“And so you let anyone burst inside—”
“He had a letter!” Chiverton squeaked as he pointed at the thing.
That was it. She was done getting disrespected in her own home.
“You won’t.”
Everyone stared at her as the cold finality in her tone cut off all the noise in the house. Eventually, Chiverton gathered enough dignity to question her words.
“I beg your pardon, my lady?”
“You’re sacked without reference.”
“My lady!”
“Get out.” Then she turned to the room at large. “And if any of you want to stay employed, you will find my brother and bring him home!”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Max had alwaysbeen considered athletic. He was light on his feet and his hands were quick. All in all, he had the reflexes to catch his father as the man fell. It was his mind that was slow. Throughout his life, he’d seen his father rage until spittle was flying as fast as the crockery. He’d watched the duke punch straight into a wall, leaving a hole that remained to this day. This fury wasn’t even in the top ten of his father’s rages, and yet when the man clutched his chest and began gaping like a dying fish, all Max could do was stare.
His father was not one who fell. His father made other people fall.
He watched as the duke’s knees bent. He saw the slow descent of his father’s torso as he pitched forward. If it were not for Lord Benedict, Max would have watched his father land face first at his own feet while he did nothing but stare.
“Don’t try to talk,” Benedict said. “Just take a moment.”
With Christopher’s help, they turned his father over, settling him on his back with a cushion under his head. His father’s eyes were wild, and his mouth kept opening and closing. He was breathing in a choppy, ragged way and making grunting sounds that shook Max to the core. He couldn’t grasp that this gasping man at his feet was his father.
Lord Benedict looked up at the footman, speaking in low urgent tones. “I believe Dr. Carter is upstairs. Please tell him thatLord Benedict requests his immediate attention on a medical matter.”
The footman nodded and dashed away. Meanwhile, Christopher was loosening the duke’s cravat. But what caught everyone’s attention was the way the man was waving his left hand. The fingers were curled as if cramped, but he seemed to be gesturing at Max.
And so Max went down on his knees beside his father. He grasped the duke’s hand, letting the fingers curl around his own, but feeling for the first time the lack of muscles in the hand. It was as though his father’s hand was just bone and skin, skeletal without sinew. Or perhaps it had been that long since he’d touched his father in any way at all.
“Don’t try to talk,” Lord Benedict was saying, but his father wasn’t listening. Of course not. The man never listened to anyone.
“Take a slow breath,” Max said. “A doctor is coming.”
The duke was still trying to say something. As his breath lengthened, the wild look in his eyes shifted to a glower. Then he worked hard to form one word.
“Home.”
Lord Benedict shook his head. “It isn’t wise to move you that far, Your Grace. There are beds upstairs—”
“Home.”
Max set his jaw. “If you cannot be moved, then you will have to stay here.”
The duke’s jaw clenched, and his brows drew down in a glower. “Home!” he repeated, and no wonder. Staying at a place he thought was a Molly house would be adding insult to injury. And now that Max was watching his father carefully, he saw the extent of that injury. One side of the duke’s face didn’t move as well as the other.
“Oh dear…” A high male voice filled the room. Max looked up to see a dandy strut into the room. His expression was warm and his smile compassionate as he set his medical bag on the floor. Christopher stepped back to give him room. Good God, the duke was going to hate being treated by a dandy, but if Benedict recommended him, then the man knew what he was about.
And with a doctor here to attend to his father, Max’s mind clicked back into focus.
“Chris, could you please go to the house. Yihui—”
“I’ll stop whatever idiocy is afoot.” Chris glanced down at the duke. “And prepare Emmaline.”
