Page 102 of The Devil of Clan Sinclair
Hannah’s brow furrowed. In a few years she would look as fierce as Brianag.
“Go, then,” he said. “If you can’t help me, then just leave.”
He was turning back to the window when she spoke.
“I think she was ill with worry about Elliot first. Especially when Eudora died.”
He turned to face her. “Eudora?”
“Her sister-in-law. Everyone was frightened after that.”
“I didn’t know,” he said.
“There’s a lot you don’t know.”
He speared a hand through his hair. “Then why don’t you tell me?”
“Why, sir?”
“Because I need to understand,” he said, answering her when he’d no intention of doing so. “Because I have to understand.”
Just when he thought she was going to remain stubbornly silent, she started to speak. “She was very sick,” Hannah said. “She called for you sometimes, in the worst of it.”
How easily she said the words that went through him like a spear.
“Did she come to Scotland to get herself with child?” he asked, a suspicion that had been niggling at him since he’d entered the nursery to find he was a father.
Hannah moved to sit on the chair beside the window. A cheeky maid, but perhaps more than that. Virginia’s protector. Her guardian when he’d not been there.
“Let me tell you about Enid,” she said. “And the errand she sent the countess on a year ago.”
When she was done, he asked, “Will you be telling her about my questions?”
Hannah looked as if she were considering the matter. Finally, she shook her head.
“It’s none of my business, sir. I’ll not be aiding your cause or taking away from it. The two of you need to find common ground without other people meddling any more than they have.”
He dismissed Hannah finally, turning back to the window to find Virginia was no longer in sight.
If he were wise, he’d pretend she hadn’t come to Drumvagen again. If he were truly astute, he’d avoid her while she was here, or shorten her visits so she didn’t remain as long. Nor would he enter the nursery as long as she was there.
He’d seen Virginia’s many emotions, but had never been as fascinated with her as when she cared for their son. Her soft crooning shouldn’t have enthralled him as it did. Her laughter when Alistair patted her face should not make him want to lean over and kiss her soundly.
What kind of father was jealous of his own son? When she looked at Alistair, softness in her eyes, her lips curving in a smile, he wanted her to look at him like that.
She confused him, interested him, and he thought about her too much. He should have sent her back to London days ago. Why hadn’t he?
Was it because of her tears when she’d held Alistair? Or her stubborn refusal to leave their son?
Or was it because he was still in love with her? If so, he was ten times a fool.
Even though she’d been on her sickbed, she traveled to Scotland.
She’d climbed down a damn cliff to be with their son.
Yes, but she wasn’t above being duplicitous.
And so it went, two people living in his mind, each of them set on a certain viewpoint. One of them told him to dismiss her from Drumvagen as soon as possible. The other urged compassion and empathy.
