George looked at Lydia. “It is almost over.”

“Can you ease his passing?”

George turned to the dying duke. “Would you have medicine, your Grace?”

“Aye,” the old man wheezed. “Make it strong.”

Lydia heard Thomas’s voice from the door. “Uncle, I am in time.”

“I prepare a draught for his Grace,” George said. “He has scarce an hour left.”

The duke took Thomas’s hand. “Nephew, as my lawyer, you know you are well-provided for in my will. Guide my widow well in managing her estate and fortune.”

“I promise, Uncle.”

Thomas and George helped the duke sit up to swallow his medicine.

“Your Grace,” Lydia said. “You were ever a bad husband. You bought me from my indebted father after your first wife took her life in despair. Had you ever been sober when trying to bed me, you might have realised I am barren.”

Lydia stood beside the bed. “These two gentlemen became intimate at Oxford University. We three have been lovers since a month after our wedding.” She leaned closer. “Together, they have rogered me well many, many times,” she whispered. “As they will again tonight, after you die. You have been taking poison for weeks.”

© 2015 Ian D Smith. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.