she will be bored out of her mind and refuse to attend any suppers the next few weeks. And I have to make an impression on that politician who is coming to speak specifically to Ash. Ugh, how I hate those political suppers. They bore me to tears.”
“You can always bring in Bart to liven things up.” Little Bartimaeus was their three-legged puppy who’d grown to a sleek, lively dog.
Lucy placed her elbow on the table and supported herself on it. “I still want to purchase a monkey from the travelling players. I feel terrible for them. The monkeys, not the players. They get mistreated. I was thinking I could save them if I buy them all. Henry won’t mind, he doesn’t know what to do with all his money anyway.”
“Funny how all these animals take to Ash.” A weak smile flitted over Arabella’s face.
Lucy laughed. “He pretends he doesn’t care for them, but he does. Deeply. He almost cried when Bart fell sick several months ago.” Lucy smiled fondly. “He stayed next to her under his desk for hours and would’ve slept there, too, if Brown hadn’t told him he’d take over the watch.” Brown was Ashmore’s secretary. “But back to a more imminent problem. This stupid table placement.”
Lucy shook her head, shuffled the cards, froze. “Oh!” She picked up a card, her hand covering her mouth.
