Isabella considered her friend's advice. Certainly, if this situation had occurred at Rosewater House, she would have gone straight to Louisa for help. Though she found sense in what Louisa suggested, she also couldn’t overcome her fear of lessening her character in any of the household members’ eyes.
And still, if she went to the Marquess now, Lady Lydia was bound to find out about it. She would only use it to fuel malice and dislike from the duchess and maybe even Lady Abigail.
Isabella couldn’t risk that chance. She cared too dearly for both ladies to lose their friendship. Once Lady Lydia was away from Wintercrest Manor, she would go to Lord Bellfourd and lay all her past events and their reciprocations at his feet for judgment.
All thoughts of herself and her own problems melted away as the duke’s health declined drastically with the onset of winter weather. It was a mere two weeks after Isabella received her first threatening letter that the doctor came to visit one last time.
Though the doctor had attempted every treatment in his power, he feared that the sickness along with a possible punctured lung had been too much for the duke to recover from. He very apologetically told the family that the duke would most likely not last the night. The family gathered in the library that evening, just a doorway apart from their patriarch.
The room was clothed in dark veils and silent sorrows unspoken. Isabella was present at the side of Jackie. Each member of the family was waiting for a chance to say their final goodbye.
The duke struggled to breathe, could eat almost nothing, and could scarcely utter a few words. None the less, he desired to give his family members final words of wisdom.
Lady Wintercrest stayed by her husband’s side through it all, gently holding his weak hand. All other family members and guests waited in the drawing room to be called in one by one.
First was Lady Abigail. She spent half an hour with her father before returning to the library very upset. Lady Cunningham, in her motherly wisdom, held Lady Abigail in her arms and let her cry.
Lord Bellfourd was next. Isabella felt sure that he would return from the room not the sorrowed, confused heir with no desire for his title, but the man she knew he could be.
He spent several hours at his father’s side before returning to the library. The whole party waited in silence, though little Jackie had fallen asleep in her governess’ lap from the lateness of the hour. Lord Bellfourd came from the room, his eyes swollen and red, and made his way straight to Isabella.
He reached down and lifted Jacqueline into his arms. She barely woke at the touch. He easily hoisted the limp body onto his shoulder and reached down with his hand to take Isabella’s.
She took it immediately, without thought, and stood at his side, not sure what he wanted of her.
“He is nearing the end now,” Lord Bellfourd said. “I want him to say goodbye to Jacqueline.”
He walked the two girls into the room, looking over his shoulder only once to make sure that Lady Abigail was also following. She had already risen and come to his side.
Isabella noticed the specific words he used. Lord Bellfourd wanted the duke to say goodbye. Presumably, that meant the duke had no desire to see his only grandchild, even on death's door.
“May I be of assistance?” Lady Lydia said, standing.
“No, thank you, Father would like to be surrounded by just family,” Lord Bellfourd responded before taking the groggy Jackie in his arms and the two ladies trailing behind him.
Isabella did her best to ignore Lady Lydia’s eyes falling on her with evil intent. She was almost certain that repercussions would come from this moment, but cared naught for it.
When they came into the room, it was hard to see. Only the glow of the fire lit the room. Lady Wintercrest sat in a chair, handkerchief continuously dabbing at stray tears.
The duchess was exhausted from the hours at her husband’s side. Strands of her hair had fallen all directions, some glinting silver in the firelight. Though she was aged and with grown children, she still felt much too young to be widowed.
The duke was seated in his bed with several pillows. Even in the few, short weeks since Isabella had seen him last, he had aged and wasted away drastically. It looked as if the cushions around him were more to keep him in place, than to merely prop him to a seated position. Isabella feared that at any moment his frail body might topple over.
Each breath was a struggle for him to take. Even from across the room, Isabella could hear the gurgling sound of liquid as he struggled to pull in more air. His face was drawn in deep creases. The once somber wrinkles of his face now hung without the flesh beneath. Even his face looked as though it was struggling to keep upright.
Jackie finally sat up in her uncle’s arms, rubbing her eyes. Isabella reached out and took the child into her own arms. Lord Bellfourd and Lady Abigail stood on the opposite side of the bed from their mother. Isabella stood back with Jackie in her arms and gave the family their privacy.
The duke could do nothing but move his eyes and watch his family gather around him. Worse, Isabella could see his mind working and, no doubt, the desires of his heart struggled to be free. It was more than he was able to handle in his weakened state. It left him nothing to do but look on as his family cried before him.
Lord Bellfourd turned and searched the room for Isabella and Jackie. “Come here,” he called softly. “Bring Jackie before him.”
Isabella did as she was bid and brought the child forward. Lord Bellfourd stood to the side, giving up his spot at his father’s right hand to be replaced by his niece.
Isabella stood behind her ward, ready to assist in any way possible. She could only imagine how confusing and frightening this night must have been to such a young child. Jacqueline gripped both of her governess’ hands firmly, a little taken aback by the state of her grandfather.
Isabella knelt down, still holding firmly to each of Jackie’s hands and whispered in her ear in French, “It’s all right, little one. Tell your grandfather how much you love him.”
Big droplets of tears welled in Jacqueline’s eyes. She didn’t understand much of what death meant, but she did know it was a sort of going away, and a very sad departure at that.
“I said the Lord’s Prayer just for you, Grandpère,” Jacqueline said, just above a whisper.
Though he was much too weak to move or speak, the duke’s eyes lowered to the face of his granddaughter. His lips, slightly tinged blue, turned up into a wavering smile and a single tear rolled down his cheek.
He struggled to move his one free hand. The Marquess reached forward, helping his father to place his hand into Jacqueline’s.
Isabella did her best to choke back her own tears. Even if this unity of grandfather and child was of the Marquess’ making, the duke was glad of it. Through the glow of the fire, Isabella could easily see the love and words never spoken in the gleam of the duke’s eyes.
“Why is he so cold?” she whispered to her governess in French.
“Perhaps he needs you to warm them,” Isabella whispered back, not wanting to tell the child the true reason why.
“I will warm your hand for you Grandpère,” Jacqueline said, rubbing her two small hands over the larger, colder one.
The whole family watched as the two small palms, still slightly plump from infancy, gently rubbed the long, wrinkled fingers already beginning to grey.
“Jackie,” Lady Wintercrest’s voice came out hoarsely from the other side of the bed. “Sing for your grandfather, so that he may fall asleep peacefully.” She did her best to smile at the child, despite her tears.
It was clear to all in the room that the end was coming. The duke’s body could last no longer with the frailty of his lungs. Isabella feared greatly a dramatic parting that might be scarring to the child. She hoped that with the sense of love and release of pain over his oldest son, Lord James, the duke would be able to pass into the next life in peace.
“Oui, Grandmère,” she said.
She watched her grandfather’s hand between her own continuing to softly rub her warmth into him, while she sang her lullaby.
“Underneath the moonlight
My good friend Pierrot
Please lend me a pen
So I may write a note
My small candle’s dying
There is no more light
Open up your door, please
Pity me this night.”
***
As Jacqueline continued her song, the duke’s eyes closed softly, and with the escape of one last tear, his breath quieted and he drifted off peacefully.
Isabella didn’t need to hear the choked sob from Lady Wintercrest, holding his other hand, to know his time had passed. She waited till the child finished before scooping her back into her arms.
“Is Grandpère asleep now?” Jacqueline asked her governess.
“Yes, you did very well my little cherub. Let us find your own bed now.”
She paused to hold the hand of Lady Abigail for just a second before quietly exiting the room.