Page 4 of Love Thy Enemy (The Vaughns #4)

F or all that Gregory had known that to be true, the bald statement felt like a knife in his chest.

“I…I am grateful for your friendship, Rodney. You have been so good to me.”

A slight smile twitched at his friend’s lips as his gaze swung to him. “If I hadn’t known I was dying before, I would now. If you are growing sentimental and maudlin, I must be at death’s door.”

Gregory huffed, the instinct to turn his eyes to the heavens seizing hold of him. “It is like you to jest about this.”

A twitch of his brows was the only sign of strain in the fellow’s face, though Gregory suspected he clung to consciousness by the barest tips of his fingers.

“I would rather jest than cry,” whispered Rodney, the corner of his lips trembling as his eyes met his friend’s gaze.

“We always believe there will be more time. Life can be snatched away in a moment, yet we never expect it will be our years that are cut short. And the thought that I will not be there to see my children…”

Rodney’s voice caught as he whispered, “They are so very young.”

Gregory’s head lowered as pressure built in his chest, pressing against his heart until it ached. For all that his own pain pulsed through him, it was the thought of those little ones that felt like a leaden weight on his ribs.

“I named you their guardian in my will,” said Rodney.

Eyes wide, Gregory’s head snapped up, his brows climbing as he stared at his friend’s ashen face. There wasn’t even a hint of teasing in his expression. Rodney watched him with pleading eyes as his chest shuddered with his panting breaths.

“I settled everything long ago,” added Rodney, a thread of iron weaving through his tone, though his gaze struggled to focus on the figure at his bedside. “The accounts, the house. Everything has been seen to, and they will be provided for handsomely. But they need a protector. A guide—”

Rodney’s voice cracked, and he winced as his chest shuddered. Gregory reached for the tincture once more, but his friend waved him off.

“Please, not yet, Gregory. I need to hear you say you will do it,” he said, reaching for Gregory’s hand and holding fast to it. “Not because my will dictates it but because you willingly take them on. There is no one else I trust to watch over them. Please. I need to know they shan’t be alone…”

Gregory wanted to nod and give him the answer he longed to hear, but the thought of such a responsibility held his tongue captive. To oversee their finances and the estate was one thing—something he would gladly do—but guardianship?

Rodney’s eyes unfocused, sliding away as the haze drew over his mind once more.

Gregory held his fingers to the fellow’s pulse, though it was a struggle to feel the heartbeat, as it was as quick as a hummingbird’s wing.

Despite knowing that such signs were inevitable, his own heart seized, sending out waves of pain with each wretched beat.

“Will you?” asked Rodney, the strength entering his gaze once more as he focused on his friend.

“I am no father. How can I possibly raise your children?”

The corner of his lips twitched ever so slightly into a smile.

“You will make a muck of it—as all parents do—but you will sort it out. If nothing else, you need Stuarts in your life to pull you from that solitary rut you enjoy far too much. Without us, you are bound to grow so dour that even the maid’s lotion shan’t be able to save your face. ”

Rodney smiled at the jest, but Gregory couldn’t. That conversation seemed like some distant past, far removed from this moment.

“You will not do the job perfectly,” added Rodney, as pain etched itself into the edges of his eyes and mouth, “but I know you will take the responsibility seriously. That is all any parent can do. And I know you will protect them.”

“You don’t believe—”

“I know my wife well,” interrupted Rodney in a grim tone.

Though his hold weakened, there was a strength that burned through the pain and fog, burrowing into Gregory as the man pleaded.

“The moment she hears I am gone, she will reappear and do whatever she can to get control over the children once more. I have left a record of all that she has done, detailing the whole of her sins, as she could very well take the matter all the way to the courts.”

“They will not go against a father’s will,” said Gregory with a frown.

But Rodney matched the expression. “There is precedence, and the laws are changing. She is crafty and excels at twisting people about, and I have no doubt she can bend the courts to her will if she puts her mind to it. Without me there to protect them, I fear for their future. But I know you will not be taken in by her wiles, and you will fight for my children to your last breath. I need you. Please. I have no one else I can entrust them to.”

