Once Again, My Laird

by Angeline Fortin

The thought brought a dull ache to the back of his throat, a sensation he hadn’t felt since before rage and resentment ruled his life. The poignancy of unadulterated love. The blood of his blood. His daughter and grandchild. Hope.

  Blissfully unaware of the raw emotion blanketing the room, Maisie chatted on. “I’m so delighted to meet you at last. As soon as I found out about you, I told Mama we simply had to find you.”

  “How—” Mal cleared his suddenly hoarse voice and tried again. Even Georgie had never shredded his composure to such bits. “How did you find out about me?”

  “I was helping Mama pack in London and found a box with the letters and poems you wrote her. She kept every single one of them, did you know?”

  “Every single one?” Surprise whisked away his sentimental reflections and Mal smirked at Georgie, who was turning a charming shade of pink. “Did she now?”

  “She did,” Maisie continued blithely. “I read some of them. They were lovely. You had such a way with words. Like a bard of old.”

  “They call it a baird in Scotland,” Margo offered.

  “A baird?” Maisie smirked. “Is that so? Mama’s dog is named Baird. That’s quite a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Quite.”

  * * *

  If it were possible to die of humiliation, this was the moment it would happen. Luckily, Mal seemed to dazed to take advantage and tease her mercilessly. However, as guileless as she sounded, Maisie knew precisely what she was saying and what response it would engender. In Mal and in her. It was pure mischief and provocation, a vain attempt to revive the old romance between her and Mal.

  Georgiana had found him and invited him into her home, but that wouldn’t be enough to satisfy Maisie. With one objective achieved, she’d taken on another. Then another. She wouldn’t relent until wedding bells rang. Whether she and Mal wanted them or not.

  In a way, having her play matchmaker was far more humiliating than having strange men trotted through her door. Now, it was Mal.

  And he was visibly enjoying her discomfiture.

  “Tell me more,” he drawled, offering Maisie his arm to escort her to a settee near the front windows. His head bent close to hers, no doubt eager for more details about the many ways Georgiana had clung to his memory over the years.

  “She’s a lovely lass. My granddaughter.”

  Georgiana spun around to find Mal’s mother behind her. “My lady, I—”

  “None of that. Come sit with me, I cannot stand for long anymore.”

  Georgiana guided the older woman to a pair of chairs close to the fireplace and settled her in one before moving to the other.

  “And please call me Margo. We’re practically family, it seems.”

  Georgiana dropped the last few inches to the seat with a start. After assuring herself no one had overheard the statement, she said in a low voice, “She cannot know. I’m sorry, I must insist. For her sake.”

  “Or yours?” Margo questioned softly. “It would be no small thing, even to a duchess’s reputation, to have it made public that you bore your husband another man’s bastard.”

  The harsh barb, similar to the one Mal had made, but somehow more reproachful, made Georgiana wince. Beneath her frail appearance, the elderly lady possessed all the strength of a gale force wind.

  “It is for Maisie’s sake, not my own, that her parentage must remain a secret. No one ever knew beyond my husband and me. And my father.”

  “Not even her true father. It’s a shame he never saw her as a bairn or a wee lass. If we hadn’t discovered the truth, he wouldn’t have ever gotten to know her as a woman either.”

  That was a subject Georgiana wasn’t going to rehash, however it did remind her of one question that remained unanswered.

  “How did he find out about her?”

  “He didn’t. I did.” Margo’s hard tone turned wistful as she considered Maisie fondly. “It was like looking in a mirror fifty years ago when I saw her. It was quite a shock, I tell you. And a bigger one that he knew nothing about her. You tried to hide her from him, even when he meant to reconcile with you. I wonder why?”

  “I would do anything to protect her.”

  “Even deny your own chance at happiness?” Margo held up a hand before Georgiana could argue. “Whatever the case, he deserves a chance to be a father, whether Maisie is aware or not. You owe that to him. Look at him.”

