Page 6 of Lavender’s Lost Duke

Henry didn’t need to finish his sentence. Lavender knew his worries. Despite continual visits from the doctor, her father was only getting more sick as time went on. She sniffed. “I believe you are correct. I don’t know what on earth to say to them, but I ought to at least make an effort.”

“You have the blessing of being with your father, for now. When a person is brought low, they tend to focus more on the important things in their life. And you, Lavender Gardner, are more important to them than you realize.”

She doubted this; it might have been the first time she’d questioned his advice. But she would take it nonetheless. “Thank you, Henry.” She squared her shoulders as he deposited her outside the back door. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck, Lady Lavender.” He turned to go, but then turned back around. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’m going to say it anyway. You’re better off without Mr. Lanscombe. He wasn’t good enough for you.”

Tears pricked the backs of Lavender’s eyes. She gave him a watery smile and went into the house. The sound of a door slamming upstairs was followed by footsteps thumping down the staircase. Lavender stepped out into the corridor just as her father’s doctor came into view. “Good day, Mr. Marshall.” Lavender tipped her head to the man who so dutifully cared for the earl.

Mr. Marshall opened his mouth, closed it again, and then shook his head before he continued down the corridor and let himself out the front door.

Lavender watched him go in astonishment. Nothing good could come from such an expression. It was not like him to ignore her. Mr. Marshall had the bedside manners of a saint. He put up with Lavender’s mother’s demands without complaint month after month and always left with a smile and words of encouragement. What had happened upstairs?

She listened for her father’s cough. It came, just as she’d expected it to.

Unable to quell her growing anxiety, she ascended the stairs to her father’s chamber. She knocked on the door, and her father invited her in. Mother was there, looking out the window with her back to Lavender.

“Father, how are you?” Lavender approached his bedside and squeezed his hand. His skin was thin and sagging, a far cry from the athletic build he’d claimed just a year ago.

He squeezed back. “I have had better days.”

Lavender nodded her understanding. “Me as well.”

Concern flickered in his eyes.

“Lavender,” her mother spat. “Your petty concerns do not compare with your father’s illness. He . . .” she turned to face Lavender. She was surprised to see her mother’s face streaked with tears, her cheeks a mottled red. Her mother turned back toward the window.

All the air left Lavender’s lungs. She’d known her father was ill, knew that he was likely not going to recover fully, but she’d never in all her life seen her mother lose her composure. The gravity of the situation settled upon her, and she sat on the edge of her father’s bed. Her throat constricted. She couldn’t tell them about Mr. Lanscombe now, perhaps not ever. The last thing her father needed was another worry.

“It’s consumption, my dear,” Lavender’s father said. “It is the way of things.”

Consumption. It was a cruel illness. One that there was no remedy for once you hit a certain stage. Lavender had suspected as much, having read about his symptoms in their vast library, but she’d prayed she was incorrect.

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Lavender wiped tears from her cheeks.

Her mother laughed, but it was an unhinged sound—completely out of character for the most terrifying member of the ton. “No one will like it. But whether we like it or not, we need to act now in your best interest. I will not have you end up in the poor house.”

Her father coughed into an already blood-stained handkerchief. “My dear, she will never be relegated to the poor house. Her brother will take care of her, and her sisters as well.”

Lavender’s mother came over to stand beside his bed, a measure of dignity pulled tight around her like a shield in battle. “You’re right, of course. Ash is all that is good in the world. He’ll not let her suffer. But we have agreed upon our course of action. The sooner we get her married, the better.”

Married?

Her father took a rattling breath. “It would make things easier for Ash to have all his sisters happily settled before he needs to take on the responsibilities of the estate.”

Her mother nodded. “We can take her to town when we take Ash back to school next week. I believe Rose can convince the Duchess of Gilfordshire to sponsor Lavender, since we cannot go. Why Rose chose the Season to be expecting a child is the most ridiculous decision she has made since marrying.”

Lavender opened her mouth to speak, but she had no words. Although she was in the room, her parents spoke to one another as if she were somewhere else entirely. So, Lavender did as she’d been taught: she faded into the background, listening to her parents' plan for her in completely shocked silence.

“I’ll have Mary begin packing Lavender’s belongings today. I leave to take Ash to Cambridge in just one week. Then we’ll stop in London to drop off Lavender in Mayfair,” her mother said. “I’ll write to Rose and the duchess directly.”

“I have no doubt in your abilities to have everything settled,” her father said. “Would you like me to send the request? I have been wanting to write to Rose in any case.”

“If you can have the letter written in the next hour, that will be acceptable. Thank goodness we’ve kept up on Lavender’s wardrobe. Of course, she will need a few new things, but I trust the duchess’s taste. The duchess simply needs to know that Lavender’s arm ought to be covered at all times.” Her mother left the room in a flurry.

Apparently, Lavender was leaving in a week. She would be staying—they presumed—with the Duke and Duchess of Gilfordshire. Lavender knew the duchess, but they were not close by any stretch of the imagination. How awkward to be dropped off on the doorstep of a near stranger. But she would do it for her father. A bit of discomfort was worth bearing to see him happy. Besides, if anyone could help Lavender make the right connections to help along a hasty marriage, she supposed a duchess would know precisely the right way to go about it.

“Lavender, come here,” her father motioned for her.