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.
Richard would be nothing but a disappointment, yet again. Perhaps he already was in his mind, nothing that could be solved.
"Who is this strange woman allowed into our quarters?" his voice had shifted from warm to cold in an instant. Icy blue eyes glowered down at the tall woman resting against the wall, attempting to blend into shadows.
"I am Miss Price, Your Grace," she said, hurrying out to come into view. She fell back into a deep curtsey. Richard observed her shaky hand being tightly squeezed by the other in front of her. "I am Her Grace's lady-in-waiting."
"I don't recall hiring a lady-in-waiting."
"I hired her on your behalf," said Richard. All heads turned his way. Icy blue met warm bluebells. "You were seeking a companion for mother and after you met with the accident, Miss Price proved to be the perfect choice."
"She's amazing," added mother, smiling over her shoulder at the young woman who watched with a tentative gaze. "She's helped me through moments when I needed her the most, Alastair."
His father only hummed, scrutinising the woman for a long while until she began to shift. "Very well," he said with a resigned sigh, expression scrunched with resolute pain. "If she is no burden to you then I shall allow it to continue."
There was a heaviness weighing in the central part of Richard's body that he could not lift, his facial muscles twitching. Without bidding a goodbye, he left the room and met with Devonport who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed.
Worry laced his usual calm demeanour as he asked, "Is your father—?"
"Yes, he's well. The usual, one would say."
"You sound almost saddened by it."
Was he? Did that make him a horrible son? Of course it did, he thought. He didn't want his father to be bed ridden again, but he didn't want their relationship to be going forward in the state of sourness it had. A part of him falsely hoped he would wake up a new man.
"Only finely disappointed that he did not give a wit about my presence," he mumbled for his own ears.
"Caldwell—"
"I'm taking Thunder for a ride alone. Best you mosey off or your aunt and uncle are going to be as mad as a march hare."
Not giving his friend the opportune to speak, Richard let his boots take him out to the field and to the barn. Thunder whinnied softly upon seeing him approach. Richard waved away the servants tending to Thunder's mane and checked the condition of his mount before untying him and leading him out.
He placed a quick kiss on his muzzle before coming to his side and swiftly swinging his leg over. He heard soft footsteps behind, but ignoring it, clicked his tongue, pushing the horse into action.
They barrelled forward together, the clapping of Thunder's hooves against the ground echoing. The wind and rain slapping through his golden locks had never felt so cold, doing none but strengthening the ice around his heart.
He and his father had been so close once upon a time. Now everything he did seemed to be an issue.
They galloped through the curved branches hiding the alcove they had been meeting at for years. It led to an open field surrounded by tall bushes, tweeting birds and chirping insects, the faint rush of water hitting rocks in the vast pond.
Weston swung his leg over his horse and jumped down. He let out a loud whoop. "Finally, away from the suffocation of my younger sister and mother constantly at her beck and call."
"Of course your mother must be at her beck and call. She's a mere babe," said the voice of reason, Devonport. The rest of them climbed off their horses.
Richard extended his hand out to Eliza who graced him with a blush at his coaxing smile and gallantry.
"She's not a mere babe," argued Weston, "she's two!"
"And Beau turned one but is still a babe," said Richard, grinning. "That's how it is, muttonhead."
"Surely they don't need that much attention."
"Please endeavour to hide the oozing envy, at least."
"It is not envy I feel, but irritation." Weston gestured to the pond. "Now who is to join me in a dip?"
"Certainly not me," said a giggling Eliza. "Much too inappropriate."
"Oh pooh, I did not mean you Miss Prim and Proper."
"Good, or you'd have to deal with two black eyes on top of the ones you'd already received."
Weston scowled, cheeks a shade red as he glanced at Eliza giggling behind a hand. "I thought we had promised to not speak of that matter, Caldwell," he hissed.
Richard laughed unapologetically. "How silly of me, it must have slipped my mind."
"See what I have to deal with, Devonport?"
"You asked for it with as much vivacity for the previous beating," said Devonport, tying his horse to a nearby stump. ""You have an unruly habit of picking fights with those that are undoubtedly stronger than you."
"And yet even at the face of a hard loss, to impress the young women, he paraded around with claims of doing worse to the other party!" guffawed Richard.
