"He's dying, Your Grace. He insists that you come right away." The chambermaid scurried away.

Catherine rose from the chair in her sunny drawing room sanctuary and hurried down the hall. She paused at the threshold of her husband's bedchamber as she overheard him speaking to his man of business. She knew better than to interrupt.

"You're certain, Simmons, that all of the arrangements have been made?" asked the Duke.
Catherine winced as she heard her husband's voice. It had once been so forceful, causing her to tremble whenever he spoke. Now it was barely a whisper. She could feel the exertion in his effort to speak. Yet, even though he sounded weak, she reminded herself that he still wielded power over her life. She wondered what arrangements he was making and why he had commanded her presence.

"Yes, Your Grace, every last detail. Just as you have ordered." Simmons' voice was crisp and clear and gave the duke confidence that his will would be precisely executed. Simmons always carried out the Duke's orders... precisely. Catherine hated the man for his pompous demeanor and the power he held over her. She never understood his relationship with the Duke.

"...and you have sent the messenger as directed and the letter to lady Sarah?" the Duke continued.

Catherine frowned, wondering who Lady Sarah might be. Perhaps Alamuir had kept a mistress.

"Yesterday, Your Grace. We are awaiting the Earl's reply. It is expected at any time."

"You'll let me know the moment the messenger returns?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

Catherine stepped into the room her footsteps silent on the Aubusson carpet. Alamuir's gaze fell upon her immediately. He dismissed Simmons with a raising of his hand.

"Step out of the shadows, Catherine. Stand where I can see you." Alamuir spoke with evident strain and ended with a coughing spell.

"Shhh. No need to talk." Catherine approached the bed. "Let me just sit with you. Maybe some tea? You'll feel stronger in the morning. We can talk then." Catherine began to wring her hands.

"No. There are things I must discuss with you. And stop wringing your hands. You're a duchess for God's sake."

She was used to such admonitions. She calmly placed her hands by her side, raising her chin as she did so.

Alamuir was propped up with pillows in his grand bed. She moved to stand before him, raising her hand to his cheek. Too cool, she thought, for a warm September afternoon. The Duke turned away from her hand. She removed it. He appeared to be twice his almost forty years. She wondered when he had aged so.

Her gaze traveled around the room. She couldn't help but think of the hideous memories this room evoked. She'd turned sixteen the day he came to her father's estate with a special license in hand. By midnight she had been bedded with little thought to her pleasure or comfort. For two months she had been summoned to this room until she was with child. They had not slept together since before Oliver was born. No, there was nothing happy about this room.

"I can see the emotions wash across your brow," he said. "I am sorry for those early days of our marriage."

A small smile crossed her lips. "it was long ago, Your Grace." She never thought to hear her husband apologize for anything. But, it was far too late to have any meaning to her.

"I never explained why," the Duke offered. "I had just received news of my weakened heart. I thought it was a death warrant. My doctors had no idea how much time I would have, and I needed an heir. It was selfish of me. I robbed you of your youth, your season in London, and most of all your innocence."

"But you have given me Oliver. I wouldn't barter him for anything in the world."

"Nor would I. He is a wonderful son... handsome, clever, a joy to be around." The Duke's remarks were interrupted by prolonged coughing which left him visibly weakened. "I am relying on you to see him to manhood."

"Don't be silly. Oliver looks to you for manly advice. He only looks to me for kisses and bedtime reading." Her eyes tightened, squeezing out a tear. She found it difficult even to breathe. She couldn't comprehend her feelings for this man who she had despised for the last ten years. She hadn't understood why he had married her in such haste. There was some relief in finally knowing.

The Duke watched silently as the tear rolled down her cheek. She observed as he struggled to raise his hand to wipe it away, but the effort was too great. He exhaled loudly. His hand dropped back to the bed.

Catherine sniffed and wiped it away with the back of her hand. She had promised herself that there would be no tears. She blinked and regained control. "I am being morose. I'm sorry. I know you'll feel better in the morning. Shall I call Oliver in to raise your spirits?"

