When she was finished, she tossed the letter down on the desk without even waiting for Rosy to be done. “If he weren’t already dead, I’d kill him myself. How dare he? Now he will never get to see Rosy marry well or his grandchildren grow up or . . . or his son become the greatest duke in all of England!”
“I’m not sure he would have seen that last one, anyway, Mother, but I take your meaning. And I share your outrage.”
Rosy lifted her head from reading. “That’s why he had me run all those errands on that day?”
“I’m afraid so, poppet,” Geoffrey said. The expression of betrayal on her face cut him to the bone.
“Why did he tell you and not me?” Rosy asked plaintively.
“Because he knew I would protect the two of you from the consequences of his actions if anyone else should happen to find out. He wanted it to remain a secret.”
His mother snorted. “The truth is your father didn’t want to be declared non compos mentis.He was always worried people would think him mad.”
Geoffrey stared at her, stunned. When Diana had told him about Rosy’s question concerning laudanum, he’d begun to figure out that there were pieces of the story he was missing, but his mother’s pieces were particularly sobering.
She rose to go stare out the window at the garden. “I suppose he had no trouble at all with being declared a suicide and losing all his family’s money and property to the Crown.”
“He was trying to avoid that, Mother,” Geoffrey said. “That’s why he wrote the letter only to me in the first place.”
“What’s non compos mentis?” Rosy asked.
For the next hour he had to explain what it meant. It took much longer to lay out the laws for his sister than for Diana. Rosy simply couldn’t imagine why someone choosing to kill himself could translate into a choice either to allow the Crown to take all the worldly goods of his family or to be publicly declared insane.
Seen through her eyes, it did seem unfair. Putting aside the religious strictures against it, it hardly seemed right to punish people posthumously for committing suicide by punishing their families financially. It wasn’t as if it would have any effect on the dead person’s behavior.
And once his explanations to Rosy did sink in, she had a moment of panic. “Oh, no! I told Diana about Papa and the laudanum!”
“How didyouknow?” their mother asked. “About the laudanum, I mean. From the gossip?”
“Not . . . exactly,” Rosy said sheepishly.
Questions and answers like those meant it took a while to explain Father’s complicated plot to kill himself while protecting their finances. Then, of course, Geoffrey had to reassure Rosy that she’d chosen the right person to ask about the laudanum.
“But you didn’t tell anyone else, did you?” Geoffrey asked sternly.
“Who would I tell? My suitors? I know better than that. And my only two female friends are in Newcastle.”
Their mother sat down again to put her arm around his sister’s shoulders. “Haven’t you made new friends here?”
“I suppose.” Rosy brightened. “The ladies at Elegant Occasions have assured me that they consider me a friend. So that’s three right there.”
“We can return to Newcastle anytime you like, you know,” Mother said, sparing a severe look for Geoffrey.
“No.” Rosy mused a moment. “I like all the things to do in London. And once I marry . . .”
“What happened to your promise to keep house for me wherever I went?” he teased.
“You’ll have Diana for that,” she said simply.
His mother stared at her. “Is there something you know that I don’t?”
“I just think . . . they would make a grand couple,” Rosy said. “Don’t you?”
“I certainly do.” Mother looked over at him. “So you should take care of that as soon as possible, Son.”
He sighed. “I’m working on it.”
“You are not,” his mother said. “You’re sitting here with us.”
