Page 294 of Once an Angel
He faced his mother squarely, trying to ignore the flush he could feel creeping up over his cheekbones.
He forced a wry smile. "Why do I feel like I'm six years old and I've been caught dipping into Gracie's cookie jar?"
Her steely gaze raked him, taking in his unbuttoned shirt, the rumpled folds of his trousers. "It seems you've been caught dipping into much more than that."
Summoning the remnants of his grace, he leaned against the door and crossed his arms, mirroring her posture deliberately. "Guilty as charged. So what are you going to do? Disinherit me again?"
"Have you forgotten? You're the duke now. I can't disinherit you. But you may pack me off to a
dower house if you desire."
"Ah, but that would imply there was another duchess waiting in the wings."
She nodded toward the door. "Isn't there?"
Justin raked a hand through his hair, suddenly feeling less six than sixty. "I'm afraid not."
"More's the pity. The two of you would make pretty children together." She lifted an eyebrow.
"That is, if you haven't already."
A muffled oath exploded from his lips. He strode a few paces away and stood with hands on hips, his back to her. A bitterness he'd pushed deep down clawed its way to the surface. "You were never there for me before, Mother. What makes you think I'd confide in you now?"
Her voice was devoid of self-pity. "I don't think you will. I know what I was. A good wife and a
wretched mother."
Justin swung around, surprised by her blunt confession.
"Did you ever ask yourself why your father resented you so much?" she asked.
He stared at the carpet. "Every day. And I always came up with the same answer. There was something wrong with me."
She shook her head. "There was something right with you. Something so shining and bright that it
blinded him with jealousy." He stared at her disbelievingly. "Frank Connor wasn't always the man you knew. He didn't want the business or the title any more than you did. It was like a lead anchor around
his neck, dragging him down. He longed to sail one of those graceful clippers right over the horizon and explore the world. But he didn't have your guts. He didn't have the courage to simply walk away."
Justin stood awash in conflicting emotions as she moved toward him.
"Denying himself his dreams made your father a bitter, mean-spirited old man." She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek, filling his nostrils with the longforgotten comfort of lilac and camphor. "Don't make the same mistake, son."
Justin stood alone, staring at nothing, after his mother had gone. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps it was time to bury the old ghosts and let David rest in peace at last. Perhaps the time had come for him and Emily to seize not only the day, but the morrow as well.
* * *
Emily handed the waiting footman her cloak as she and Lily entered the foyer of the Comtesse Guermond's sumptuous apartments. The drawing room beyond had been decorated in the Greek
Revival style favored over a century ago. Graceful Doric columns mushroomed from polished bases.
A lethargic quartet was playing in the corner. Emily's scalloped train swept the marble floor as they
were ushered into the chattering fray.
The chandeliers sparkled beneath the kiss of winter sunlight streaming through the casement windows. After being smothered in the Gothic gloom of Grymwilde for so long, Emily found the effect dazzling.
As Lily wandered off with a friend, Emily stole a glance behind her, hoping to catch a glimpse of Justin entering. He had ridden alongside their carriage on a handsome bay—a striking sight in his top hat and greatcoat. He had seemed strangely excited all day, his golden eyes warmed by more than their usual glow. The afternoon would be sweet torment indeed. They didn't dare even dance together for fear of revealing themselves. But later, Emily thought, in the still, sweet hours of the night, while the rest of the world slept, their patience would be rewarded. Her cheeks warmed at the thought. Who would have
