Page 8 of Her Heart's Rightful Earl
Slowly navigating the overgrown bridleway that passed the kitchens, however, Alexander wished Stirling would hush; the horse was so joyful on their unexpected expedition that he was making little whinnying noises, and Alexander didn’t want the household staff to suspect a horse had got loose and for them to come outside to investigate.
So as not to risk Stirling’s involuntary audible contribution, they trotted back to a working outhouse a little further away from the main entrance, and Alexander settled Stirling there with the intention of walking back up to the house alone. As he approached, he could scarcely believe the crumbling stone, and he assessed the fallen-in roof with disdain.
“What has happened here, brother?” Alexander whispered under his breath.
He dismounted and skirted around on the overgrown grass, avoiding the gravel driveway, which would betray his approach.
Alexander sneaked down a path to a door that led to a secret passage he would play in with his brother when they were small. The door itself was slightly stuck, and he wondered if the last time it was opened was, in fact, by himself, as he’d escaped covered in blood on that fated night three years ago. In their childhood, they had been aware that servants used the passages for discreet journeys in and out of the house, but it was clear to Alexander that they had not been used for such missions by anybody in recent times, as the void was clustered with thick, springy cobwebs.
Taking a deep breath, Alexander cleared the cobwebs that obstructed his route and began to make slow progress along the passageway, pausing every few steps to check for sounds of anybody aroused by his intrusion and to clear more spider webs out of his way.
Not only did the house stand in complete, eerie silence, but it felt hollow and empty. This grand abode that once bustled with energy and joy now exuded a grim feeling of desolation.
Alexander knew that these desperate measures to access the house were ill-advised and that Thomas would be astounded by his foolish venture, but Alexander found life challenging enough—if he had to live it knowing he had passed up the opportunity to hold his mother one last time, it would be inconceivable for him to continue. He knew he had to see her, even if the risk of being discovered would result in incarceration.
He reached the end of the passage and pushed through to the door next to the pantry.
***
There were no servants in the corridor, to Alexander’s relief, and as he reached his mother’s private sitting room, he took a deep breath—praying she would be there and that nobody else would be—before pushing open the door.
He saw her across the room; in the large, opulently dressed room, she looked so small. She was a frail version of the healthy mother he had known three years ago. Her hair was now mostly silver, her face pale, her eyelids thin and pink, and her veiny hands clutched in her lap over a crocheted blanket.
In the brief moment before she became aware of the door opening and somebody entering, he had a moment to observe her, and his heart fell at the realization he had still beenexpecting to find a lady with plump, rosy cheeks, a sparkle in her eyes, and a smile for everybody, just as she always had.
The woman in front of him, ensconced in a high-backed upholstered armchair and covered in blankets, had become an old lady. He loved her dearly, but differently now; not with merriment and abundance but protectively, defensively.
Her relaxed face as she looked across the spacious room towards the door told him she had been expecting somebody else; her lady’s maid, perhaps. Upon seeing him, her eyes widened in shock, and her arms went directly to the chair to push herself up, desperate to be near him. Her mouth fell open, and water instantly filled her eyes as she gasped in a rasping voice, “Alexander!”
He crossed the room in mere seconds and went to her, embracing her, partly in eagerness to be close to her after missing her so intensely, but additionally, to save her from falling forward. A segment of his mind thought about how awful it would be if he came to say goodbye and ended up being the catalyst for a fall that spelled her end.
He practically caught her in his arms as she propelled herself upwards towards him.
“My son! My beautiful first-born!” The words escaped her in croaky breaths as she sobbed at his presence.
Alexander held her closely to him. “Mother!” He kissed the top of her head affectionately. “I have missed you profoundly!”
They clutched to one another and eventually, Margaret looked up into his face and smoothed a shaking hand over his cheek, as she would when he was a small boy, as she told him stories at bedtime. Alexander closed his eyes, indulging in that comforting touch that only a mother could impart.
As she looked up at him, he noted that the whites of her eyes were not yellowed and bloodshot as he would have expected. Whilst watery, they were bright and discerning. Her voice, as it began to clear from the initial emotion, was not as hoarse.
Whilst she was skinny and weak beneath his palms, she did not seem as near to death as he had feared. He allowed a smile to spread across his face. Looking her closely in the face, there was his mother; she was still in there.
“You’re here!” Margaret stated in celebration.
“I am,” Alexander confirmed, “though I shouldn’t be …”
“Thomas told you?”
“That you are unwell, yes, Mother, I …”
“You must listen, Alexander,” Margaret rushed in a whispered hush. “I have been unable to sleep, finding it near impossible to eat … knowing the truth as I do …”
“Truth, Mother?”
“Yes, dear son. It is important … you must listen …”
Her words were now urgent and clipped, her whispers close to his ear in urgency.
