Page 117 of The Duke's Wicked Widow
“Aye, perhaps,” he murmured, staring into the fire.
He heard her sigh. “Ye’re a good man, Fawkes, nae matter what ye think. Nae matter whatshethinks. Is there a way to remind her of that? Remind her who ye truly are? A way to help her recall her feelings for ye?”
Slowly, he raised his gaze.
Help her help her help her.
If Mother hadn’t used that phrase, perhaps he wouldn’t have remembered Ellie’s request from earlier that day. Only a few hours ago, when they’d been opening their Christmas gifts.
His breathing was shallow, his mind jumping from one thought to the next. Her sister was giving birth, and Thorne had said it wasn’t going well. If the bairn was born this early or the labor was a difficult one…
He was staring at the mantel, making a list of ingredients, when he heard his mother stand.
“Aye, I recognize that look. Well, dinnae dilly dally, Fawkes. Go prove ye love her, eh? Whatever else passed between ye, it cannae be so bad. Ye might no’ be able to marry the lass as soon as ye’d like, butpleasemake sure ye have a future with her. If nothing else, so I can grow auld playing with Merida.”
He turned and met her eyes. His mother was smiling sadly, and for the first time, he realized how lonely she might have been all these years after he’d gone to London. Aye, she’d said she was happy, but if he’d missedher, how much worse would it have been for her?
And now she wanted grandchildren.
Fawkes swallowed something large and inconvenient stuck in his throat. Because he’d just realized how muchhewantedchildren. With Ellie.
The woman he’d just betrayed.
“Aye,” he croaked, hands tightening into fists at his side.
He had to do his best to show her what she meant to him. Even if she never forgave him, he would show her. He would spend the rest of his life apologizing, trying to earn her forgiveness, the only way he knew.
“Go,” Mother whispered, eyes shining brightly. “Merida and I can manage on our own for a bit, with Tramp and the Clutterbucks. Take all the time ye need, but bring her home, Fawkes.”
He would bloody well try.
“I’ll be in my laboratory.”
* * *
Somewhere around the second hour,Ellie’s nose went numb and she realized how unbelievably selfish she’d been.
Again.
This time, however, it had been in asking—demanding—Thorne take her back to Endymion. Good Lord, the man must be exhausted. He’d been planning to stop by Hangcok Hill, drop off the deed, and likely collapse in his new estate.
But instead he’d changed horses and climbed back into the sleigh.
“How much longer?” she asked, embarrassed by her request.
He’d tried to engage her in conversation for a bit, but had fallen quiet when it became obvious she’d wanted to do little besides cry. Which had been dumb, because the tears froze on her cheeks.
Now Thorne glanced down at her and used his free hand to pull down the scarf which had protected his face.
“Only another hour or so,” he assured her. “Yer niece or nephew should be there by the time we arrive.”
He was trying to be cheerful, but there was still a pit in her stomach.
Three hours to Hangcok Hill. An hour there. Three hours back. If Georgia’s labor didn’t go well…
And Fawkes murdered your father.
Her eyes filled with tears again.
