Page 23 of Trapped with the Forbidden Duke
She nodded. The farther from him, the better—at least for now. At least until she gathered her thoughts.
Edwina still had not quite recovered, or chased the heat with other thoughts, by the time she entered Montgomery Manor. Immediately, she knew that something was seriously wrong.
The Duke paused at the front door and frowned, sniffing the air. “Do you smell?—”
“Whiskey,” Edwina finished.
She turned towards the hallway and broke into a run, chasing the scent to the parlor.
The Duke was only a step behind her, for once letting her go first. And she was glad for it, for he did not see her face when she found Nicholas sprawled on the floor of the parlor, his fingers loosely grasping the neck of a bottle of whisky, his eyes closed.
Thankfully, his chest moved. That was the first thing she always checked for.
He was breathing.
Her relief was cut short at the sight of the familiar laudanum bottle that was tucked almost out of sight beneath his arm, as if it had rolled unceremoniously away from him after being used.
Edwina’s heart cracked as she dove for her brother, falling to her knees.
“Nicholas,” she said urgently, getting no response. She tapped his cheek rapidly with her fingers. “Nick.”
Behind her, the Duke cursed as he gripped the doorframe.
Edwina shifted to ensure that the laudanum bottle was out of view and then quickly tucked it into the pocket of her dress before he could see it.
“We need help in here!” the Duke called, craning his neck to look out at the carriage and the footmen likely awaiting his return. “Come quickly!”
Nicholas’s face was deathly white, but Edwina only focused on the breaths that came out of his lips, telling herself that as long as he breathed, he was all right.
He would be fine, and at least he had made it home and not passed out, face-down, in a puddle somewhere or one of those awful dens she had heard about, where opiate addicts went to lose themselves away from their families’ shame.
Soon, three footmen burst into the parlor. With the help of the Duke, they dragged Nicholas to his feet. He was not conscious, and he swayed, his body going limp. In the end, two footmen grasped an arm each, while the Duke supported one knee and the third footman hoisted the other.
It was a struggle, and Edwina could only watch. She was so angry, so distressed, and oh so familiar with this whole situation that when the parlor was empty, she could only collapse into an armchair.
She stared at the litter of whisky bottles, wrinkling her nose at the lingering scent.
She would have to adjust the staff’s schedule the following day in order to have the room cleaned.
“Brush it away,” she muttered to herself as she went upstairs, following the voices of the men who helped her brother to his chambers. “Brush it all away, so nobody may notice. Fix the cracks, and pretend that they are not there. Do not think of His Grace’s questions, should they arise.”
Chapter Eight
“The parlor has been cleaned, My Lady,” one of the maids told Edwina the following morning as the bustle of a household she was not used to being busy woke her up.
In the main hall, she found an unfamiliar face who reported to her about the cleaned rooms.
“And the drawing room has been cleaned thoroughly. We were informed by Mr. Calloway that it had been some time since it had been deeply cleaned.”
Edwina could only frown and nod as she walked past in a daze, spotting more unfamiliar faces, all of them working—cleaning, brushing, sweeping. Someone was painting the entrance hall.
As she entered the breakfast room, she recalled the Duke of Stormhold’s words.
“I will help you get your household in order.”
Was this part of that? She had assumed it would include a little bit of tidying here and there, but mostly helping them recover financially. But this… this was something else entirely, and she was grateful for it.
The Duke sat at the head of the table, notablyalone, while he tucked into an array of food that Edwina hadn’t seen grace the dining table in some time.
