Page 96 of Duke of Bronze
For the first time in days, a genuine smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. He had accepted Colin's sponsorship. At last. And he sounded—happy. In truth, she had never read words from him that rang with such satisfaction.
But then her eyes drifted once more to the name within the letter.
Copperton. With it came the pang. That same dull ache she had begun to know far too well.
CHAPTER 35
"It is a pleasure to see you again, Your Grace," Dr. Gibson said warmly, bowing.
Colin inclined his head in greeting. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."
They stood in the grand but quiet foyer of Copperton Manor, the hush of the old house a contrast to the tension threading through Colin's chest. Dr. Gibson had been the family physician for years—steadfast, discreet, and more importantly, trustworthy. Colin had summoned him not merely for his medical expertise, but because where they were going required both skill and character.
After a few polite exchanges and updates on mutual acquaintances—Dr. Gibson, it seemed, had no shortage of patients prone to melodrama—Colin gestured toward the door.
"Shall we?"
The doctor simply nodded, taking up his hat again without question.
An hour later, they stood before the Millard residence.
Colin tightened his grip on the satchel in his hand. It was a small thing, filled with toys and ribbons and sweets. A humble offering, but one he had selected himself. Something for the children. Something for Lydia.
He drew a breath, slow and steady, and raised his hand to knock.
No response.
He raised his hand again, but just before his knuckles struck the wood, a small peephole slid open. Mrs. Millard's sharp blue eyes peered out. For a brief instant, there was unmistakable surprise. Then, just as swiftly, it vanished beneath a familiar veil of cold disdain.
"My husband is not at home," she said crisply, already making to close the slit.
"I did not come for him," Colin said quickly.
Her gaze narrowed. "Then you've no business here. Come back when he is."
"I brought a doctor," Colin said, the words spilling out with more urgency than he intended. "To see Lydia."
She hesitated. Just barely. But it was enough for a flicker of hope to kindle in him.
"We have a doctor," she replied, her voice as cool as ever. "There is no need."
Colin steadied his breath, reining in his frustration. "It wouldn't hurt to have a second opinion. Dr. Gibson is highly respected. I assure you, his presence is only to assist."
Still she wavered, her eyes hard with suspicion. He could see the wall she held firm, see her weighing not just his words but his intentions.
He took a step closer, lowering his voice. "Please. This is not about sentiment. Not yours, not mine. It's about helping Lydia."
The silence that followed stretched long. He held her gaze through the gap in the door, refusing to look away, refusing to be the first to yield.
And that did it.
There was a pause, and then the peephole slid shut. The click of a lock followed, then the clink of a chain, and at last, the door creaked open. Mrs. Millard stood in the threshold, her posturestiff, her expression impassive. She stepped aside without a word, permitting them entry with cautious reluctance.
Colin inclined his head in silent gratitude as he stepped inside. The air in the modest home was heavy; not stale exactly, but worn. Lived-in. He noted the second door just off the main corridor as they passed; soft mumbles could be heard beyond it—children, no doubt.
Mrs. Millard led them down the hall without ceremony, stopping at a door and opening it to reveal a chamber that made Colin's heart constrict. The room was as pitiful as he remembered—sparse and dim, the furnishings meagre and worn. And Lydia?—
God above! She looked worse. Far worse.
