Page 15 of The Scottish Duke
He doubted, however, if issues about money would make her uncomfortable.
She was tapping her fingers together. She still wore her wedding ring despite being a widow for years. He’d asked her about it once, and she only smiled softly.
I’m still married, Alex, even if your father is no longer with me.
He was a widower, but he didn’t feel the devotion for his wife that she had for his father.
“Do you know how much I love you?” she asked now.
Surprised, he only nodded.
“Up until today, I respected you as well. I’ve often thought that God gave you to me to make up for the loss of your brother and sister. No mother could ever have been as proud of you as I was.”
His mother didn’t sound like herself. There was a catch to her voice as if she fought back tears. He sat up straighter, waiting.
“What’s wrong?” he finally asked, when all she did was stare down at something in her lap.
Nothing could have prepared him for the look she gave him then. In her eyes was an emotion he’d rarely seen: disappointment.
“You’re going to be a father, Alex. The father of an illegitimate child.”
“I beg your pardon?”
She smiled thinly at him.
“I know for a fact, Alex, that your hearing is excellent. Perhaps you are just finding it difficult to come up with a reasonable response?”
There was an edge to his mother’s voice that he’d never before heard. But, then, he’d never been accused of fathering an illegitimate child. Her words, however, were right on the mark. Surprise rendered him mute.
“The girl is a former maid. I can’t help but wonder if the reason we are losing so many maids has something to do with you. Have you been lascivious with more than one?”
He felt like he was in short pants once again, being chastised because he had taken one of cook’s biscuits without permission. The back of his neck was heating.
“I have never bedded one of the maids, Mother, and I’m disappointed that you might think so.”
“I’m sure that tone works well with other people, Alex, but I’m not impressed by the ducal frostiness.”
She held up a letter. “The girl’s name is Lorna Gordon. She is due to give birth shortly. Evidently, she’s living in Wittan Village.”
“I’ve never heard the name,” he said. “I don’t know her.”
“At the risk of stating the obvious, son, she evidently knows you.”
“Is that what she says?”
He strode to stand in front of her chair and extended his hand. She held up the letter and he read it.
“It isn’t signed.”
“No. Does that make the accusation invalid?”
“It’s an extortion scheme, nothing less. I don’t know this Lorna person.”
His mother looked away from the needlework frame and stared off into space, her hand suspended in midair, the needle pointing toward the fabric she was embroidering.
“I remember her. She’s a beautiful girl and so sweetly natured. I was disappointed when she left Blackhall. Mrs.McDermott thought highly of her, plus she made the most wonderful comfrey balm.”
“Balm?”
