Page 53 of The Lady’s Guide to Deception and Desire
Still, there was no response.
Rosamund turned her mother’s head, patting her cheek. The side that had been pressed to the pillow was mottled purple and her mother’s mouth was slack.
“Ma!” Rosamund felt a pang of fear. “You must wake up!”
Was she breathing?
Pressing her fingers to her mother’s neck, Rosamund found no pulse.
“Ma! No!”
Trembling, Rosamund lifted an eyelid.
The orb beneath lacked its usual sparkle, fixed and sightless.
Rosamund’s hands flew to her face and she let forth a wail of abject misery.
Chapter 19
The doctor gavea verdict of misadventure.
Her mother had taken too large a dose. It was a common accident, it seemed—especially among older women. Regrettable, but easily done.
“You shouldn’t blame yourself,” the doctor said.
Except that she did.
It shouldn’t have happened. Her mother had said she was through with those infernal drops!
Lord Studborne guided her to the chaise. A decanter of brandy had been brought upstairs, from which he poured them both a large measure.
“We must postpone the wedding, but you'll stay, of course, as your mother would have wished.”
He took a small sip from his glass. “It affords us more time to know one another, which is not so bad, perhaps.”
Rosamund nodded mutely and drank the brandy, grateful for the burning warmth it brought to her chest.
Everything was unreal. Her mother had been alive; now she was gone.
What was Rosamund to do? For the moment, nothing, it seemed. His Grace was taking care of all that must be done.
“The rector of the village church, Reverend Nossle, will come later to discuss the service. I may speak to him if you prefer, but you might write a note of your mother’s favourite hymns—and the flowers she liked best.”
The duke was being so efficient. “It is the worst of tragedies.” He refilled Rosamund’s glass, urging her to drink, though he’d barely touched his own.
“I suggest you return to your chamber, my dear, and rest if you can. Grief takes a terrible toll and must be endured, but you shouldn’t make yourself ill.”
It was true that Rosamund was exhausted. She’d barely slept the night before and the shock of her mother’s death had drained her of all capacity for thought.
She’d written to Ethan just a few days before, telling him about the abbey and how she wished he could see it.
Now, she’d need to write a letter of a different kind. It was too cruel...
Her father would need to know as well.
But those letters could wait. For now, all she wanted was the oblivion of sleep. Readily, she allowed Jenny to put her back to bed.
Pom Pom, as if sensing her sadness, whined to come under the blankets, seeking out her warmth, and she was glad of his little body pressed to hers.
