Page 19 of Beware A Wallflower's Wrath
“My guess is Mrs. Porter left it upstairs. I’ll run up.”
Robert caught her arm. “You’ve been working too hard, and now you’re out of breath. May I go up and search for it?”
A hand went to Aileen’s chest, and she nodded. “That would be wonderful. Look in the parlor. She usually reads there. The door should be unlocked. We don’t worry about the one connected to the shop since we bolt the shop entrance.”
He went up the stairs and entered Annis’s home. He breathed in the scent of Annis and home, making him just as giddy as the smell of musty old tomes. He peeked into the kitchen, reliving their kiss and farewell. In the parlor, a chaise longue sat under the window. Two chairs were arranged around a coal-burning stove, and on the cushion of one, he found the book. He picked it up and turned to leave. The sun slanted through the window, glinting off a frame. There were several miniatures on a shelf. He recognized her aunt in one. Another must have been her father, for they had the same shape eyes and chin. A third portrait was of a boy about ten with light hair.
Her son, he thought. He was a handsome boy, reminded him of… The book fell to the floor with a thud.
He blinked, staring at the miniature as his thoughts churned. He picked it up and blinked again. His mouth went dry. The boy looked like Robert at the same age. He felt as if he’d taken a hard blow to the gut.
CHAPTER 8
Maybe she’d married someone whose appearance was similar to the man she had loved? But even as the words entered his brain, he dismissed it. A combination of anger and sadness gripped his chest, squeezing his lungs.
Breathe. Don’t jump to conclusions.
Yet it was hard to dismiss the image. He set the portrait down and picked the book up from the carpet. He sucked in a giant gulp of air, righted his waistcoat, and pasted on a smile before returning to the shop.
“Thank ye, Lord Robert. My old legs couldna have carried me up those stairs so quickly.” She took the novel, wrote down the title and name of the borrower in the ledger, and handed it to Mrs. Gelliman. “The latest La Belle Assemblée should arrive by the end of the week.”
“Wonderful. I’m excited to see what the Paris fashion will be for summer’s end.” The lady took her book and exited the shop, waving to Robert as she passed.
As the women conversed, he sat, trying to make sense of the chaotic scenarios swirling in his brain. It might be a coincidence. Perhaps the artist had not painted a true likeness. How old was the boy now? But Robert would know if he could see the lad in person. But how did he broach this subject to Mrs. Douglas?
He needed to organize his thoughts before he brought up the boy’s parentage. He collected his hat, waved a silent goodbye to Aileen, and headed back to his rooms.
Robert settled in front of the same window with the same bottle of brandy he had opened the day he’d seen Annis. He didn’t overindulge, but he found the alcohol allowed him to relax and his mind wander, to consider what-ifs.
What had the Bow Street Runner’s report read, concerning Annis’s son?
The child, Finlay Porter, is a male approximately twelve to fourteen years of age. He is tall, slender, with light hair and hazel eyes.
If Finlay was fourteen, then he would be Robert’s son. If younger, Robert was not the father, and he had nothing to consider. But could Annis have become pregnant when they had been together only once? He assumed it was a possibility. And if so, why had she not told him when he returned?
Because you told her you were breaking off the betrothal.
Annis was a proud woman. She would never have begged him to keep his word if he didn’t want to. Or couldn’t. Perhaps she hadn’t known at the time, had found out later. If he was already betrothed to another—or worse, already married—she would have seen no reason to write to him. Unless she needed money. Again, Annis would have been too proud to ask.
And too stubborn.
Why hadn’t he asked? Robert dropped his head back against the velvet chair pad, listening to the creak of wheels and clip clop of horse hooves below. Voices floated up to him as he closed his eyes and pictured Annis and her son. His son?
What would he do if Finlay Porter was really Finlay Harding? How would it affect his relationship with Anthony? While Anthony was growing into a good man, he had been raised as a legitimate son. Would he look down on Finlay? Perhaps the time had come to be honest with Anthony too.
Robert chuckled at the thought of telling his father, watching the marquess’s face turn a mottled red, cursing his third son, and sending him to the devil.
No, he was putting the cart before the horse.
His conundrum wouldn’t be solved until Annis returned to Glasgow, or he journeyed to Dunderave. He sobered, knowing what kind of welcome he might receive with a sudden appearance in the Highlands. Finlay might still be left without a father.
Summer Solstice
Dunderave, Highlands
“Ma, have ye ever seen a brawer bonfire?” asked Fin, staring up at the flames licking the night sky. Sparks shot off, throwing flashes of red and yellow against the midnight blue. “Grandda, I dinna ken how ye managed to make it grander this year.”
“Ye say that every year, lad.” Jamie Craigg slapped his grandson on the shoulder. He was a tall man with dark curly hair and steel-gray eyes. “It’s a wee daunting to try to outdo myself each summer solstice.”