"No, my dearest. I have said my goodbyes to Oliver."

"Don't say that. You can't leave us. Where would we be without you?" Her chest constricted as she thought about the responsibilities of overseeing his dukedom and preserving it for Oliver.

A brief smile touched the Duke's lips. "I'm shocked. I never realized you harbored such warm feelings for me."

His sarcasm killed any tenderness that might have developed.

"Enough of these useless sentiments," he continued. "I forbid you to mourn me. Simmons has arranged for you and Oliver to travel to Paris. You may grieve privately for no more than three weeks as you prepare."

"Prepare for what?" she asked.

"I expect you to present yourself at the French Court. You're to become the toast of Paris. You will make me proud."

"Are you mad? I have no interest in parties or entertainments. I have no friends in Paris." Her face flushed with anger.

"Silence," he demanded. "You must remarry. Oliver needs a father, and you need a man." He coughed again and struggled to catch his breath. "A man who can teach him to be worthy of his title, and someone who can love you properly. I have prepared a list of acceptable peers and have given it to Simmons. The choice will be yours. You will have one year to decide. Your inheritance will be contingent upon marrying within the confines of those choices."

A small gasp escaped her lips. Her hand flew to her mouth. She watched Alamuir's cold eyes focus on her own.

"The list is extensive. I believe you will find that I have your best interests at heart. Please trust me."

"What if I choose not to marry?"

"You will find that you cannot afford the niceties of life, and I suspect you will miss our son. As I said, he will need a man's influence. A guardianship will be arranged should you not adhere to my wishes."

Catherine nodded her head and kept her eyes down. The last thing she wanted was another forced marriage, but she would never forfeit Oliver. She could barely breathe; couldn't find the words to argue with him. Not that he would listen to any argument she put forward. She would find a way to thwart his plans.

Alamuir drifted off as he was wont to do. Catherine sat in a chair next to the bed. She never quite understood why he had chosen her or even how he'd come to know of her. Then she reflected on their ten years together. They were difficult at first, even after Oliver was born not a year after their marriage. She resented being forcefully rusticated. She had wanted a season, flowers from beaux, and midnight waltzes. The last few years had not been as difficult, just lonely. Alamuir ignored her for the most part. She smiled a little thinking that she would have a full year of freedom.

The room smelled of illness and she longed to open a window. She stood, thinking he was asleep but Alamuir grasped her hand and she sat back down.

"Stay with me," he commanded, "there is more I need to say to you."

She reached up and tucked the soft woolen covers around his shoulders. He was so cold he appeared almost blue.

Simmons tapped at the door and let himself in. "Your Grace, the messenger has returned with the Earl's positive response."

"Thank you, Simmons. See that the boy is fed." Catherine observed a contented smile pass across the Duke's lips as he seemed to relax.

Alamuir turned back to Catherine. "You must trust Simmons to look after you. He has your best interests at heart. I have made it worth his while. I would like for Oliver to see something of the world before the duties of his title weigh heavily upon him. You will want for nothing. Should you comply with my wishes, you will be a very wealthy young woman. You will have no trouble finding a husband to your liking.

"I don't know if I can."

"You can. You must. I took your youth. Now I can give you the life you deserve. I want you to live and be happy with my blessing. You have given me everything I wanted in life. Allow me to return that favor to you." He began to breathe erratically.

Catherine's heart ached. She fought the tears that wanted to flow and lifted his hand into hers. "Shhh," she crooned. "I will try."

"Promise me," he wheezed.

"I promise."

"Catherine," he paused to catch his breath, "I couldn't allow you to love me knowing I would be leaving you too soon."

His breathing began to calm. She continued to hold his hand. If only he had softened toward her those many years ago. They might have found happiness together.

"Now sit with me. I don't want to be alone."

Catherine continued to hold his hand. A few minutes later she felt a flutter at his wrist as he passed quietly away from her.