Page 8 of Finding Hope
The place was as quiet as a mausoleum, with a distinct lack of warmth. When he reached the end of the upper hallway, and the two large wooden doors with the Davenmere crest intricately carved into the panels, Max decided not to knock. If his father was asleep, he would rather not wake him.
The door swung open quietly to the sitting room and he waited whilst his eyes adjusted to the dim light. It did not smell of soap and beeswax like the rest of the house—it smelled of the sick room. He saw his father’s frame, covered in blankets, sitting in an armchair by the fire. What the devil?
Max moved quietly into the room to see if he was asleep.
His generally large, boisterous father looked like a shell of himself. He was thin and frail.
He turned his head and opened his eyes. “Max?” he asked weakly.
“Yes, Father, it is I.”
“Thank you for coming. I was afraid you wouldn’t read my letter.”
Letter?he thought.
“Your mother wanted me to demand you marry the Cunningham chit, of course, but I let her think that was what I wrote.” He chuckled softly.
Max kicked himself for not having read the note. “Have you been ill, Father? You have lost several stone.”
His father tried to sit upright and began coughing.
Max almost moved to help him, but his father of old would have resented such an action.
Instead, he handed him a glass of water. When the coughing spasm had ceased, he finally spoke.
“That is what I wish to talk to you about. The doctor says I have only a few months to live. Some kind of wasting disease, he says.”
Max could not believe what he was hearing. He was still trying to reconcile the body before him as his father’s. His once rounded cheeks were hollow and gaunt, and his large girth was thin.
“How long have you known?”
“A couple of months, maybe.”
“Does her Grace know?”
“She knew I was ill when she left for London, but she does not know the extent. She was too hell-bent on getting to London to put a stop to your disastrous behaviour, as she put it, to pay me much mind.”
“She told me you had cut me off because I refused to wed Miss Cunningham.”
His Grace chuckled mildly. “On the contrary, I have called you here to put everything in your hands. Abernathy will answer to you from now on.”
“Do you need to tell Diana, Claudia, and Gus? They would want to be here.”
His father frowned in thought. “I would much rather them remember me as I was.”
“Give them the choice,” Max insisted. “Let them decide.”
“I will leave that to you,” his father said, looking tired. It was hard to believe they were discussing his impending death so rationally.
“So you will support me in allowing me to choose whom I shall marry?”
“My marriage was arranged for me.” He looked at Max with a bit of the old twinkle in his eyes. “Yes, I support you making your own choice. I will not be here to see the day, I am afraid.”
Max was taken aback that the Duke sounded saddened by the thought. Was it merely his own mortality that made him feel this way now?
“I have always intended to marry one day, but…”
“But your mother sets up your bristles with her meddling,” the Duke finished for him.
