Page 32 of The Texan Duke
“You loved him, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” she said softly. “He was my best friend in the whole world. I could tell him anything and I did.”
Her smile was tinged with sadness, but he was glad for it all the same. Her love for Gavin and his for Graham linked them, the knowledge of that connection right for this moment and this place.
“I’m glad you were the one to show me,” he said, realizing it was the truth.
He wouldn’t have been able to hide his shock from his aunt or his cousins. Now he realized he didn’t have to. Yet revealing himself to her didn’t disturb him as much as it probably should have.
She was Elsbeth, and that simple statement explained it all, even though he’d known her for less than a day.
“Did he ever talk about my father?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, startling him. “He often did.”
She was still looking at the portrait, and when he glanced at her, she turned and smiled.
“He told me that he wrote to Graham years ago, but never received an answer. He said that he knew Graham was still alive. He would have felt it, otherwise.”
If his father had ever received a letter from his brother, Graham had never said.
“Why did he leave?” he found himself asking.
Had Gavin told her? Had there been a rift between the brothers? Had his father been disappointed that his twin became the duke? He couldn’t reconcile that idea with the man he’d known. His father had accomplished what few other men had in building the XIV Ranch.
Elsbeth didn’t say anything for a moment and for the first time since he’d met her, the silence wasn’t comfortable. He wanted to draw back the question or reframe it. Or simply turn and walk away. He would go and visit with Glassey once again, do what he could to expedite finding a buyer for Bealadair and the land.
He didn’t need to know the reason why Graham had created his own dynasty in America.
But the war had taught him the true meaning of courage: to stand your ground even when everything in you was fighting to flee.
He didn’t move and he didn’t speak.
She took a few steps to the right, looking at a small portrait he hadn’t seen. This one was half the size of Gavin’s and positioned slightly lower than his.
The woman bore a slight resemblance to Elsbeth, but he couldn’t say why he thought that. They didn’t look like each other. The woman had brown hair instead of black and her eyes were a soft shade of blue.
Perhaps it was something about her pose, seated and facing the artist, her hands folded calmly on her lap, her smile causing the corners of her eyes to crinkle. Perhaps it was her air of studied calm or something more, a sense of peace he got when looking at her.
“This is Marie. She was Gavin’s first wife and Lara’s mother.”
He didn’t say anything, waiting.
“She died in childbirth.”
She glanced over at him and he returned her look.
“A story as old as time itself, Gavin said. Two men in love with one woman. In the end, she chose Gavin. He said your father left Scotland shortly before they were married. The last time he heard from him was when he let Graham know that Marie had died.”
He found himself nodding again.
“You were going to show me the oldest wing,” he said, determined to get back on an even keel.
The reason why his father had left Scotland forty years ago didn’t matter in the end. The lingering sadness of Elsbeth’s words shouldn’t affect him. Nor should he feel this discordance, trying to equate the young man he imagined with the strong, able father of his memory.
Elsbeth nodded, turning and leading him back to the stairs. He followed, wondering if Graham had felt any emptiness in his life. Had he ever thought of Marie? Had he felt envious of his brother, the duke? Not because of his title, but because Gavin had married the woman he loved.
He would never know and maybe that was the source of his discomfort.
