“Alastair’s was prettier.”
His father looked up. “But not as pretty as yours.”
“For which I thank the Lord daily.” Colin looked his father in the eye, trying to dig in his own soul to find the forgiveness he knew God wanted him to extend. He couldn’t find it. “Why did you do it?”
Eyelids wrinkled and lined from years on the sea slid closed over sad blue eyes. Jaime aged before Colin’s eyes, the anger seeping out along with what seemed to remain of the old man’s strength. “It doesn’t matter.” He sank back into his chair. The look on his face was resigned as the eyes opened once more. “You’ve done well for yourself. Living all fancy in London, like a proper gentleman.”
Colin considered throwing the teacup. Didn’t Jaime owe him some answers after all these years? Colin wanted to lash out, demand that the old seaman explain what he’d been thinking, why he’d been willing to take such a risk, even if on a pretty hand of cards.
Before Colin could figure out a way to say what he so desperately wanted to, his father stood. The movements were slow and looked painful. “For what it’s worth, son, I’m glad you were there that day.”
Colin said the only thing he could, the only thing that kept running through his mind. “Why did you do it?” It came out as a whisper this time, and in truth, he didn’t expect any more of an answer than he had received moments earlier.
Jaime was silent for a moment before a ghost of a smile curled around the wrinkles at the corners of his lips. “Did you know Alastair sent his future son-in-law down to university in Cambridge? Not that he’s getting a benefit from that. The couple moved inland after they married. He’s a barrister over in Edinburgh now.”
With a look around the drawing room, Jaime laughed. “Not doing nearly as well as you. I doubt it means much, but I’m proud of you.”
Colin didn’t want it to mean anything. He wanted to explore the niggling idea that Jaime had bet the business in hopes of increasing his cash holdings in order to look better than Alastair. But as much as he wanted to think of the man as Jaime, he was still his father. The tinges of red and brown in his greying curls were the same color Colin saw in the mirror. The blue eyes, faded by years of squinting on the sea, were so very similar to Colin’s own. This man was still his father, and what he thought was still important.
One mistake. The man had made one mistake, and it had cost him a quarter of his company and a third of his family. Could Colin really fault the man for a single mistake? When he’d made so many himself?
Jaime headed for the door, his steps spry, even though he looked old and weary. The weight of unspoken remorse, perhaps, rather than age?
Was there a chance this could be mended after all? Colin swallowed against the emotion in his throat, so thick he couldn’t quite name it—wasn’t sure he wanted to, because he was fairly certain part of it was guilt for his own part in the separation.
“Da,” he said quietly.
Jaime stopped but didn’t turn around. “Your mother has them set your place at the table every night.”
Colin would not cry. The empty place setting had been a tradition growing up. Whenever Jaime was away at sea, his place at the table would still be set. Colin’s mother always said it was because even though he wasn’t there, he was still family.
It was as close as Jaime was going to come to asking Colin to return home. But Colin couldn’t ignore what had happened. Perhaps if he came to understand what had motivated his father he could find the first steps toward forgiveness.
“If I come to Scotland, do you think . . . I’d like for us to talk about that day. I deserve that much. We all do.” Had Jaime ever told his wife what had happened? What had she thought when Colin’s letter had been the only part of him to return from that last trip?
Father turned enough to look Colin in the eye, a glimmer of hope making the wrinkled face a little less sad. “I suppose you do.”
Both stood there, still as statues, each lost in his own thoughts. Was his father thinking about the implications of Colin’s return to Scotland? Was he considering how reuniting his family could come at the cost of his position as head of the largest shipping company in Scotland? Because while Colin might be ready to come home, might even be ready to forgive his father, he wasn’t going to let things return to the way they once had been.
It was painfully obvious as Jaime left the house that a return to the old way was what he wanted, because of all the things his father hadn’t said, the fact that he hadn’t offered Colin a position at Celestial Shipping left the largest hole.
“Isn’t he handsome? He had a new piano shipped in from Italy.”
Georgina bit the inside of her lip to keep her mouth from dropping open at Jane’s simpering declaration. While Georgina was thankful her friend’s fascination with Lord Howard seemed to have waned, it appeared the fool woman had learned nothing from her escapade. She’d become enamored with the equally as worthless Mr. Givendale. “He’s up to his ears in gambling debt,” Georgina mumbled.
Jane’s eyes widened. “How do you know?”
“Because he’s dancing. Last week I was returning from the ladies’ retiring room and I heard them banning him from the card room until he’d made good on his IOUs. Since he’s dancing tonight, I assume he has yet to return to those gentlemen’s good graces.” Georgina flicked her fan, enjoying the brief respite from dancing. When had the balls turned into such tedium? Was it the worry that accompanied them? Each event was one day closer to the end of the Season and one less opportunity to secure her future.
“So you think I shouldn’t—”
“Exactly.” Georgina cut Jane off. She refused to run after the girl again. “Or at least require him to marry you in a church this time.”