Eliza's eyes sparkled, nevertheless, she squeezed his arm."Come now, we must give Weston credit for being brave enough to quarrel."
"At least Lady Delafort's brain is still intact," muttered Weston, causing Richard and Devonport to share a look of hidden laughter. "Are you to dip or not?"
"I am to accompany father for a meeting," said Richard, gesturing to his pristine black tailcoat and silky white cravat tied neatly against his neck.
"And dipping in the presence of a lady is not condoned," warned Devonport.
"She's our friend before she's a lady."
"In what world?!" asked Richard, the boisterous laughter of all three of the teenagers resounding in the private area.
"In this one," said Weston haughtily, lifting his nose in the air. "I will dip, even if you lot will not."
"I shan't be the reason to stop your fun," Eliza said, gathering her breath long enough after the bout of laughter to speak. "So I say dip all you want. Pretend I was never here."
"Aha see, even your lady agrees!"
"Only because she can't stand your nagging."
Weston bent to take off his boots, Devonport watching with his arms crossed. Eliza and Richard lingered near the edges of the pond, a few feet away from them.
"Is this meeting the one that you were speaking with me about the other day?"
The excitement bubbled within him at the thought of accompanying father. For so long, father had only told him to focus on his tuition and his education and not to bother with matters of estate—until two days ago, when he had been asked into the study.
"You're a young man with future responsibilities," he had said. "Showing you what entails in matters of business will be a nice start."
"I take it mother had something to do with this?"
His lips had tipped into a warm smile, as it always did when he thought of her. "You know your mother well enough to know that she is very persuasive even with matters that don't require it." When Richard bowed and turned to leave, he was stopped. "Remember, you must be punctual. The meeting is to take place at a set time and I cannot make changes for you. I'm counting on you to prove you are Lord of the house."
Richard was adamant on making it on time for his first ever meeting. He wouldn't let him down.
"I have been dreaming of this, Eliza," he said with a wistful sigh. "To finally shed the view of a child and to become a promising young man with responsibilities like father." He paused. "Does that make me sound an old buffoon?"
"No, that makes you an ambitious buffoon."
Richard regarded her with the faintest of smiles; her lovely brown curls over her ears shone golden in the sun casting rays through the gaps, the fern green of her eyes brighter than the bushes caging them in. The blue garbadine walking dress and the blue velvet bonnet paired nicely with her smooth creamy shoulders.
She was a beautiful, fair lady even at the young age of fifteen.
"I'm lucky to have you cheering me on so positively as you do," he said softly, reaching out and squeezing her hand only once before letting go.
"You doubt me to be anything but?"
"For if I did, it would be the gravest sin known to mankind."
Without warning, a screech left her as she was shoved into the pond; Weston cackled. "That should end the stifling philandering!"
Eliza, however, did not look as though she was having fun. She spluttered upon raising her head. "I...I cannot swim!"
Without a second thought, Richard stripped of his tailcoat and boots and jumped in with a loud splash. Weston's face drained of any colour as he, too, dived in. He pushed his arms against the current of the water to reach her.
Richard got to her first, grasping her wrist and pulling her above the water. He flicked away his hair falling in his eyes and adjusted his arm so that it was now around her waist. He pulled her back against his chest as he waded slowly back. Her eyes were slightly closed, thick lashes now damp against her cheek.
"You have her, Caldwell?" Weston shrieked, voice shaking. "I didn't...didn't mean to do—I promise!"
"She'll be well, Weston," he assured, handing her over to Devonport who gently took her to the dry grassbed with the harsh sun beating down on it.
"You know I didn't mean it," he repeated, blinking rapidly. "It was only...only a bit of fun."
Richard squeezed his friend's shoulder in silent reassurance. There was nothing else to be said other than that they all knew it was not done with malicious intent.
Eliza's slight coughs alerted the attention back to her. Richard dropped to his knees beside her and placed an arm around her back to help her up to a sitting position.
"Eliza," he said, endeavouring to keep the panic out of his own voice for her sake. "How are you feeling?"
"Cold," she mumbled, dull green imploring wide blue ones. "I do not feel so good, Richard."
He hurried to grab his tailcoat and wrapped it around her damp self. He then helped her to a standing position as he hadn't the strength enough to lift her bodily as he would have liked.
"Come," he said softly, pulling her against his side, "best to get you home to warmth before you catch a fever."
