Page 76 of To Wed a Wild Scot
“We have to find Lord Arthur at once.” Juliana fumbled for the coach’s door, but Logan got there first. He opened the door, leapt out onto the drive, then offered his hand to her.
Juliana scrambled out, intending to rush for the entrance, but her body was fatigued and her legs numb from so much time spent in the carriage. She was grateful for the solid strength of Logan’s arm supporting her.
Before they could reach the door, it swung open. Her father’s butler, Pinkerton, and Lord Arthur stood there.
Juliana froze halfway up the stairs, her blood going cold. Lord Arthur’s skin was gray, his face lined with worry and exhaustion. He looked as if he’d aged ten years since she saw him last. “Is he…is my father…” She trailed off into silence, afraid to finish her question.
Lord Arthur hurried down the stairs to meet her. “We put him straight to bed when we returned from Bath. The journey weakened him, and he hasn’t risen since. He’s very ill, my lady, and his mind wanders. You must prepare yourself.”
Juliana ran up the rest of the stairs, still clutching at Logan’s arm. “Grace? Where is she?”
Lord Arthur hurried up the stairs after them. “On the road from Buckinghamshire. I wrote to Lord Pierce from Bath. He and Lady Pierce are on their way. They should be here tomorrow with Grace.”
They’d reached the entrance hall. Pinkerton held out his hands for their cloaks. “How do you do, Pinkerton?” Lady Juliana asked, with a sympathetic glance at the butler. She’d never seen him so distressed. Her father was a stern, uncompromising master, but Pinkerton had been with him for decades, and they’d grown fond of each other over the years.
“It’s kind of you to ask, my lady. I’m as well as I can be, under the circumstances. Your father has always been good to me, as you know.” Pinkerton’s gaze slid to Logan, and he offered him a stiff bow. “I beg your pardon, sir.”
It was taking all of Juliana’s strength not to give in to the tears pressing behind her eyes. She’d known since she received Lord Arthur’s letter that her father was gravely ill, but she could see by the grief on Pinkerton’s and Lord Arthur’s faces it was even worse than she’d thought.
They would lose him in a matter of days only. Perhaps a matter of hours.
The small girl inside her that would always revere her father wanted to collapse to the floor, to weep and rail at fate. Logan’s quiet, solid presence beside her was the only thing keeping her upright. “This is my husband, Logan Blair, Laird of Clan Kinross.”
Pinkerton was too well-trained to show any surprise, but Lord Arthur’s eyes went wide with shock. “Blair? But I thought you meant to marry—”
“Mr. Blair is the Duke of Blackmore’s brother.” Juliana’s fingers clutched at Logan’s coat sleeve. “It’s a long story, Lord Arthur, and I’d like to see my father at once.”
“Yes, of course.” Lord Arthur gave her a hasty bow. “Pinkerton, if you could show Mr. Blair to the drawing room—”
“No. My husband will accompany me to my father’s bedchamber.”
Given that Logan had never met the marquess, it was highly irregular for to him to appear in his lordship’s bedchamber. Even Logan seemed surprised at it. “Are you certain?”
“Yes. You’re my husband. I want you there,” Juliana said, without a trace of hesitation. She didn’t want him to leave her side.
“Very well.” Lord Arthur gave Juliana a measuring look, but he didn’t offer further argument. He followed them up the stairs to the family wing on the third floor, and down the hallway to the end, where the marquess’s apartments were.
Juliana opened the door to her father’s bedchamber. The drapes had been drawn across every window, and only one lamp burned. The dimness was a shock after the bright sunshine outdoors, and an odd, musty smell hung in the air—a smell of closed apartments, and decay.
Juliana crossed the room, but stopped before she reached her father’s bed, fear clawing at her throat. He hadn’t stirred when they entered, and he was so quiet and still. If he’d passed, and she hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye to him—
“It’s all right.” Logan’s warm hand settled in the small of her back. He urged her gently forward. “The coverlet over his chest is rising and falling.”
Juliana swallowed and crept forward again until she was standing beside her father’s bed. A choked gasp left her throat as her gaze settled on his face. It had been less than a month since she’d last seen him, but he was so altered she wouldn’t have recognized him. His once noble cheekbones were sunken, and his aristocratic nose was a sharp blade rising from his shrunken, waxy face. He was covered with what looked to be dozens of blankets, but even their bulk couldn’t disguise how feeble he was, how diminished his frame.
“Father?” Juliana perched gingerly on the edge of his bed and took his hand. “Father, it’s Juliana.”
He didn’t stir, and his eyes remained closed. Juliana, unsure what she should do, gave Logan a helpless look. “Should I wake him?”
Later, she’d wonder why she’d asked Logan that question instead of Lord Arthur, but in that moment, she didn’t try to explain it to herself. Her heart was shattering in her chest, and she turned instinctively to Logan.
He drew a step closer. He looked down into her face and brushed a stray hair from her cheek. “You should forgive him,” he murmured, his voice so soft only Juliana could hear him.
Forgive him.
Juliana gazed down into her father’s face, no less beloved for the ravages of age and disease, and whispered, “I—I already have.”
She had. Of course, she had. If the words felt awkward leaving her lips it was only because she was in shock.
