Jessica scoffed, standing and making her way to a bookshelf. “I did not realize you were so close to Lord Drake. You rarely spoke to him.”
Robert blanched, his stomach twisting in knots. He had the sudden need for a water closet to privately dispose of his stomach contents. Her calloused reaction was having a stronger effect on him than he thought was logical, but the more she spoke, the more he wanted to run out the front door. “I suppose you are correct.” He ran a hand over his jacket, closing his eyes briefly as he swallowed to collect himself. “Is there something you need me to do for you?”
“The doctor has arranged for the body—”
Robert winced, his head jerking as if he had been slapped in the face. “For Lord Drake,” he all but whispered.
“Yes.” She reached up and ran a finger along a book’s spine.
Green. The spine of the book was green.
“I may need some assistance with legal matters and documents,” she continued. “You are good with such things.”
Documents. Legal matters. That was what his sister desired of him after the death of her husband. Not comfort or a listening ear, but practical and logical matters of business.
“Of course.” He swallowed, his nausea growing. “I will come by tomorrow when you have had some time to recover.” His eyes hazed, and he gave his head a hard shake, trying to focus.
“You should bring your wife with you. I haven’t spent much time with her.”
Her hand trailed to another book. Blue . . .
“Yes,” Robert whispered, hardly able to form a coherent thought. He forced his eyes away from the books, noticing a slight tremble in his fingers as he pressed them to his temple. What was coming over him? “I think I need to go. I will return tomorrow as early as is convenient for you.”
Suddenly, Jessica’s hand dropped to her side as she spun about, her mouth wide.
Finally, some sort of reaction to her husband’s death. Perhaps it had just been the shock to make her act so callous. Waiting to hear words of heartbreak or sorrow, Robert filled his chest with a hopeful breath.
“I shall now have to wear black for the next year.” She put a hand over her mouth. “I had three new dresses commissioned only last week that will now have to sit abandoned in a trunk. What sort of cruel fate is this?” Robert thought she might cry—over her inability to wear adress, while news of her husband’s death had very little to no effect on her.
He had to leave. He had to get out of this suffocating, stifling room and into fresh air. “I will see you tomorrow,” he said, ignoring her comment and striding down the hall. He flung the front door wide and gulped in the first breath that felt like it did anything since seeing his sister’s indifferent state.
Gulliver scurried from his seat, rushing to open the carriage door for him. Robert didn’t particularly care. He was prepared to open the door for himself if he had to. Sitting heavily in his seat, Robert tried to make sense of his growing sense of dread. He knew Jessica had not married Lord Drake for love. It had been a match done for her security, and likely for Lord Drake, a connection to the dukedom.
Would that be him one day? If he died, would Louisa be fretting over having to wear black or how his death would only inconvenience her?
Would she be happy about it?
The last thought sent his head between his knees as he attempted to gulp in air. His lungs rose and fell, yet it didn’t feel right. It felt empty, returning void out into the carriage without replenishing him.
His wife had been very clear that theirs was a marriage of convenience. He had used those words himself. Why, then, did it bother him so much?
As Robert entered Stonemoore, everything continued on as usual. Brooks took his hat, slipping it from Robert’s numb fingers.
“Brooks, I need you to summon my mother. And my wife.” Robert swallowed, and Brooks gave him a weary glance beforenodding and heading down the hall toward the Lavender Room. Shortly after, his mother and Louisa trailed behind him.
“What is the matter, Robert?” his mother asked, her brow puckering.
Robert glanced over at Louisa, who wore the same worried lines on her brow. “Lord Drake has passed.”
His mother’s eyes widened before she quickly regained her composure. Ever the dutiful duchess. Composed. Regal. Unshakeable. Is that what Robert and Jessica had become? Would Louisa be the same one day? Her lively spirit masked beneath the pressure of her station? Robert’s gaze went to his wife, watching as she put a hand to his mother’s elbow, wrapping her free hand about her shoulders as she watched her face.
Please do not change . . .
His mother snapped out of her stoic silence, nodding her head. “I shall go to her immediately.” Brooks handed the dowager her hat, and she slipped out the door.
Louisa took tentative steps toward him. “Robert, if you need something . . .” She gazed up at him, and he wanted nothing more than to ask her one nagging question.Would you cry for me?But the answer would likely send him over the edge of despair, for he believed her answer would be ‘no’.
And could he blame her? They barely knew one another. What they were was neatly cataloged on a legal document.
