A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)(92)

Suddenly, he’d lost the gift. Because now he knew: A girl shouldn’t depend on Sir Toby Aldridge for anything. Any trust his wife had in him had vanished the moment she saw him for his true self. His own mother had been keeping secrets from him for decades. He wanted to soothe her, make her feel better, but he didn’t know how anymore. It was a talent built on a cornerstone of arrogance, and this wretched day had knocked the foundation straight out from under him.

He spied Reginald entering the room. Behind him trailed Joss. Toby rose to his feet again, whispering, “Mother, Reginald is here.”

“Oh, let him know, too,” his mother said, wringing her handkerchief. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Yorke’s dead, and nothing matters anymore.” She broke into tears, listing sideways until her head came to rest on Miss Osborne’s shoulder.

The young woman’s eyes widened in alarm. “What do I do?” she asked Toby, gesturing discreetly toward the matron wetting her sleeve with tears.

Toby had no advice to offer her, only a helpless shrug. He’d never seen his mother in such a state. Ever.

Having picked his way through the crowd, Reginald finally reached Toby’s side. “Augusta sent a note to my offices. Yorke, gone. What a damned shame.” He cast a glance toward Toby’s mother. “Taking it hard, is she?”

“Apparently they were close,” said Toby.

“We were lovers,” his mother cried, pressing her face further into Miss Osborne’s shoulder. Raising his eyebrows, Reginald whistled quietly through his teeth. “Well.”

It was the greatest display of shock Toby had ever seen him make.

Miss Osborne raised a hand to the older woman’s shoulder and gave her an awkward pat.

“There, there.”

“Hullo, Joss.” Toby nodded at his brother-in-law, who stood a pace behind Reginald, looking every bit as uncomfortable as Toby felt.

“I’m sorry to intrude,” Joss replied. “I was at Mr. Tolliver’s offices when the notice arrived, and I thought to pay my respects.” He looked toward the women huddled on the divan. “I didn’t realize …”

“Don’t be sorry,” Toby said. “No one realized. It was good of you to come.”

His mother began to sob. Miss Osborne stiffened.

“Is that Montcrief at the door?” Jeremy asked hopefully. “I’ve been meaning to speak with him.”

“No,” Toby snapped, cutting off his friend’s path of retreat. Not that he could blame Jeremy for trying. He’d escape the scene, too, if he could. It was hell, sitting here, feeling the loss of his friend and his wife in one morning, watching the pillar of strength who’d supported his home, his family, his life, dissolving in abject grief. Knowing he could have—should have—

prevented it all. In all his life as a pampered child, a directionless youth, a pleasure-seeking gentleman of leisure—Toby had never felt so utterly worthless.

“I don’t even know how he died,” his mother cried, her words muffled by the fabric of Miss Osborne’s sleeve. Reginald offered her a fresh handkerchief, which she accepted blindly.

“They say some kind of apoplexy, but the doctor won’t talk to me. Was it painful? Did he suffer? I can’t bear it, the thought of him dying here alone, in his bed …” She sobbed again.

“It’s too horrible to contemplate.”

“If it was apoplexy,” Miss Osborne said quietly, “and it happened in his sleep … he likely suffered no pain.”

“That’s kind of you to say, dear. But if you’ll forgive me for saying so, I would feel more assured if that came from his physician.”

“She is a physician,” Joss said.

“What Captain Grayson means to say,” Miss Osborne explained, sparing Joss only the briefest of glances, “is that I’ve received a great deal of medical training and experience by virtue of being a doctor’s daughter. But what I tell you now, I learned as a child. My mother suffered an apoplexy when I was a girl—a severe one. She survived, but the attack left her paralyzed and bedridden, unable to walk or speak. Over the next year, she suffered many spells.” She swallowed hard before continuing. “I always sat with her, you see, while my father was working. I would read aloud, work my lessons, spoon her tea and broth. Her fits were difficult to even recognize at first. It almost looked as though she were asleep, in the midst of a dream. She would tremble a bit. Her breathing went agitated, and her eyelids fluttered against her cheeks. Afterward, she would be weakened and perhaps a bit scared, but not in pain. Never in pain.”

No one spoke. Toby was certain it was because they were all thinking the same, unspeakable thing. Thank God Mr. Yorke had gone quickly and not remained clinging to life in a useless, wasting shell. What a tragedy that would have been—not just for Yorke to live through, but for his mother to witness. To imagine a young girl, forced to become caretaker to her own parent

…

No, no one had much to say to that.

“He didn’t suffer, then?” Lady Aldridge asked weakly. “You’re certain?”

“Yes,” Miss Osborne answered, her voice growing warm and soft. “I was there with my mother, when she died. She went peacefully.”

“I am glad of it, for her sake. And yours.”