by Mary Balogh
He picked up the quill pen again, though he did not resume his seat, and turned it in his hand, brushing the feather across his palm.
He loved his firstborn son with a dull ache of longing. But he wished all this had not happened to churn up pointless emotions—Gil’s sudden appearance in London with a wife, terrified that he might lose his daughter forever if the judge ruled against him; Charles seeing his son for the first time across that small courtroom where the hearing had been held, the Westcott family in their rows of chairs between them; the stiff, awkward breakfast meeting the following morning at Gil’s hotel, arranged by Gil’s wife; the almost certain knowledge that they would never see each other again.
Matilda.
He wished he did not feel angry with her, irritated with her for aging and making him want to lash out at someone or something for a reason he could not even fathom.
Passion was for young men. He resented the strong emotions that had been coming at him from all directions during the past few weeks. His life, at least for the previous ten years or so, had been on the placid side as he surrendered to middle age, prepared to enjoy his grandchildren, and rejoiced in how well his children were settling into meaningful lives. His relative contentment with life had included his firstborn, who had survived the unimaginable brutality of the Napoleonic wars.
He did not want strong emotions to erupt now at his age.
He did not want to have to look again into the wounded eyes of his younger son, who had just discovered the existence of an older half brother. He did not want to have to tell Barbara and Jane, and that was an understatement.
He did not want to go to this infernal dinner at Riverdale’s house on South Audley Street. He did not want to have to talk about Gil with the Westcotts. He did not want to spend an evening in company with Matilda.
Especially that. In fact, without that, the dinner would be merely an inconvenience.
He had loved her . . .
But it was all foolishness.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Mary Balogh has written more than one hundred historical novels and novellas, more than thirty of which have been New York Times bestsellers. They include the Bedwyn saga, the Simply quartet, the Huxtable quintet, the seven-part Survivors' Club series, and the Westcott series.
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