  Mal was helping Maisie rise from the settee, waving away Ardmore’s assistance. With a solicitous hand at the small of her back, he ushered her to view some portraits Maisie gestured to on the adjacent wall. He listened attentively as she spoke about one of the paintings though his gaze never left her, as if he couldn’t bear to turn away from the marvel he’d helped create. The sight yanked hard at her heartstrings, and she had to blink back the tears stinging her eyes.

  For years, she dreamed of witnessing something like this. She’d rock her daughter and imagine Mal doing the same, smiling down at his wee lass with love. Instead, it was Bridgewater who’d coddled and cooed at her. He’d never had to. He’d chosen to and she’d appreciated him all the more for it. They were precious memories.

  But none of them washed away her regret over missing out on moments like this.

  As Maisie grew, Georgiana occasionally noted a small habit or facial expression in her daughter that would remind her of Mal. Seeing them like this, so close to one another, she couldn’t imagine how she ever saw anything else. The curve of their lips, the exact color of their mahogany hair complete with auburn highlights…Heavens, there would be no hiding the fact that they were father and daughter.

  A rush of panic stopped Georgiana cold. She needed to get him out of there. Out of Bath. Out of England.

  Margo’s cool hand patted hers. “Don’t fash yourself, lass. It’s not as obvious to others as it is to a mother. Observe her husband, smiling upon them with ignorant amusement? No one will ever guess. Which is as I suppose it should be. Malcolm will be disappointed he cannot claim her as his own. I think he will agree, though, that it is in her best interest, if not his, to have it so.”

  “Still, it is a risk for him to be here.”

  “A risk you’ll have to accept. I don’t suppose he’ll leave her now that he knows, at least until the bairn is born,” Margo said quietly. “The real question is what other risks are you willing to accept?”

  Georgiana regarded the older woman warily. “What do you mean?”

  Margo sipped her Madeira, observing her over the rim of her glass. “Tell me, why have you never remarried?”

  What an inappropriate and pointed question. If it were anyone else asking something so personal, Georgiana would produce a glacial stare and make them wish themselves a continent away. Somehow she doubted such a look would faze Margo in the least, or make her withdraw the question.

  “It’s simple really,” she said slowly. “Despite how comfortable my marriage to Bridgewater ended up being, I believe marriage should be forged by real love and not gain. And that doesn’t come along every day.”

  “And you’ve never gone searching for it?”

  “Once you’ve known true love, there’s no point in trying to match it, is there?” she asked, unaware her gaze had drifted back to Mal. “Any man would have been compared to him, just as Bridgewater was. It wouldn’t have been fair to another man. Or to me.”

  “So, you do love my son.”

  “Perhaps,” she conceded. “Even if I do, it could not equal what we had before, because we are not the same people we were then. He is not the same man.”

  “No, but in some ways he’s a better man,” Margo said softly. “You might want to consider that and take a chance on my son.”

  “I did once,” she answered. “Twice, if you count me searching him out this summer. A woman can bear a broken heart only so many times.”

  The lady nodded sagely. “Aye, I know well enough. Putting all one’s hopes and faith in a man who does nothing but fail ye again and again…aye, it’s a gamble
. But what if he didn’t fail you this time?”

  What if he didn’t?

  Questions like this were what got her into this mess to begin with.

  “Honestly, my lady, I’m not sure I can take another chance.”

  “But you want to, don’t you?”

  Mal’s rugged features were alight with pleasure, happiness even. Since he’d come back into her life, she hadn’t seen him so content. So…joyful. As if he felt her gaze upon him, Mal lifted his head and winked at her. A familiar yearning tightened her chest.

  Did she want to take another chance?

  Her thoughts were interrupted when her butler, Leighton, cleared his throat from the drawing room door. “His grace, the Duke of Bridgewater.”

  All thoughts of chances fled her mind and Georgiana rose with a broad smile to greet her son. “David! My goodness, what are you doing here? Does no one send a messenger anymore?”

  “Hullo, Mama. London’s been a crashing bore of late. I thought it would be an excellent time to visit.” He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and gave her a hug, then stepped away quickly. “My apologies, I didn’t realize you had company.”