"Lady Delafort," croaked Weston, finally speaking. "Please heed my apologies. I truly did not know you couldn't swim. I—"
"Weston, there is no need," she croaked, forcing a smile despite being drenched. "You were being playful. Do not fret yourself to death over it."
"Weston, Devonport, I'll be taking Eliza back home to safety," Richard said, helping her mount on horseback.
Devonport furrowed his brows. "What of your meeting with your father? You'll be late, Caldwell."
"She's my responsibility," he said, stern. "Father will understand my plight. I must make sure she is safely home."
"We could take her home instead," offered Weston, hurrying to put on his boots.
"You and Devonport are headed in the opposite direction. It would be unfair of me to ask this of you. Do me only one favour—go on ahead and tell father why I will be late. By the time I am at her residence, he'll be headed toward Buckley Street."
Eliza rested her head against his chest as he urged the horse to speed off. He tightened his grip around her shivering figure, rubbing her back to provide as much bodily warmth as he could as the cold wind washed over them.
There was no thought of his father or the meeting or the consequences of it because he believed his father would see reason.
But he did not.
That evening, after much fussing over Eliza, her mother had fluttered about him, showering high praises to his person before finally letting him leave.
By the time he had gotten to his own home, the sun had set and darkness enveloped the manor. Echoes of nothing but his rapidly beating heart entered his mind; he had no reason to dread going inside but that night, the manor seemed to loom over him.
The butler opened the door. He took one look at Richard's rumpled attire, that had dried in the time he was away, and stepped aside. Mother stood behind with a frown that deepened. In one arm she held a wide-eyed Beau, a chubby little finger in his mouth as he watched his brother shuffle inside.
"Where were you?" she whispered, as his coat and gloves were handed to Grayson to take.
"Is father home?" he asked instead, the nerves pulling at his muscles.
"Yeah, and he's extremely angry. I asked him where you went because I thought you had gone together, but he didn't say anything and went straight to his study."
So, he had every right to feel the dread twisting his stomach after all. "I took Eliza back home after she fell into a pond," he explained, coming closer to brush a finger against Beau's soft cheek. It elicited a happy gurgle from him. "I couldn't leave her to go to the meeting, no matter the promise. I'll go speak with father. He'll understand."
Mother's frown slackened. "I'm proud of you," she whispered, kissing his forehead. "Is she okay?"
"She should be. I wanted to make sure she would find warmth in time."
"You're a brave boy, you know that?"
"Brave, but not very lucky it seems."
"Explain this to your father. I'm sure it'll be okay."
Richard kissed her cheek, and then Beau's. "Wish me luck, baby brother," he whispered before heading toward father's study.
Knocking on the door, he shifted on his feet, the wood creaking from under him.
A detached, "Come in," bounced off the walls.
He straightened his shoulders and schooled his features into one of poised calm. "Father." He bowed. He sat behind his desk, his elbows resting against the wood and his hands in a steeple. The fireplace raged behind him, crackling in the silent air.
The windows were only slightly drawn to allow for natural moonlight, though it did nothing but cast him into darker shadows.
"Because of you," he began with a low, menacing grumble, "I lost face."
"Father, I—"
"Do not interrupt, boy," he cut in, sharply. Richard licked his cracked lips, but remained silent. "You were told to be here on time, were you not?"
"Yes, but I assume Weston and Devonport were able to detail to you the cause of my absence."
Father ignored him. "You were told this was an important meeting, one with a set time which had been planned days before, and yet you deliberately did not show to traipse around with your little infatuation like the immature boy you are. I knew you were not ready and yet I fooled myself into thinking you would be."
Richard stepped back as if he had been backhanded. Traipsing around with his little infatuation?
"Is that what you think of me, father?" he asked, keeping his voice as level as he could although his nails dug into the skin of his palms.
"That's what you have allowed me to think. If not, your actions would show otherwise. If you were as serious about taking on the responsibilities of being the Marquess of Caldwell then that would show."
"Eliza was in trouble," he croaked, shaking in his dirty boots. "I couldn't forgive myself were I to let her travel back in the state she was. Father, you must understand that, to me, it was the right thing to do."
"And for that, you have disappointed me greatly, Richard. I expected a lot more from you."
That was when it all started. When their relationship soured more than a rotten grape left out in the sun.
