Page 8 of An Arranged Marriage with a Cruel Earl
“I need to sleep,” Grandma said softly. “I’ll be quite all right with time.”
“I am sure you will,” Andrew said swiftly. “May I carry you to your room?” he asked.
“Oh, Andrew. You don’t need to do that,” she said softly, but she smiled at him as she said it as if the suggestion appealed to her.
“I am happy to help,” he said instantly, and bent down and lifted her up. He hadn’t realised how little she was—she was such a huge figure in his life, but somehow her body seemed so frail and tiny when he held her.
He carried her down the hallway and to her bedroom.
“Thank you, Grandson,” she murmured.
“Please rest,” he said softly as he lowered her onto the bed. “Rest and get well.” He kissed her brow. “I will fetch the physician.”
“No need,” his grandmother murmured softly, but he shook his head.
“I will feel better if he has seen you,” he insisted.
She smiled sleepily. “If you must.”
He went to find Mr Pearson to send for the physician.
“What happened to her?” Andrew asked Mr Pearson as they both walked to the door. “Where did Mrs Hall find her?”
“In the hallway,” Mr Pearson explained. “Near the gallery stairs.”
Andrew winced and let out a sigh. The hallway that led to the gallery was dangerous. The floor was rickety—neglect and lack of maintenance led to several boards being loose and some had lifted. It was easy to fall there. He should have had the place cordoned off. Grandma liked to go up there to look at the portraits of the family and he could not deny her that small comfort.
“I ought to have attended to it long ago,” he castigated himself as he walked to his study.
He walked past his bedroom and went in, flopping onto the bed. He closed his eyes, exhaustion overwhelming him.
Sometimes, when he was in need of guidance, he spoke to his father and mother. He did not know if they could hear him somewhere in the lands beyond life, but he fancied that they could. He was calm as he spoke aloud to them.
“Mama. Papa. I wish I knew what to do.”
He paused, the sense of peace settling on him and, even though no thoughts came to him, the calmness was welcome.
“I could repair the floor with fifteen thousand,” he added. He needed to repair the manor—Grandma's accident made it plain.
He opened his eyes and shut them again exhaustedly. It was a choice that was no real choice at all. He had to fix the manor, and there was only one way to get the money to do so. He had to do what Neville had suggested and at least meet this young lady.
It was what Grandma had asked him to do.
