Days had passed since the Duke had seen his son again for the first time, and they just had taken him away, and the ache of separation already weighed upon him.This morning the sun had filtered through the gauzy curtains, casting a golden hue upon the sleeping infant. This time, as if sensing his father's presence, the child had opened his eyes and laid there peacefully, their gazes locked in tender understanding. From time to time, the Duke thought he had seen the ghost of a smile flit across the child's face, but all too soon, it was time for him to be fed, and Maggy, the second nurse, gently took him back to her quarters.
As the door closed behind them, the Duke sighed, his heart aching with a peculiar mix of love and loss. It was in these stolen moments that he felt most connected to his late wife, and yet, the wound of her absence seemed only to grow deeper.
"Your Grace," a voice murmured from the doorway. "The doctor has arrived for your medical examination."
"Thank you, Anna," the Duke responded, forcing a smile onto his lips as he turned to greet Dr. Steinberg. With a cordial smile, he attempted to distract the physician from the truth of his condition, though he knew his efforts were likely in vain.
"Good morning, Your Grace," the doctor said, his voice tinged with concern. "I trust you've been keeping well?"
"Of course, Doctor," the Duke replied, striving to maintain a facade of perfect health. "I assure you, there is no need for concern."
"Very well, then," Dr. Steinberg replied, though the furrow of his brow betrayed his skepticism. As he began his examination, the housekeeper's words echoed in his mind, painting a picture of a man haunted by grief and despair. Though the Duke did his best to conceal it, there was a disheveled air about him that spoke to the truth of his condition.
"Your Grace," Dr. Steinberg began, a note of hesitation in his voice. "I must ask you some questions about your general well-being since our last meeting. Have you been experiencing any sleep disturbances or changes in appetite?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary, Doctor," the Duke replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I assure you, I am perfectly capable of managing my own health."
"Of course, Your Grace," the doctor said, though he could not shake the feeling that something was amiss. He continued with his examination, noting the shadows beneath the Duke's eyes and the hollows of his cheeks, which seemed more pronounced than ever before.
"Your Grace," Dr. Steinberg eventually ventured, summoning the courage to broach the subject of his concern.
He struggled to find the words, but he couldn't ignore the fact that the man in front of him looked a bit disheveled. He empathized with the tough time he must be going through and wanted to reassure him that it was normal for grief to have physical effects on one's well-being. But he couldn't the Duke had always been a proud man. He had known him since his birth. The doctor cleared his throat and continued. "It's great to know you are doing well, but there are always measures that can be taken to enhance your well-being and avoid illness."
"Thank you for your concern, Doctor," the Duke replied stiffly, his jaw tightening as he fought to maintain his composure. "But I assure you, I've never felt better."
"Very well, Your Grace," Dr. Steinberg murmured, though he could not entirely suppress his doubts. As he concluded his examination, he made a mental note to speak privately with Anna, whose own insights might provide a clearer picture of the Duke's true state of mind.
"Your Grace," the physician said, as they shook hands at the end of their meeting. "I trust that you will contact me immediately should you need me in the future."
"Of course, Doctor," the Duke replied with a strained smile. "I appreciate your diligence."
"Good day, Your Grace," Dr. Steinberg said with a final bow, before taking his leave of the Duke's presence.
As the door closed behind the retreating physician, the Duke sank into a nearby chair, his hands trembling as he ran them through his disheveled hair. The weight of his grief, which he had worked so tirelessly to conceal, threatened to crush him beneath its oppressive force.
Back in his chamber, the Duke stared at the crystal decanter of brandy resting on a silver tray, its amber liquid casting fractured light onto the walls of his dimly lit chamber. He could not remember when he had last allowed sunlight to enter the room, the heavy velvet drapes drawn closed to create a cocoon of darkness around him.
"Your Grace," Anna's soft voice came from behind the door, her knuckles tapping gently on the polished wood. "May I bring you something to eat?"