And Richard never knew how to fix it.
Things can always change now, he thought, brought back to the present. He is hurting from the accident and I need to be a good son. The convincing can come later.
It wasn't until the rage bellowing in the deepest pits of his stomach slowly squeezed out of his veins that reason settled within. Truly, he was being selfish. It wasn't the time to think about father's disapproval of his future; it was about his father's health being intact.
Rain began to pelt Richard's figure, hitting him with such force that he had to squint to see the now-blurred scenery in front. Tugging on the leather straps and guiding Thunder down the narrow path in the forest for ease proved to be the wrong point of action.
Thunder's hoof slipped on a large branch, his large body tipping back with a fearful brey that echoed in the empty woods.
Before his body could react, Richard flung off. Pain reverberated through his back as he slammed against the thick, wide trunk of a lone tree. A strangled scream left him, unable to move. One ankle at first glance turned the strangest shade of purple.
He hissed through gritted teeth. His poor horse whinnied in fear and sped down the track and through the rain; he knew the way back so Richard wasn't entirely worried, but now that he was stuck here with no way of making his own journey back, he tipped his head against the tree and waited.
He would have to wait for the rain to end or for someone to notice that whilst Thunder was back, he was not.
Water in rivulets dripped through the gaps of the branches above and onto him, his hair now one with his skin. He shivered, teeth chattering as the cold seeped through his breeches and shoes, the ache in his ankle only increasing in pressure.
"My lord!" came a muffled yell. Richard could barely turn his head before Miss Price's damp face filled his vision. "My lord, what has happened?!"
"Thunder...slipped," he clenched his jaw to stop the chatter and speak properly. "I may have..." a grunt left him as pain shot up through his foot, "foolishly wounded my leg in the process of being flung."
Her hands waved around. "We—we must get you back home!"
"Make sure Thunder is safe."
"You are my first priority, my lord." She picked up his left arm to place around her shoulders, all the while watching her do so with excruciating focus; her brows were furrowed in the middle and she gnawed on her bottom lip.
"How did you know?" he asked.
"Pardon?"
"How did you know where to find me, Miss Price?"
The look of concentration faded into a flush of sheepishness. "I followed you," she whispered. "It was very wrong of me to do so but you had looked so angry, I believed it wasn't right to leave you in that state of mind. Lucky I did, too!" She surveyed his entire body before coming to stop at his leg. A gasp left her. "Your foot is swollen! You won't be able to walk on it, it won't do." She unwrapped his arm from her shoulder. "Stay here, I will ask the footman to come closer with the carriage."
Miss Price got up, but he wasn't aware of his actions as he reached up to grab her wrist. She looked down at her hand and at him, however, it didn't stop him from tugging on her hand.
"It is too dark and wet for you to do it alone," he said, trying to keep his eyes open. Lord, taking a nap right about now sounded inviting. No. He couldn't. He had to push through. He endeavoured to look past her for the carriage but could see nothing.
"You cannot walk, can you?"
"I must try." He braced his hands behind the tree for grip and attempted to lift himself up but winced at the pain shooting up to his knees and his lower back. "Never mind. I suppose I'm weaker than I anticipated."
Miss Price hurried to help him sit back down in the wet grass. Her face was of pinched concern, more than he had expected from a mere lady-in-waiting he had taken pity on.
"Lord Caldwell, I am not afraid of being alone. Whatever will happen, happens so long as you get the help you need. If I do not do this, you'll be forced to stay here for the entire night and I don't think that's an ordeal pleasant enough for you to want to be in," she said with such fierce conviction that he was forced to shut pan and listen. He wasn't one to pitch a fit once something of logic and rationale was further explained.
What is with this woman? he thought as she tucked her head a bit, raised her arms over her head for cover and ran through the sheets of rain blundering down from the sky, bent on blinding people in their path. He admired her tenacity and loyalty to keeping those around her safe at the sake of her own safety.
One could also label it stupidity.
Richard endeavoured to push himself into a standing position again, but his leg stiffened, foot limp. His jaw clenched; his leg didn't want to cooperate.
He would have to rely on Miss Price in this instance, despite his misgivings. But only one thing frolicked about in his mind—the expression on his father's face when he, once again, would have to worry about his eldest when he should be able to look after himself.
Perhaps he was the useless tool that his father believed he was.