murmured with affection, taking up the bit of toweling resting in a bowl of cool water and using it to bathe his uncle’s brow. “You should be conserving your strength.”
He’d spent much of the past week here, leaving long enough to wash, change his linen, eat, and receive the news from Thorpe that Calliope was set to return to London engaged to another man. Caring for his uncle was the only thing that brought him levity, and Nick didn’t know what he’d do once Paul had taken his last breath. He was empty and wrung dry, turned inside out and left grappling with the acute agony of two great losses—one already gone, and one soon to come.
“I shan’t bother,” Paul grumbled. “Won’t be … long now. I’d rather … talk to you. We aren’t alone often.”
His family came and went from the room throughout the day to spend time with Paul. Nick had passed two nights in this chair, unable to do anything other than wallow in his grief.
“Shall I regale you with more woeful stories of being tossed over by the only woman I’ve ever given a damn about? Her engagement is now public knowledge, you know. She has decided to move on from her mistake—that would be me, by the way—and wed her perfect, shining knight.”
Paul groaned as he shifted on the bed, trying to sit up straight. Nick went to help, gently easing his uncle up and bracing him with pillows. He cringed at the pained grunts Paul made, but it couldn’t be helped. These days, the man was in constant agony and every touch hurt. Nick did his best to make their contact minimal.
“I cannot tell you … how sorry I am that your efforts … were all for naught.”
So was he, but not only because he would now be forced to sit back and watch Calliope marry Martin. There was still the matter of the rest of his life to think of, a distasteful prospect now that he must now make his plans with the knowledge that Calliope would not be part of his future.
“It’s all right.”
“It isn’t,” Paul insisted.
“All right, it isn’t. But it will be. I tried. I knew my chances with her were improbable, but I had hope that … well, it is no longer of any consequence. There is another matter I want to address.”
Paul raised curious eyebrows.
“When you first mentioned my inheritance, I didn’t want to hear of it. I didn’t want to believe that I would lose you.”
Paul’s hand landed weakly atop his. “And now?”
“Now, I am ready. It may never feel right, profiting from your demise.”
“You mustn’t think of it that way. Think of it … as a gift. My legacy … left to the son … of my heart.”
Nick lowered his head, but the tears he’d been fighting for days finally spilled. With a sniffle, he patted his coat but found no handkerchief. Using the back of his hand instead, he swiped them away.
“I wanted it for Calliope. I wanted to be worthy of her, to have something to offer other than my illustrious name. And devastating good looks.”
Paul’s thin laugh made him smile, and Nick supposed he would find a way to survive if he could still manage to jest even when he felt like laying down to die.
“Now, I need it for myself. Wanting her and losing her, being made to see that my past has the power to destroy my future … I have to change it. I cannot go on believing there is no hope, or that I cannot have something of my own. I want you to know I intend to make you proud. I’ll care for Newburn and manage the money, and I’ll never squander the opportunity you are giving me.”
His uncle smiled, his lips trembling and his eyes watering. “My boy, I have always had … faith … in you. I’m already … proud.”
Alarm rang through him as Paul’s head slumped, his eyes rolling shut. But, a swift press of fingers at his wrist calmed Nick as he realized his uncle merely slept. Paul usually slumbered through most of the day, and even short spurts of conversation were enough to exhaust him.
Leaning back, he watched Paul sleep, his heart like a lead weight in his chest. Exhaustion plagued him, but he couldn’t surrender to sleep, for when he closed his eyes, she was there—beautiful and haunting.
She might be back from London by now, which brought her close enough to run