  “It’s all right. I’m so glad you’re here even if it is only because my appeal falls somewhere above London in the off-season. I’ll have another place set.” She called for Leighton and passed on her instructions. When she came back, David was eyeing Mal with…well, she wasn’t certain, but it didn’t seem like curiosity. “Let me introduce you.”

  “Yes, do.”

  * * *

  The ladies excused themselves, clearly intending to leave him at the mercy of Ardmore and young Bridgewater. The door barely closed behind them when David spoke.

  “Ardmore, I believe my sister waved at you. Maybe you should attend her?”

  Besotted lad that he was, Ardmore departed in haste to see to his wife’s needs. It gratified Mal to see it, as he was just beginning to appreciate a father’s protective nature. He finally felt a spurt of compassion and appreciation for what he’d put the Duke of Wharton through when he’d compromised his daughter.

  “So, Glenrothes,” the young duke drawled, tapping his gold signet ring against the tabletop. “It was…”

  He paused when two footmen came into the dining room. One delivered a bottle of port and small cordial glass to David. The other set a single glass and a bottle of Scotch in front of Mal.

  God bless his Georgie. It appeared he was going to need it.

  Though he hadn’t exchanged more than a polite greeting with the lad, Mal noticed David’s penetrating scrutiny of his person several times over the course of the evening. The way he eyeballed Mal unsettled him. Not that the young duke’s general appearance was troubling. With hair as bright red as his mother’s, wide set blue eyes, and a slim youthful build encased in foppishly fashionable clothes, there was little to threaten a larger, more mature man.

  Their drinks were poured for them, the slosh of liquid breaking the thick silence. The duke dismissed the servants and both men drank as the room emptied.

  “I want you to know it was no coincidence I came here tonight,” the younger man continued once they were alone. “In fact, I rode hard all day to be here after I received Maisie’s message yesterday that Mama was having a male guest for dinner. Or more to the point, that she had invited you to dinner.”

  Mal wasn’t certain where the lad was going or how to respond to his statement. “I’m honored to ha’ been invited.”

  His genial response gained a snort in return. Mal took a large swallow of his whiskey. This was going to be interesting.

  “I know who you are.”

  Mal barely managed to swallow the burning liquid before he choked on it. He stared at young Bridgewater in surprise. It took several long moments amid the clamber of his mind for him to break the silence that’d descended over the room.

  “What do ye know?”

  “You needn’t worry about feeling me out,” the lad drawled. “I’ll say it outright. I know who you are to my mother. And more importantly, I know who you are to my sister.”

  Unsure what to say in either affirmation or denial, Mal sipped his Scotch and waited.

  David lost a bit of his haughty veneer. “Father told me before he died. It was a bit of a shocker, however, he thought it my duty to know in case anything went awry.”

  In case Mal came to town with paternal claims and ruined her, was Mal’s interpretation. “I dinnae intend to let anything go awry.”

  “What are your intentions then?”

  David had gotten more from his late grandfather in attitude than appearance. His interrogation was a throwback to Mal’s more uncomfortable confrontations with Wharton, but Mal found himself approving of David’s protective nature. He liked the lad.

  “I intend to quietly be a part of my daughter’s life.”

  “You just met her.”

  Mal shrugged. “That is of nae consequence. She is mine and I would acknowledge to all who would listen if I could. Barring that, I would treat her as my own in private.”

  “You won’t tell her? Maisie can be a bit of a flibbertigibbet.”

  A chuckle, laced with fondness already, escaped him. “So I’ve heard. Though I dinnae think ye gi’ her enough credit. I would wager she’s more shrewd than ye think. Even so, I’ll concede to yer mother’s wishes and willnae say anything. For now.”

  David accepted that with a nod and sipped his port. “And your other intentions?”

  “Wi’ yer mother, I assume? I intend to worship her until the day I die.”

  “Lawfully this time, I hope.”

  “She’s a stubborn lass, yer mother. But aye, if I can convince her, I intend to marry her. Do ye mind?”