Jane had the decency to blush.
“Pardon, Lady Georgina, but the gentleman asked me to give you this.”
Georgina turned to the footman at her side, extending a silver platter with a folded piece of paper on it. Had Ashcombe sent her another note? Was the man incapable of crossing a room? She’d done nothing this evening that could possibly draw his censure. She took the paper and stuffed it in her glove. “Thank you.”
Jane looked from Georgina’s glove to her face, which Georgina hoped was exuding serenity and not panic. “Aren’t you going to read it?”
Georgina cut her eyes to look at her friend. “Honestly, Jane, anyone who hasn’t the time to cross the room and talk to me in person does not deserve my immediate attention.”
“But aren’t you curious?”
Thankful that Jane was still as predictable as ever, Georgina made a production of sighing and considering her friend. “No.” She slid the note from her glove. “But if it bothers you so much, feel free to read it.”
Wide blue eyes met Georgina’s as delicate fingers wrapped around the folded paper.
Georgina waited while Jane opened the paper. She immediately squealed and clapped one hand over her mouth to stop the sound. She looked up at Georgina. “It’s from Lord Ashcombe.”
She’d figured as much. If the man insisted on relaying every communication through written correspondence, she might have to reconsider his suit. Frustration that she would be right back where she was at the beginning of the Season—only without a list of prospects—made her want to rip the paper from Jane’s fingers, but she maintained an appearance of nonchalance until Jane finished reading the infernal note.
Jane gasped again before gritting her teeth to hold back another squeal. “He wants to you to meet him.” She nudged Georgina in the arm. “Things must be going well with the earl.”
Georgina rolled her eyes and retrieved the paper. Things were going well with the earl but not well enough for her to risk her reputation on a clandestine meeting on the terrace or, worse, in the garden. He would simply have to do his courting in front of everyone else like a normal gentleman.
She tucked the paper back in her glove and smiled at Jane. “If he wants to speak to me, he shall have
to find me. I am not a servant to be summoned. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve promised this next dance to Lord Eversly.”
Jane almost swooned at the mention of the handsome viscount. Georgina left to await her partner, trying her best to push the note from her mind.
Lord Ashcombe whirled Georgina across the floor in her first waltz of the evening. Georgina gave herself over to the music and movement, enjoying the fact that the earl did not speak for the first circle of the dance floor. As they rounded the corner, he broke the silence. “Did you receive my note?”
Georgina’s eyes widened. That was how he chose to open the conversation? No words of how nice it was to see her or how beautiful she looked tonight? She was even wearing her most flattering ball gown. She’d been saving it for when she felt it time to encourage her chosen man to take the next steps. Ashcombe was moving considerably slower than she’d expected him to.
“Yes,” she said carefully. “Your note was delivered.”
He frowned. “And you ignored it?”
Georgina smiled, knowing the things that would be said if anyone noticed both of them frowning at each other. “I am not a servant to be summoned, my lord.” The line had impressed Jane. Maybe it would have a similar effect on Lord Ashcombe.
“And I am not a man to be ignored.”
Not impressed, then.
The flowing music washed over Georgina as she waited for Lord Ashcombe to continue. It was probably best to wait for him to direct the conversation. He didn’t seem to be in any rush to do so, choosing instead to look out over her head as they continued twirling their way down the floor.
“I have limited time to spend here this evening. My request was reasonable.”
What could she say to that? All she knew was he’d requested she meet him. Had there been anything else in the note of import? She had assumed it was for a private meeting, but what if it wasn’t? A response was required, if the growing irritation in his angry face was any indication. She erred on the side of vagueness. “I have my reputation to consider, my lord.”
His eyebrows rose as he spun Georgina with extra vigor. “Your reputation?”
Georgina swallowed and made an effort to look bored with the entire thing. His reaction meant the meeting location had probably been appropriate, even if his summoning her was not entirely so. Haughty disdain had helped her brazen through more than one difficult situation, though never with as particular a subject matter as this one. One misstep on her part and he would know she hadn’t read his note.
Such inconsideration on her part could have him dropping his courtship of her entirely. The edges of her slight frown trembled. Her eyes burned on the edge of panicked tears. She cleared her throat. Now was not the time to fall apart. She’d stared down governesses in the schoolroom, peers at poetry readings, and more than one hostess who had requested she sing at the pianoforte. Surely she could face down one partially besotted earl. “My lord, this is better than a secluded meeting, is it not? Much better to be seen in the midst of the crush so that everyone knows the man I have a preference for.”
A little bit of a lift to a man’s ego never hurt either.
His eyes narrowed. “I agree. Much better than a clandestine meeting on the terrace.”
So he had requested her to meet him on the terrace.
“As I said, my lord, I have a reputation to consider.”
They danced on in silence for a time, but the enjoyment was gone. To everyone else they looked as graceful as always, but Georgina was well aware of the stiffness in his arms. As the dance drew to a close, Lord Ashcombe bowed over her hand. “Have you the note still?”
