Page 12 of The Major's Mistake
“I—”
“I haven’t finished yet,” snapped Lady Thornton, wagging a thin finger under his nose. “You will give me your word as a gentleman here and now that you will never attempt to take Justin away from his mother.”
Julian’s lips pressed together.
“In return, I will seek to convince Miranda that you should have the right to become acquainted with your son.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then we will return at once to Scotland, where as you well know, English courts have no jurisdiction. Think on it carefully, sir, if you wish to have any contact with Justin before he reaches manhood.” The sparks in her eye left little doubt as whether her threat was an idle one.
Julian’s jaw tightened and he looked away to stare into the fire. It seemed like an age before he gave her an answer.
“Very well,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “You have my word.”
She nodded with grim satisfaction. “So I understand you to mean you will not seek to remove Justin from his mother, be it through the courts or other means?”
“Yes.”
Her breath came out in a long sigh. “Well, now that that is settled, I shall ask Miranda to come in so that we begin to work things out in a manner befitting rational adults.”
She rose and left Julian seething in self-righteous anger, returning a short time later with Miranda, who looked equally unhappy. The marquess couldn’t help but notice that she refused to look at him as she walked stiffly to one of the wingchairs and took a seat. Even on facing him, she kept her eyes averted, as if some detail of the old oriental carpet held a particular fascination.
“Miranda has agreed to discuss what arrangements might be acceptable,” began Lady Thornton. A glance at the two young people showed only deep antagonism and mistrust etched on both their faces. It was going to take all of her considerable skills to bring about any sort of mutual agreement. With an inward sigh, she continued. “Have either of you a suggestion for how to proceed?”
Julian’s jaw tightened.
Miranda merely shook her head. “Perhaps you might have an idea,” she said, so softly that her aunt could barely hear.
Lady Thornton drew a deep breath, and replied, “I do.” She turned to her nephew. “Julian, do wish my opinion?”
He gave a curt nod.
“It seems to me that a fair way to begin would be to allow Julian to take Justin for an occasional afternoon each week while he is in residence here?—”
“I cannot agree to having Justin enter His Lordship’s home. It might cause undue comment, and I won’t have my son exposed to any hint of scandal,” protested Miranda.
“Then perhaps we could agree that Julian will take him, say, for a ride in the country. That surely can be explained by saying my nephew is simply being kind to a relative of mine.”
“I—I suppose that would be acceptable,” she murmured.
“I should like him three days—” countered Julian.
“One is quite?—”
“It is not necessary for either of you to shout,” broke in Lady Thornton. “Let us try to act as civilized adults.” Both of them looked rather shame-faced as she fixed them with a stern look. “Two days is reasonable,” she announced. “Shall we say, Monday and Thursday.”
Neither of them voiced an argument, though the tension in the air was growing more palpable with each passing moment.
“His lessons are not to be disrupted, so it must be after his luncheon—not before one o’clock. And he must be back for tea,” said Miranda. “Furthermore, His Lordship is on no account to tell Justin that he is his …” Her words faltered. “He’s too young to understand.”
Lady Thornton looked to her nephew, whose expression had turned unreadable. “Julian, I have to say that I agree with this. Your son’s well-being must come before all else.”
That Miranda’swishes were entirely reasonable was beside the point. The events of the past few days had buffeted Julian’s emotions to the point where he was ready to lash out at any provocation.
It was that last straw that she had the gall to act angry with him! After all, it washewho was the injured party.
“Anything else?” he demanded with scathing politeness. “Perhaps I might be permitted to buy my son some decent garments.” His eyes raked over Miranda’s worn gown and a sneer crossed his lips. “What has happened to you, living up there in the wilds? You used to have impeccable taste—now you look … little better than a scullery maid.”
