The Lord and his Lady (Forbidden #2)

Chapter Twenty Three

Pale and sickly were not the terms he'd use to describe the condition of his ailing father in that moment. All trace of rationality had left him, he couldn't even bid goodbye to his dear friend.

He had stammered half-hearted mumblings of some sort and raced off with Thunder, the thudding of the pavement echoing in his ears and never truly leaving his side; the crowd that had gathered around father's bed tightened the ever gaping hole in his chest.

"Leave us," he said to the servants, peering around from the doorway. He didn't want tittle-tattling about any personal affairs which would surely happen. As much as he wanted to believe they wouldn't, they were close with other neighbouring servants.

Now in the room was mother, Beau and Miss Price. Father rested against the wooden headboard, cradling mother against his chest as if she was the one unwell. Her face crumpled, as if she had been sobbing.

"Water," he croaked, to which Beau immediately jumped up to grab from the bedside table. He took a small sip before wincing. Richard clenched his fists before him.

What were he to say? How...how did one ease back into conversation with a father whom seemed to show he did not care a wit about him, and one that had been bed ridden all this while?

The older man's blue orbs darted from Beau to Richard who had been standing idly near the door.

A ghost of a smile split his lips at the sight of his eldest, but rather than ask for him, waved Beau over.

"You stand so far away," he declared, voice still croacky from being unused. "Come here, my boy."

"How do you feel, father?"

"Fantastic," he drawled, sarcastically. "I feel as though I am able to run amidst the horses."

"Truly, father?" asked Beau, hope whirling in his eyes. "You are much better?"

"I breathe, so I shall say I am." A croaky chuckle, followed by a wince, escaped him as he stroked the top of mother's head with his good arm. "I'm awake and well, darling. Come. Sit up."

She pushed herself away, swiping at her cheeks. "I'm just so happy you're finally awake."

"I know, darling," he mumbled, placing a gentle kiss against her forehead. "You're the strongest woman I know."

"She believed you would awaken but I..." Beau trailed off, glaring at his feet.

"I understand, son," his father said, the rough stubble sprinkled against his jaw aging him. "I'm glad the fever finally broke to see you up in boughs at my awakening."

"Alastair," Mother scolded, pushing herself away from father. "Now's not the time for stupid jokes!"

"It was not a jest." He groaned a little as he adjusted his sitting position in bed. She instantly went to place a pillow behind him to ease his back. "Is Dr. Luis coming?"

"He's on his way," piped in Richard for the first time. "We sent for him the moment we heard of the news." He didn't know what else to say after that.

Father hummed. "It must have been quite difficult for you," was the only thing he said.

Richard swallowed, endeavouring to keep his wits about him. "Not as difficult as being bedridden."

The jest did not execute the way he wanted it to. Father did not smile or laugh. He tore his gaze away.

Richard clenched his jaw. Nothing had changed between them it seemed, but so much had.

Would he bring up his alliance with Lady Delafort? Eventually it would be discussed and the situation would be back to how it always used to be.