Page 160 of Between Despair and Hope

“Not that. For pushing you on Faxon when you were with child.”

“Oh.”

“Your mother and I, well, it doesn’t matter now. I think we made a mistake. Faxon wasn’t—”

“Faxon is dead, and I’d prefer him to remain so. Even in conversation.”

He nodded, chin wobbling. “You’ll have to ask your mother about our reasons.”

I bit my lip and nodded, fighting the urge to correct him. Why make him live through her death again in his feeble state?

“I’ve missed you, sunshine. I wish you came to see me more often.”

He started coughing, turning his head to the side, and it saved me from having to bite my tongue. Visiting Ravemont had been forbidden. It was hard to reconcile this sweet, dying man with the man who’d forced me upon Faxon and allowed me to be isolated for over a decade. It was a war of heart and mind within me, and I glanced over at Rain for a burst of confidence. But Rain’s eyes were wide as he looked at my father—coughing fit passed.

“Pa?” I shouted in a panic, fearful of what I might see.

“Your Highness?” He croaked out, using his sheet to dry his spittle-covered lips. “Why are you—” The coughing began again.

“Oh, gods,” I murmured. “Pa, Rain is here with me for support.”

He flopped onto his back, panting, with eyes closed. “That makes sense.”

Rain had stood, shrugging off Mister Carson’s jacket to reveal the plain black shirt beneath. He looked between my father and me, clearly uncertain of what to do.

“Can you send in Ginny?” My father decided for us, and I assumed he meant his nurse. “I need her,” he added, with an uncomfortable clearing of his throat.

“I’ll get her, Pa. I’ll be staying a while, alright?”

“Yes, dear.”

Rain followed behind as I moved toward the door, a comforting hand on the small of my back. I glanced over my shoulder at my father, looking so small in the great bed which had belonged to my mother’s ancestors for centuries. His eyes were closed, and he’d thrown an arm over his face, my stomach twisting at the sight. I was struck then by how unfair it was for him that I would be the one at that bedside as he left his mortal body. It was the first time I wasn’t upset over the fact he loved Lucia and my mother more, instead wishing he had anyone left who cared for him as they had.

“I don’t know. It doesn’t feel like a good idea.”

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he replied, though he seemed a bit forlorn. “It’s an apple orchard now.”

“What is?”

“Where it happened. Dewalt’s idea. We expanded the olive grove too.”

I sighed. “I’m surprised he was the main reason you visited. I would’ve thought he wouldn’t want to…”

“He didn’t want to leave that fall. We almost didn’t, in fact. When I tried to see you and you wouldn’t see me, I threw a tantrum like a petulant child, and he relented. I’m tempted to give him Crown Cottage, to be quite honest.”

“Can you do that now that you signed their paperwork?”

“I let him keep his title.” I raised a brow, surprised he could do that. “Perks of being king, I suppose. Although, I made sure to mention it to the council right after recounting my time in Darkhold. I think they felt sorry for me.”

“As they should,” I said, somber over what he’d gone through.

“Anyway, he’s still a duke, and I can assign any land to him I might want. I don’t know, though. If I give him Crown Cottage, then he’ll never give up her ghost.”

“She’d be so angry he’s doing this to himself. I can hear her now, pacing the hall and yelling at me about it.”

Rain chuckled. “She’d have thrown something while yelling about it, I’m sure. Highclere women, always throwing things.”

“Excuse me, Lucia was the one who—”

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