His father looked up at him, searching his face, like he was memorizing it. Then he smiled. “But it’s time. I love you…my…dearest…boy.”
His breathing went shallow as he said it. His eyes slid closed. Kit jolted, clinging tighter to his hand. “No,” he whispered. “Oh no, no, no. Please…please don’t.”
His father didn’t respond now. He didn’t open his eyes. Kit counted his breaths, counted the endless spaces between them. And then, there was nothing left to count. In quiet, in peace, in a moment that would change Kit forever, his father slipped away.
Kit rested his head on his father’s chest, a lifetime of love between them playing out in his mind. And now it was gone, only a memory, with no new moments to ever be shared again.
He lay like that for a what felt like an eternity, then he stood up. He stared down at his father. He looked so peaceful there. The pain that had accompanied his long illness was gone from his face. He looked younger.
With a shuddering sigh, Kit stepped from the chamber into the hall. Only the servants were lined up there, gathered in groups, weeping. He drew a breath of relief. At present they had a full house. When it became clear his father’s life was close to an end, his friends had come in from all over England. His brothers, the 1797 Club dukes.
They’d filled his home and his father’s last days with gentle kindness and soft laughter. Kit appreciated it, but he wasn’t yet ready to see them. To tell them what he was about to say to his father’s loyal servants.
He drew a deep breath and felt their sadness increase. It was clear they knew what he was about to say before he did.
“My father has passed,” he said, his stomach turning as he said those words for the first time.
His butler, Barrymore, stepped forward, his face solemn. The man had been with the household since before Kit was born, and he could see the servant’s true heartbreak in every line of his face. “The household staff will see to your father’s last wishes,” he said. “Our deepest condolences to you and to Miss Phoebe.”
Kit nodded. “Thank you, Barrymore.”
“Of course, my lor—Your Grace.”
Kit froze.Your Grace. That was his title now. He was the duke. A role he had been prepared for by the very man who now lay dead in the room behind him. A role he felt woefully ill prepared for in this moment of pain and loss.
The household staff moved away, scuttling off to make arrangements. He was left alone in the hall. Except he realized he was not alone. Sarah was standing at his sister’s door, her hands folded before her as she just…watched him.
“We’ll need to tell her,” he said, looking away from her.
“Yes,” she said softly. “Would you like me to be present when you do so?”
He froze and glanced at her. His father’s words about her rang in his ears. That he would need her. It seemed like nonsense at the time, but right now less so.
At last he nodded. “Yes. I think that would be a good thing. She will need…she’llneedboth of us.”
Sarah inclined her head. “If I might make a suggestion?”
“Please,” he whispered.
“Take a moment, Your Grace,” she said, taking half a step toward him before she stopped herself. “You have suffered a great loss.”
“I knew it was coming,” he said.
She tilted her head and a flash of anguish crossed her face. “Somehow I doubt that is a comfort. Phoebe will know soon enough. Take a moment, won’t you, and I will be waiting in the nursery to help in any way I can.”
She turned and left him there, alone at last in his grief. And as he let the moment she had granted wash over him, he dropped to his knees and he wept.
Sarah’s hands shook as she sat on the floor with Phoebe, helping her stack a tower of blocks and then watching the little girl knock them down. Phoebe was a unique little girl, for she had always liked toys that might be labeled for boys as much as those for girls. She ran and played and laughed without thought for propriety or the state of her gown.
But right now that big spirit was muted. Phoebe’s mouth was turned down deeply and she shifted in her seat like she was waiting. Like she already knew what her brother would come in to say to her.
Sarah shut her eyes. Christopher Collins…Kit…was now the Duke of Kingsacre. Her employer. After all they’d been through all those years ago, after so many times he had looked at her with disdain plain on his countenance…now her fate was up to him.
It was an untenable situation, indeed. And yet all she could feel when she thought of him was empathy. He’d been so close to his father, everyone knew that. The look on his face when he said the old duke was gone was…heartbreaking.
So despite her conflicted feelings about him, she was bound by honor and duty to do all she could to ease this troubling time for him and for his sister. What happened after? Well, that would be what it would be.
The door to Phoebe’s chamber opened and Kit stood in the entryway. From Sarah’s position on the floor, he looked like a god. So tall, his shoulders so broad, his entire being formed by lean, wiry muscle and hard angles.
