Page 43 of Playing the Scoundrel

Chapter Eighteen

Henry let out a deep breath and paced before the gate of his father’s townhouse. He was in no emotional state to take a verbal beating from his father, not after his previous stop. The apology and the flowers were needed to keep his façade alive, but even the sight of Miss Follett had brought a rush of emotions back in full force. It wasn’t just that she didn’t want him, but that she’d played him for a fool. That he’d succumbed to all the romantic notions, and no matter how she’d mistreated him, he still longed for her. He hated himself for it, and did not want a reminder from his father, who also hated him.

All that hate was not good for a person, Henry was certain.

The doors to the townhouse opened, revealing a smartly dressed gentleman carrying a leather satchel that looked very much like a doctor’s bag. This caught Henry’s attention as the man trotted down the walk and through the tall iron fence.

“Beg your pardon,” Henry said, stepping forward. “Are you a doctor?”

The gentleman nodded. “Mr. George Grommell at your service.”

“Have you just been in to see my father?”

“Mr. Godwin? Yes, just the regular weekly visit.”

“Weekly visit?” Henry swallowed. “Is he not well?”

Mr. Grommell blinked. “Well, he’s not been well for some time. He’s dying, though I’m sure you already…”

Henry rested a hand to the man’s shoulder, as he was suddenly unable to keep himself steady. Dying? He didn’t want it to mean anything, but Henry couldn’t deny the increased sorrow that filled his chest. Pressing his fingers against his eyes, he shook his head. “Damnation.”

“Did younotknow? What kind of son doesn’t know his own father is dying?”

It took all the restraint Henry possessed not to level the man right there on the street. “The estranged kind.”

“Oh. My apologies.” Mr. Grommell stiffened. “He’s been suffering from consumption for some time now, but I fear he’s taken a turn for the worse. I expect he won’t last longer than a few more weeks.”

Each word was more of a blow than the next. Henry couldn’t fathom such a change to his life. Not that he saw his father regularly or cared deeply for the man, but it was still his father. He wished he could say the world would be better without his father’s anger and bitterness, but somehow, this revelation left him more unsettled than not.

“I am sorry, but I must go to another appointment. I’ll be back next week to check on him as scheduled.”

“Thank you, doctor.” Henry did not make eye contact with the man or shake his hand, for he was still too lost in his thoughts. Mr. Grommell disappeared, leaving Henry to stare up at the big townhouse that would soon be his to deal with, once the devil of a man inside was gone. What would Henry’s world be like when his greatest antagonist was gone?

Too much to consider all at once, Henry shook his head and made his way to the front doors, where Baxter let him in.

“He’s laid up in bed, sir,” the butler explained.

Henry nodded, turning toward the elaborate staircase. He stopped in front of the large double doors and raised his hand to knock.

“Come in, you fool.”

His father didn’t know who was on the other side of the door, but his cross words were meant for anyone. So Henry put on a brave face and went in.

The sight set Henry’s heart to pounding as an unexpected sadness washed over him. The man who had always been loud and large was now small and shriveled, dwarfed by his bed. Henry had considered him simply old the last time he’d visited, but now he could see the illness for what it was: pale skin, sunken eyes, lips thin and drawn. Henry had already suffered so much loss and death, it wasn’t difficult for him to recognize the signs.

“What the devil are you doing here?” his father shouted, as loud as his waning voice could allow.

“I believe you summoned me today, Father.”

“Well, I’m not in the mood for visitors, so you can take yourself off.”

Henry did no such thing, but rather made himself comfortable in the armchair beside the bed. “I crossed paths with the doctor on my way in. What ails you, Father?”

The old man harrumphed. “This life ails me. And the good Lord finally sees fit to take me out of it.”

“I see.” Henry nodded slowly. “And why did you not mention it before?”

“What good would it do?” Father turned in his bed, almost straining to lean and face him with an angry glare. “It won’t make you do anything different, will it? You need only marry, but you remain stubborn and useless.”

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