Page 47 of The Scottish Duke
“Good God. What did she say?”
“You mean after the weeping and the gnashing of teeth?”
His uncle smiled. “Yes, after that.”
“She surprised me,” he said. “I think it’s because she’s given up hope of my ever marrying again and she wanted grandchildren. She’s looking forward to the child.”
Thomas stood. “Get rid of the girl.”
“She’s not going anywhere, Thomas,” he said, his annoyance spiking.
“I’ve found that conscience is a damnable task maker. It pokes and prods and reminds me, a good deal, of your mother.”
He was the one to smile now. Louise was the only one who dared to lecture Thomas on his drinking. Or when he tried to be overly friendly with the maids.Thou shalt not bother the staffwas one of her commandments.
He had certainly broken that one, hadn’t he?
At least his uncle hadn’t made that point. It was only a matter of time until it occurred to him.
When his mother upbraided Thomas, the man’s behavior changed, if only for a few weeks. Lately, he’d taken to remaining away from Blackhall more often than not. It was evidently easier than being subjected to Louise’s lectures.
“I’ll take your words under advisement, Uncle.”
“Which means you’ll do no such thing, of course,” Thomas said. “Your father used to say the same thing often enough. Maybe I should use those words to your mother and see if they’re successful.”
Alex didn’t bother hiding his smile. “I doubt it,” he said, “but I’d like to see you try.”
Chapter 13
Lorna was dozing in the overstuffed chair in the cottage’s parlor, the sun warming her and making her as indolent as a kitten. She slept better here with her feet on the needlepoint ottoman than she did in the bed in what she considered the Virgin’s Room.
The dream she was having was lovely. She was sitting on a knoll of earth on a blanket. Her infant son played beside her, intrigued with each of the delicate toes his father praised.
She drew up her legs, wrapped her arms around them and placed her cheek against her knees, watching the two of them. In the depths of her sleeping mind she knew that what she was seeing wasn’t real, just as she sometimes dreamed of her dead father.
Nan said she saw things as she wanted them to be, not as they were. This was most definitely a case of doing exactly that.
This dream could never come true.
The duke would never sit on a blanket and play with a baby. Nor would he ever glance over at her with a look of love in his eyes. She wouldn’t reach out and touch his face with her fingers, trailing a path across his bristly cheek. He most certainly wouldn’t smile at her exploration, grab her hand and kiss her fingertips.
She felt so much love in those moments that she thought she might burst with it.
“Lorna.”
She heard her name, knew she was being called, but she didn’t want to leave her delightful dream.
“Lorna.”
Someone was gently touching her shoulder. Blinking open her eyes, she saw Peter bending over her. A moment later she realized she’d fallen asleep, again, in the parlor.
“Lorna, the duchess is here.”
She blinked up at him, trying to make sense of his words.
“The duchess?”
He nodded, a lock of blond hair falling over his brow.