  “Not at all. I can see that you care for her. Besides, it’s what Father wanted.”

  That got Mal’s full attention. “What?”

  “He’s known who you are and where to find you for years,” David revealed, then added another bombshell. “My grandfather knew, too. Father loved Mama, and I know she cared for him as well. Alas, he saw himself as an instrument of her sorrow for many years and regretted it. He asked that if you didn’t come sniffing around by the end of her mourning period, I fetch you for her. He wanted her to be happy in the end.”

  “Sounds like yer father was a good man.”

  “The best, and the best for Mama for many years,” David added. “However, I’m willing to give you a chance to match him on that measure.”

  Mal nodded. “And so I shall.”

  “Good then.” The duke swallowed down the remainder of his port and set the glass down with a thunk of satisfaction. “Let’s rejoin the ladies, shall we?”

  “I’ll be right behind ye.” Mal hoisted his half empty glass.

  David left and Mal slowly sipped the remainder of his Scotch, thinking over David’s revelations. A few moments later, boisterous laughter drew him back to the drawing room. He hovered in the doorway, watching Georgie entertain his mother as if they’d known one another for years.

  She was in her element. He’d never seen her so relaxed. The recollection astonished him. The long hours they’d spent alone together had been lively, engaging and often passionate, but never tranquil. Other than that, he’d met her at crowded balls or other social gatherings that challenged her, leaving her drained afterward. Here, those she was comfortable with encircled her, letting her true self shine through. Chatting with unsophisticated animation, sometimes more intensely when someone disagreed with her. Even Margo. Laughing without restraint with Maisie and David. Georgie slouched back in her chair, toying with her wine glass in one hand and idly feeding scraps from the tea tray to Baird, who waited with anxious devotion next to her.

  They all adored her.

  As he did.

  She caught him staring and smiled, bright as the dawn. His heart leapt, his groin clenched, and Mal knew he’d never live a day where the sun didn’t rise and set upon her. Not that she didn’t already, but she’d have his
heart for the rest of his days. Or longer.

  Had he said as much to her yet?

  Och, Lindsay would laugh to see him descend into a soppy fool once again. Would it make him a greater eijit in his friend’s estimation this time or a lesser one?

  It didn’t matter. He was a fool. And being one had cost him years he might have spent with her.

  She’d given him everything. Her body. Her love. She’d made him discover a side of himself he’d never known. The poet. The philosopher.

  He’d become a better person for knowing her. And changed more still for losing her.

  Georgie was right when she said he wasn’t the same man she’d fallen in love with. He wasn’t, Mal realized. And, if one peeled back the attraction and desire that still cloaked them, she wasn’t entirely the same woman he remembered either. They’d both grown. Matured.

  Yet, where the years had dragged on him, they’d elevated his sweet lass to incredible heights. As they dined, he couldn’t help admiring her. Years ago, Georgie had considered herself a bluestocking, reading anything she could get her hands on. Devouring the newssheets, keeping up with politics and science.

  Nothing had changed. She was still intelligent beyond belief, but more mature in her arguments. The depth with which she debated with Ardmore and her son over the unrest in England since the ascension of the former Prince Regent to the throne as King George IV earlier that year were a revelation. Hearing her talk so concisely and knowledgably of the need for reformation in the government, lest England descend into the same sort of revolution undertaken by the colonies, was impressive.

  And irrationally endearing.

  She’d become more thoughtful. Reflective. Without any help from him. Whereas he’d become a better person for knowing her.

  Before, it hadn’t been enough for him. It had been all about his wants and his needs. What made him happy. Selfish bastard that he was, he’d pushed for more than he deserved. Too hard, too fast. So afraid of losing her, he’d held on too tight.

  In doing so, he’d pushed her into an action that cost them the chance to be together.

  Maybe not on his timeline, but eventually, if they’d waited things out like she’d suggested and proved to Wharton their dedication, he might have relented. Fool that he was, Mal wouldn’t have it.