"No, leave me be," the Duke muttered, his eyes never leaving the tempting glow of the spirits before him. He knew that his housekeeper and steward, Ulrich, were worried about him, but he could not bring himself to care.
"Very well, Your Grace," she replied hesitantly before retreating down the hallway, her footsteps echoing in the silence.
The Duke stood up and paced the room, his gaze drifting over the framed portraits of his late wife that adorned the room. They seemed to mock him with their placid smiles and beauty, each one a taunting reminder of the happiness he had lost. No one was allowed to enter this sanctuary, where he spent most of his waking hours wallowing in his grief.
"Enough," he whispered to himself, his voice a hoarse rasp. He picked up the decanter and poured himself a generous measure of brandy, the scent of alcohol filling the air as he raised the glass to his lips.
"Your Grace, forgive my intrusion," Dr. Steinberg's voice called out from the doorway, causing the Duke to startle, nearly spilling the contents of his glass. The physician had come to examine the newborn child and had noticed the Duke's disheveled state during their earlier meeting.
"Doctor," the Duke said tightly, his fingers gripping the stem of the glass so hard that it threatened to snap, "I thought our business was concluded for the day."
"Indeed, it was," Dr. Steinberg replied, his eyes flicking to the glass in the Duke's hand before focusing on the old war injury that marred his shoulder. "However, I could not help but notice that you seem… troubled."
"Your concern is misplaced," the Duke snapped, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment and anger at having his privacy invaded. "I am perfectly capable of managing my own affairs."
"Of course, Your Grace," the doctor said carefully, his gaze never wavering from the Duke's face. "But if I may be so bold, your recent behavior has caused others to worry about your well-being. Ulrich and Anna have confided in me their concerns for your health."
"Is that why you're here?" the Duke demanded, his chest tightening with resentment. "To pry into matters which do not concern you? I should punish them for their indiscretion!"
"Please, Your Grace," Dr. Steinberg implored, his voice soothing as he held up a placating hand. "I only wish to offer my assistance, should you require it."
"Very well," the Duke sighed, lowering himself back into his chair and setting the untouched glass of brandy on the table beside him. "What would you have me do?"
Dr. Steinberg began, "To start, I recommend a pain reliever for your shoulder, and furthermore, I believe some fresh air and exercise could greatly benefit your overall health."
The Duke frowned, not even considering the proposal. It had been weeks since he had ventured beyond the walls of his estate, and the thought of leaving his sanctuary filled him with trepidation. Still, he knew that the doctor was right – he could not continue to shut himself away from the world.
"Very well," he agreed to mislead the doctor, his jaw clenched with determination.
"Excellent," Dr. Steinberg replied, a hint of relief in his voice. "And as for my last recommendations… I strongly advise against your return to the battlefield."
"Is that so?" the Duke asked, his eyes narrowing as he bristled at the suggestion. He had fought alongside his men in many battles, earning numerous scars and injuries in the process. It was a point of pride for him, and the thought of abandoning his duties sat uneasily within his heart.
The duke was aware that the war would soon be over and peace would be declared. He didn't pay much to the doctor's recommendation, as he knew he wouldn't need to return once everything was settled.
The Duke's gaze softened as he considered his infant child, the tiny life that depended on him for protection and guidance. He knew that the doctor was right; he could not risk leaving his son fatherless anyway.
The Duke's tone was light and filled with relief as he agreed, "Okay then, I will take your advice into consideration."
"Thank you, Your Grace," Dr. Steinberg said with a respectful bow. "I am confident that this will be the best course of action for both you and your son."
"Let us hope so," the Duke murmured, his heart filled with a mixture of trepidation and hope as he contemplated the future.
With the war drawing to a close, Henrich would soon return from reporting the events to the higher-ups in the duke's stead. The Duke felt a flicker of anticipation at the thought of his friend's return, wondering if perhaps the familiar camaraderie would help to lift the shroud of grief that clung to him so tenaciously.