“I will do my best,” whispered Gregory. There was no other answer to give, though his honor wove through every syllable, imbuing them with the sort of oath that had been made of old, binding one to the other with an irrevocable bond.

Rodney’s hold slackened, his gaze growing unfocused, though a smile graced his lips. “I know you will. That is my only consolation.”

Then there was stillness. The labored breaths, quiet and unsteady, were the only sign that the gentleman still lived.

The candles burned low, their flames flickering each time the wind pushed against the windowpane, and Gregory sat there, hand wrapped gently around Rodney’s whilst he listened to the soft, uneven rhythm of his breathing.

Eventually, Edward returned, taking his place on the other side of the bed for their silent vigil. The patient was beyond a physician’s aid now, but Gregory suspected his brother remained more for his sake than Rodney’s.

Minutes ticked by in fitful stretches. At times, Rodney roused, blinking blearily as though unable to recognize his bedchamber and the man seated beside him.

Then a glint of recognition drew with it a few halting words about the children and happier days, his voice worn and thin but still threaded with warmth and hints of laughter, as though wishing to erase the truth of what was happening.

Gregory clung to those conversations, however fleeting. They were a lifeline. Each time silence reclaimed the room, it did so a little sooner, and a little longer.

And then Rodney slipped beyond the laudanum’s tender touch, bringing with it a delirium and agony that burned into Gregory’s memory.

Every spasm. Every gasp. Every pleading look when snatched in the grip of suffering that was too great for him to speak.

Those images would live in the corners of his mind for the rest of his days.

And when the last breath came—quiet, almost imperceptible—there was no grand final word, no dramatic sign. Just a hush so complete that the world outside quieted. Gregory didn’t need Edward’s confirmation that the pulse was now gone, for he could see the truth of it in his friend’s visage.

The soul that had once resided there was gone.

It was some time before Gregory thought to move. Watching Edward as he set about the task of cleaning up, his thoughts couldn’t drift past the fact that Rodney was gone. No amount of certainty had prepared him for it.

Rising to his feet, he murmured, “I need to see the children.”

Edward’s brows twisted as he studied his brother, and without a word, he came over and drew Gregory into an embrace.

Vision blurring, he squeezed Edward tight, holding fast to him as though that might alter what had happened.

And when they parted, his brother’s eyes held all the tender concern and support one yearned for and shied away from all at the same time: the sympathy only made the loss all the more real.

Somehow Gregory found himself wandering through the corridors, uncertain what to say or do for the children. His children. Good gracious. With a hand outstretched, he leaned against the wall as his strength leached from him.

Forcing his feet forward, he climbed up to the nursery but stopped when he spied figures in the library.

Though only a single candle flickered on the mantlepiece, the growing light of dawn on the horizon allowed him to see Daphne and Clark seated on the sofa, their rigid postures holding them like statues perched on the edge.

Neither said a word when they saw Gregory standing there, but they watched him with questioning eyes. What could he say? Though he knew the words, they would not come to his lips, and Gregory stood there, mute and unmoving. But that was answer enough.

Daphne let out a sharp sob, her hands flying to her mouth as that jagged breath ripped from her. All it took was an outstretched hand in invitation, and she threw herself into Gregory’s arms, burrowing into his hold as she shook with tears.

Stiff and straight, Clark tucked his hands behind him.

His chin trembled, but the lad tried so hard to be strong; though this would serve him well in days to come, he was still a lad of fifteen, and he came when bidden to his guardian’s side.

Once within reaching distance, Gregory tugged the lad into his embrace as well, engulfing the pair as their tears wetted his shirt.

And his own joined with theirs, the little drops slipping free of his grasp as he considered the loss they all faced and the dark days ahead.

The promise he’d given rang through him, pulsing with each rapid beat of his heart. He would be as good as any father. Protect them as if they were his very own. No matter what was to come, Gregory would give his all for Rodney’s little ones.

“I—” Daphne struggled for words, her breath shuddering as she forced them out. “I should tell the others.”

“No,” he replied, holding fast to the pair. “Let them sleep. Morning will come soon enough.”