Page 7 of The Scandalous Love of a Duke
John nodded, feeling his anxiety rise again.
‘You have nothing to fear,’ his uncle stated more quietly as he rested a palm on his shoulder.
John shrugged it off. He was not that scared child any more, and if his grandfather was so close to death, he needed to earn respect not pity. ‘I am half his age and in my prime. He is on his death bed. He can hardly dominate me now.’
‘I was not challenging you, John,’ his uncle answered with a smile. ‘I know you are capable, but I also know how cutting his words can be. Pay no mind to them. I have never done so.’
John tried to recognise Richard’s good intent but only felt discomfort. He felt emotionally naked and vulnerable, and he did not like it. He had not felt this way for years.
Richard knocked on the door of the state bedchamber and waited to be called in.
John’s heartbeat raced when Richard turned the handle.
The red and gold decoration in the room was subdued by the low light. Just two candles were burning, one on either side of the bed casting shadows. The bed’s tall canopy towered above them, and long curtains fell to the floor at either side, screening his grandfather from view. But John could hear his laboured breathing, and the chamber had the putrid smell of sickness.
His grandfather’s valet stood across the room and another man was beside the bed.The physician?
‘Your Grace, I have brought John.’ Richard moved forward.
John followed.
The Duke of Pembroke was propped up on pillows and his head lay back, as though he could not lift it. He was extremely thin, a ghost compared to the statuesque giant who had intimidated John as a child. His skin was grey and his cheeks sunken. His hands, which rested on the red cover, were skeletal.
The old man took a breath, which looked painful, and lifted his hand an inch from the bed. He breathed John’s name and then let his hand fall.
John passed his uncle and held his grandfather’s hand, lifting it. He pressed a kiss upon the bony knuckles. ‘Your Grace.’
‘My… boy.’ The words were barely audible as he fought for breath.
‘John.’
John turned to see Richard had brought a chair for him. He sat, still holding his grandfather’s hand, and rested an elbow on the bed, leaning forward.
‘Grandfather, I was sorry to hear your situation.’
A condemnatory sound escaped the old man’s lips ‘Because… it… meant… you… must… come… home… Sayle.’ The duke was the only one who called him by his token title, the Marquess of Sayle.
‘Because it meant you were dying,’ John corrected. ‘I do not relish that, Your Grace. True, I do not hunger for the reins of the dukedom, but nor do I wish to see you gone, you are my grandfather.’ It was probably the most honest statement he had ever made to the old man. It was about bloody time he spoke truthfully.
‘Unlikely… But… now… you… are… back… I… may… go… in… peace.’
‘And that is equally unlikely.’ John smiled as he met his grandfather’s gaze. The old man’s body may have been weakened, but his direct gaze and the mind behind it were as strong as ever.
‘Enough… of… your… cheek.’
John smiled more broadly. ‘So do you wish to know what I have been up to in my absence?’
‘I-know… your… mother… has… read… your… letters… to… me—’ The Duke’s words were cut off by a painful-sounding cough.
John rose and pressed a hand on his grandfather’s shoulder. ‘Perhaps I ought not disturb you.’
The duke’s fingers lifted from the bed. ‘Stay,’ he breathed.
John sat again.
‘I… have… waited… for-you. You-must… speak-to… Harvey… about… business?—’
‘I am sure I shall manage, Grandfather.’
