asked. But while he was doing his utmost to remain stoic, there was an undercurrent of deep emotion in his voice.
Although her mother had died just after her birth, Jo had felt her mother’s absence keenly all through her life. As a child, she had pretended her dolly was her mama. She had gone to sleep, staring into the darkness of the nursery, fancying her mother could hear her speak. She understood Decker’s pain, even if it was not the same breed as her own.
“I am not allowing you to go without me,” she told him firmly. “I will see to it that a hamper is packed with food for the carriage ride, and I will have my lady’s maid collect a valise for me as well. We will go together, Decker. I am your wife now. It is only right.”
She thought he would argue, but he was silent for a moment, his mien becoming tired. “You are determined?”
As determined as she had ever been.
“Very much so,” she told him.
Heavens, if he tried to leave without her, she would see a horse saddled and gallop after him.
“Then I shan’t argue the matter,” he relented, weariness lacing his baritone as well. “We will be taking the carriage the entirety of the journey. It will be far more efficient than waiting on the next train, securing passage, and then procuring a ride to take us to my mother’s home. I will see you back here in one quarter hour.”
One quarter hour was scarcely any time at all, but she knew his time to see his mother before she died was rapidly dwindling. She would make do.
She nodded and relinquished her grasp on him with the greatest reluctance. “Of course. I will make all haste.”
“Josie?” he called after her when she turned and began bustling toward the kitchens.
She glanced back at him, her heart giving a pang at how lonely he looked. How desolate.
“Thank you,” he said.
She wanted to tell him he did not need to offer his gratitude. After all, it was his love she wanted. His heart. All of him.
“You are most welcome, Decker,” she said instead.
And then she fled to the kitchens, trying to drive all thoughts of a certain viscountess and that troubling letter from her mind. Nothing was as important as helping Decker to get to his mother’s side before it was too late, or being there for him through the difficult days ahead.
Death, like life, was never easy.
Jo had learned that painful lesson a long time ago.
The carriage rattled over roads, swaying.
Reminding Decker why he preferred the civility of traveling by rail to the drudgery of hooves and wheels. But the necessity of reaching his mother as quickly as possible had proven impossible to ignore.
The sun had settled over the countryside not long after they had reached the periphery of London. They had eaten their impromptu dinner whilst fighting the traffic out of Town, and he had been heartily glad his wife had possessed the forethought to see a meal brought along. Although he had little desire to eat, occupying himself had aided in distracting him from the dread threatening to swallow him whole.
By the glow of the carriage lamp, he was drawn, once more, to the sight of her, sitting opposite him, still dressed in the same afternoon gown she had been wearing when she had returned from her Lady’s Suffrage Society meeting. Other women would have balked at flying from London without notice. Others would have been content to allow him to go alone, as he had intended, and to remain in the comfort of Town.
What awaited them would not be pleasant. The telegram had been succinct but clear: his mother had suffered a stroke, and she was drastically weakened. Her doctor feared she had not much longer to live. There was a possibility he would not reach her before she passed.
And although they had scarcely spoken since their fierce row some seven years ago concerning his inheritance from the Earl of Graham—aside from brief letters apprising him of his younger sister Lila’s welfare—he loved his mother. He regretted now, as the carriage slowly brought him closer to her deathbed, the years and the anger and the pride which he had allowed to intervene.
Because now? It was too late.
“Decker?” Jo’s soft, concerned voice cut through his thoughts. “Talk to me, please.”
She was a good woman. Too good. And he was a bad man, a selfish man, a foolish man. If she truly did love him,