The Lord and his Lady (Forbidden #2)

Chapter Nine

"On behalf of all of us at the House of Lords, we do dearly apologise for the state of His Grace," the wrinkly old man with a hawk nose and white moustache mumbled. "We were saddened by the news when it got to us."

"You must understand," another scrambled to add, "that though these turn of events have been grave beyond measure, we cannot pity you or the work you are to undertake. You understand the gravity of this, yes?"

Richard tapped the mahogany table with his finger, well aware of the gazes of the older men seated around. "I do understand what it is you're implying. But worry not about my efforts. I can handle Father's tasks on top of my duties as Marquess."

His chest tightened as the words escaped from his taut lips. Truthfully, he was struggling with his own title as being the Marquess, let alone now having to deal with stepping in for the Duke; the matters were entirely different.

The man with the moustache cleared his throat. "We hope you are able to reform your ways. Having you traipsing around with your woman and teaching slaves that they are a part of nobility will not do you any good or win you any favours, my boy."

"I don't recall personal matters being any of your business, my lord," he stated calmly. "Perhaps we shall refrain from speaking of things that do not invite your opinion."

"Well, I ought...I—" The man straightened up, cheeks blazing red under the white fluff framing his jaw. "My apologies."

Richard bowed his head and left the hall. The discussion of the horrors of men bathing naked in the Yale River and to pass a bill against it was the only entertaining part of the entire meeting.

The debrief of the Duke's work and obligations that came afterward was torturous. And I thought my duties as Marquess was bothersome. He scoffed.

Neither they nor him were enlightened by the idea but as Marquess and—to them—the next heir, he was to do what any good, upstanding eldest son would do.

"Lord Caldwell!"

He stopped right out the front of the doors. Nathaniel, his father's longtime friend, came to stand beside him. "Lord Caldwell?" he repeated. "Please, since when has it ever been anything other than Richard to you?"

"I digress my previous statement, my lord." He smiled before it dimmed, his expression grave, revealing the sunken lines that his wrinkles left behind. "I apologise on behalf of the men. Do not take their words to heart."

"Believe me, Lord Blackwell, I'm far too grown to be offended by mere talk of spite." He didn't bother voicing his own inner worries; it would only be affirming what those men were saying about him and that was something he must deal with himself.

"How is your father?"

"Unwell, still. Mother believes he will awaken soon."

"And you?"

He thought about this carefully before speaking. "Nothing says he will not. He eats and drinks little by little but seemingly sleeps far more."

"Are you free this coming weekend? Charlotte and I would like to come by and pay him a visit. He...he's my dear friend. I would have liked to come sooner but—" his voice choked and he looked down.

Richard's throat clogged and he reached out, patting his father's longtime friend on the shoulder; all of a sudden, the Earl that had always been an uncle to him looked frail and vulnerable.

This incident had plagued them all in more ways than one. "Mother and I would be very grateful if you could," he said, softly. "Do you have any idea of how he got into that dreaded accident?"