not giving her a chance to answer before striding off along the promenade.
* * *
He had to get away. Away from the crowds, away from Rosa’s concerned enquiries and away from the stifling heat that threatened to consume him. Forcing himself to walk and not run, Thomas headed away from the village.
‘Lord Hunter,’ he heard Rosa call in the distance, but her voice barely registered in his mind.
I will not look.
Resolutely he kept his eyes fixed on a tree in the distance, willing himself not to look down.
His resolve cracked within thirty seconds. The first glance was fleeting and brief, but when he saw his hands weren’t moving rhythmically and of their own accord he managed to gain control of himself a little and take a second look.
Sinking down on to the stone wall that ran along the lakefront, Thomas held his hands out in front of him. As he had pointed out over the lake there had been a definite tremor, an uncontrolled shaking of his hand. It had been small, probably unnoticeable to anyone but him, but he could not pretend it hadn’t been there.
Now his hands were steady and unmoving as he studied them. Thomas exhaled, trying to calm his racing heart and dampen the nausea that rose from his stomach. For a few moments he had thought it was the beginning of the end, that the disease that had claimed his father and his brother was starting to develop in him.
It always began this way—a minor tremor, an uncontrolled movement. Followed by memory loss, personality change and the ever-worsening rhythmic jerky movements and a loss of co-ordination. His older brother Michael had developed his first symptoms when he was just twenty and died at twenty-eight. Thomas’s age now. Their father had been a little more fortunate, surviving into his forties. It was a well-kept secret, the Hunter family curse, but generation after generation showed signs of affliction.
Maybe I’ll be one of the lucky ones.
It was what Thomas prayed for every day, that he would be one of the few the disease skipped. Not every member of the Hunter family was affected, but there was no way to know if you would succumb until the day you died.
Thomas rested his head in his hands and closed his eyes. Every morning he inspected his body for any unnatural movements, any clue that he might be developing the thing he feared the most. For a moment there he had been convinced that was it for him, that his time on earth was up. One thing Thomas was sure of was that he wouldn’t let this disease rob him of his dignity and his hope. If he was ever sure his turn had come, then he would find a more dignified way to depart this world, even if it was considered a mortal sin to commit suicide.
‘Lord Hunter,’ Rosa said as she approached him slowly, warily.
She’d followed him. Of course she had.
‘What’s wrong?’
He took a second, flashed a charming smile and stood. ‘Nothing, nothing at all.’
‘Then why did you run off?’
‘I have a proposition for you,’ he said, knowing it was the only way to get Rosa to drop the subject. ‘Let me escort you home.’
He had to smile at Rosa’s shocked expression: the gaping mouth, wide eyes and rapid blinking of her eyelids. Over the years he had become a master of concealing his fears of the illness that might one day claim him and distraction was a great technique.
‘Home?’
‘Back to England. To whatever friend you hope will take you in.’
‘Why would you do that?’
Thomas shrugged. He’d made the suggestion impulsively, but the more he thought about it the more he warmed to the idea.
‘I need to return home. I owe that much to my mother. It wouldn’t be gentlemanly to abandon you in your hour of need, so why not combine the two objectives?’
‘It’s too much, I could never ask that of you.’
‘What other options do you have?’
Rosa fell silent. She was in no position to turn down the offer of assistance in whatever form.
‘You are sure you’re happy to return to England? I wouldn’t want you to return solely on my account.’
Thomas thought about it before answering and found he was. It would be pleasant to stroll around his estate and reminisce with his mother. He knew he would not stay there indefinitely, but a few weeks, maybe a month, and then he could pick a new destination for his travels. Thomas found the idea of revisiting the home he had once been so happy in rather appealing and knew if he wanted to return for a short period he should do so soon. Who knew if he would get another opportunity?
‘Quite sure.’
Rosa shook her head in disbelief, then threw her arms around him.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
He had never heard two words uttered so sincerely or with such relief.
‘I will find a way to reimburse you any expenses accrued once we get back to England.’
Thomas waved a dismissive hand—the cost of a passage on a ship and a few weeks in various guest houses was the least of his worries. It wasn’t as though he would be able to take his money with him when he died.
‘Thank you, Lord Hunter,’ Rosa replied. Thomas could see she was struggling to hold back the tears.
‘Call me Thomas. We’re going to be spending much time together.’
‘Thomas,’ she repeated, smiling up at him.
‘And I shall call you Rosa.’
‘You do already.’
He grinned, took her hand and kissed her just below the knuckles. It felt good to have a purpose after all this time.
‘This afternoon we shall return to the villa. There are a few things I will need to tie up before we depart. I will arrange for us to leave early next week.’
He would terminate his lease on the villa. As much as he loved the comfortable dwelling and beautiful views, he realised it was time for him to move on. The momentary fear that he might be entering his last few months of healthy life had jolted him into action. There was more of the world to see, more to experience. He would travel home with Rosa, visit his mother for a few weeks and then spin the large globe that sat in his father’s study. His study. Wherever his finger landed, that would be where he travelled next.
As they walked back along the promenade Thomas tried to summon some of his normal excitement when contemplating a new adventure, but this time his heart was not really in it. His mind was preoccupied with thoughts of home: the rolling green hills, the woods he’d played in as a boy, even the peaceful spot right at the edge of the estate where his father and brother were laid to rest.
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