Page 58 of A Bonny Pretender
She nodded. “Before ye start ranting—”
“You rant, I do not.” His jaw clenched as he thought of the imminent confrontation. “If he didn’t want to acknowledge me, why in the hell would he come to my estate?”
“He never said that. He said he needed time,” Brigid reminded him. “I believe he wants to talk with his son.”
Frank grunted. “We’ll see. I don’t appreciate my wife and sister plotting behind my back.”
“We did no such thing. Lord Brecken arranged it with Sir Horace. Evie only learned of the change in plans when she received her husband’s correspondence.”
“Which arrived when?”
He had to grin at the guilt that flooded her face.
“A week ago?” she answered as if unsure. “We worried if ye found out too soon, ye might make arrangements to be gone when he arrived.”
Frank nodded. “I might have.” He closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of Brigid’s fingers running through his hair. “I don’t know what my reaction will be if he rejects me this time. In truth, I don’t care as long as I have my loving wife. You make my life bright, a blue sky with no clouds on the horizon.”
“If the two of ye canna come to terms, I will never ask this of ye again. But remember, he will be grandfather to our children.” She held his face in her hands. “I want them to knowallof their family.”
He couldn’t fault her reasoning and hoped she was right. He’d suffered so much as a child, endured his stepfather’s belittling, that he hesitated to give his real father the opportunity to strike him down again. Yet, Brigid had some kind of internal magic, some secret whisper that seemed to always turn his world right side up. She’d already helped him come to terms with his mother’s actions. The knot no longer formed in his stomach when he visited her grave. Brigid accompanied him each Sunday; they spoke of his childhood and the time after his stepfather’s death, worked through the haunting childhood memories. As the weeks progressed, he found the warmth and affection returning as he remembered his mother. His wife had much to do with it.
Ye canna embrace the future until ye accept the past,she had told him the first time they’d gone to the cemetery together. He supposed that included confronting his father.
“I have to go into the village today. I should be back late this afternoon.” He sat up and swung his legs over the mattress. “Will you accompany me?”
“May I ride astride?”
“Don’t you always?” He laughed, surprised the tension in his gut was already easing.
“Aye, but I always ask.” She rose on her knees and stretched, her peaks still swollen and pushing through her nightrail.
Frank put his hands on the mattress and leaned over to kiss each one through the thin fabric. “True, but what would happen if I said no?”
“Do ye want to find out, mon?” she challenged, a glint in her eye as she twisted her thick auburn curls into a knot on her head.
He barked out a laugh. “No, I don’t believe I do, Lady Raines.”
*
Frank handed offthe reins to the stableboy. Brigid had decided not to accompany him, worried she wouldn’t be home to receive their guest. “Have any visitors arrived?”
“Aye, my lord. A gentleman rode in about an hour ago.”
Hell and damnation.He’d hoped something had delayed or canceled Sir Horace’s trip. There was nothing for it. He entered the house, and the butler informed him there was a visitor in the drawing room. Frank went to his quarters and changed from his riding clothes. He didn’t know if this meeting would be short or drawn out, so he’d best refresh himself first.
Dressed in a somber brown coat and fawn trousers, Frank stood outside the door. Evie and Brigid’s laughter floated through the oak door. A deep voice, and another bout of laughter. He straightened his shoulders, took a deep breath, and entered the room. The silence was immediate, and three pairs of eyes focused on him.
It was a jolt to see Sir Horace again. Silver eyes studied him, then the man rose and came forward, his hand out.
“Lord Raines, may I thank you for your hospitality?” Sir Horace smiled, his tone sincere.
“It’s my pleasure,” Frank responded without thinking.
He took his father’s right hand in a firm grip and they shook. The older man’s left hand covered Frank’s also, and they stood there awkwardly. When Frank pulled his hand back, Sir Horace blinked, his eyes shining. Frank swallowed the lump in his throat, wondering at the emotion swirling through him. This first handshake was more affection than his stepfather had ever shown him. The mere act of Franklin adding both hands to their handshake had made the act more personal, more intimate than any interaction with the late viscount. He blew out a breath, and his gaze searched out Brigid.
“We were just learning of Mr. Wilkens’ latest adventure,” his wife said, laughing. “It seems a lady has him practicing poetry and attending Almack’s.”
This was a humorous distraction. “Charles? Are we speaking of the same man who told me a few months ago that marriage was a plague to be avoided?”
