Page 57 of Lord of Fortune
Chapter 10
The familiar faceof his childhood home—well, part of his childhood—greeted Penn as his coach rumbled to a stop in the drive. His father called Hollyhaven a cottage, but it was rather larger than that. With its mullioned windows and ivy-covered stone, it was the most charming home Penn had ever seen. When he’d come to live here, he’d thought he’d been transported to a fairy tale.
But then his father had been the real reason for that. Followed quickly by his mother, since they’d wed soon after his arrival. No matter how old he was or how far he traveled, he always looked forward to coming home.
He didn’t wait for Egg to open the door before stepping out of the coach. Already, the door to the house opened to reveal his smiling mother, her honey-blonde hair still devoid of any white or gray.
Instead of hastening to the entry, he went to Amelia’s coach. He didn’t care what she’d said that morning. Shehadbeen angry, and he was willing to wager she’d been jealous too.
However, any pleasure he might have felt at her emotional response was tempered by her insistence that they return to their original arrangement—that of professional partners and nothing more.
And why was he upset by that?Hewas the one who’d put an end to their embrace last night.Hewas the one who was terrified of settling down.
Wait, terrified?
Before he could answer that thought, Amelia’s coachman helped her down, beating Penn to the door. Penn awaited her descent and couldn’t help but think she was even lovelier now than she had been that morning. Blonde curls peeked from beneath the rim of her bonnet, and her green eyes shone like gemstones in the bright afternoon sun.
He offered her his arm. “Come, I’ll introduce you to my parents.”
Guiding her to the door, Penn saw that his father had joined his mother. Rhys Bowen was tall, dark eyed, and dark haired with the same dark Welsh complexion as Penn. They looked enough alike that no one questioned whether Penn was his blood son. Indeed, among the handful of people who knew the truth, most of them commented that Penn looked as though he was. Though Penn knew it was impossible, it still gave him comfort.
Margery Bowen smiled broadly as they approached. “Penn, we’re so glad to see you.” Her gaze moved to Amelia. “Welcome.” She glanced toward her husband and murmured, “It seems our children keep bringing home members of the opposite sex…”
Penn’s sister, Cate, had brought her now-husband, Lord Norris, here several weeks ago. Apparently, he’d assured the Bowens that his relationship with Cate was purely nonromantic. Clearly, that had been a lie. In this case, however, Penn could make the same claim and be assured that it was, at least right now, completely accurate.
“Mother, Father, allow me to present Mrs. Amelia Gardiner Forrest.” Penn included her family name on purpose.
As expected, Father’s brows arched with interest. “Gardiner? As in Jonathan Gardiner? Did your…grandfather, I would think, discover the Heart of Llanllwch?”
She nodded. “He did, indeed.” She dipped a curtsey. “I’m pleased to meet you both.”
“Come in, come in.” Mother stepped to the side and gestured for them to move into the coolness of the entry hall.
“Would you prefer to rest, or can I tempt you to join us for tea in my study?” His father’s hopeful tone matched the anticipation in his gaze.
Penn looked toward Amelia in question. He’d join his parents, but he wanted her to do as she pleased.
She smiled at his parents. “Tea would be lovely.”
Father led them into his study, which was situated just off the entry hall. It was a large room dominated by a long table that was always covered with books or manuscripts or odd ends of paper as his father completed translations.
Amelia’s gaze roved the bookshelves climbing the walls, the ornate desk at the opposite end, and, of course, the table in the center. “My grandfather would have loved this,” she said softly, almost reverently.
“I’m sorry I didn’t know him, or I would have invited him to visit,” Father said. “We’ll sit over here for tea.” He indicated the furniture arranged in front of the window that faced the drive.
Amelia didn’t immediately move to sit down. Instead, she surveyed a medieval manuscript that lay open on the table, its illuminations vividly striking.
Father stood next to her. “This is from the fourteenth century.”
“Is that Welsh?” she asked.
“Medieval, yes,” Father said, flicking a glance toward Penn. “My son can translate it for you, if you like.”
She darted a look at Penn, and he saw the question there. He gave an infinitesimal nod.
“How wonderful to be able to read that.” Her tone was rather wistful. “I’m afraid I can only read and speak French.”
“I have many French romances, if you’d care to read them,” Father offered. He was always keen to share his library. “It might be slightly challenging if they’re older, but Penn or I could help.”