“But of course.” They were still talking about that blasted note? Lord Ashcombe was quickly becoming more than she wanted to deal with. Was there someone else—anyone else—who could save her from herself?
“Perhaps you should have taken the time to read it, then.” His gritted teeth made the words tight, but she understood them clearly.
“My lord?” Sweat trickled down Georgina’s back. Noise from the ball swirled around her, filling her ears and making her dizzy. Or was that due to her racing heart?
“May I see the note?”
She pulled it from her glove as they reached the edge of the ballroom. He opened it and extended it back to her.
His eyebrows were arched high, his gaze was hard.
Georgina swallowed and looked at the paper. It could have been the fact that the paper shook slightly in his extended hand, or that panic surged through her chest, or the lighting that was dim enough to cause deep shadows across the earl’s body. It could have been any number of things, but the fact was Georgina couldn’t make out the first thing on the paper. Even the scribblings that she knew made up her name refused to come into any kind of focus.
What was she going to do? She swallowed hard. “I see.”
Only she didn’t see. She didn’t see a thing, and if this conversation continued, Lord Ashcombe would know that something was very, very wrong. She plucked the paper from his fingers, folded it, and slid it back into her glove.
His eyes narrowed further. “You did not care for my request to meet you in the garden?”
Garden? Hadn’t he said terrace a moment ago? Was he actually testing her? Georgina swallowed, darting her eyes sideways to find an escape. She had to reassert her power in this relationship. “The fact remains, my lord, that I do not care to be summoned. Next time I request you take the time to cross the room if you wish to speak with me.”
Mr. Sherbourne crossed the corner of her vision. A pang of guilt struck her even as she opened her mouth. “And there is Mr. Sherbourne.”
The man spun toward her with shock evident on his face.
“So it is.” Lord Ashbourne’s eyes narrowed even further, becoming little more than menacing slits.
“I’ve promised the next dance to him.”
“You have?” both men asked at the same time.
Georgina gave Mr. Sherbourne her best smile. “Of course.”
“Of course. Yes.” Mr. Sherbourne tripped over his feet as he offered Georgina his arm.
Georgina sighed as she escaped to the dance floor. As she curtsied to her partner, she glanced over to the side of the dance floor where Lord Ashcombe still stood, watching her with a thoughtful look on his face.
The dance seemed to go on for hours. As soon as Mr. Sherbourne escorted her to the side, she pled a headache and had Trent take her home. It wasn’t a complete lie. The heavy beating of her heart was sending shooting pains through her head and neck that would soon render her incapacitated with pain.
Georgina couldn’t meet Harriette’s worried eyes as she pulled the gloves free of her hands. Lord Ashcombe’s note fluttered to the carpet.
Harriette picked it up and unfolded it. “What’s this?”
Groaning, Georgina fell back onto the bed, eager to relieve the pressure in her head. “A note from Lord Ashcombe asking me to meet him on the terrace.”
“The terrace?” Harriette’s voice was shaky enough to convince Georgina to pry her eyelids open and look at the maid.
“It’s not?”
Two slow shakes of Harriette’s head sent dread crawling across Georgina’s skin, skittering along her spine until it pooled in her throat, making it difficult to breathe.
Harriette held up the note. “He wanted you to come to the refreshment table.”
Chapter 25
How was it that an idea could seem completely wrong a mere two hours after it looked completely right?
Colin ran a hand over his face as he stared into the cup of untouched coffee in front of him. Alastair had asked him to find a manager for his shipping company. This morning Colin had sent him a letter confirming that he would have someone en route to Alastair’s office by the end of next week.
As there were no known prospects for the position other than himself, he’d all but committed himself to returning to Scotland. He hadn’t been able to put that down on paper though. Writing it
down felt too much like a contract, an agreement he couldn’t get out of.
But his mind was made up, wasn’t it? He didn’t want to get out of it. Did he?
Colin stifled a groan. Though he was sitting at the back corner table of the coffeehouse, that didn’t mean he couldn’t draw attention to himself with such a guttural sound as he wanted to make. Every emotion a man could feel was coursing through his veins right then. Excitement, relief, worry, fear. All at the mere thought of going home.
How would his father react? His family? The town? Would they accept his return or see him as the ultimate traitor for betraying his family? Not many people knew about the card game. To them, he’d simply left.
“Could I interest you in a business proposition, Mr. McCrae?”
Perfect. Yes, business was always a good distraction. He looked up and once more fought the urge to sigh. He could do without this interruption. Still, business was business. And even though he was returning to Glasgow, he had no intention of giving up his investments. “I’m always interested, Lord Ashcombe.”
Ashcombe settled into the seat across from Colin. “I believe it will prove very lucrative, but it will require careful management.”
Colin lifted a brow to convey interest without excitement. Whatever his personal issues with the Earl of Ashcombe, the man had made some astute business decisions in the six years he’d been managing his family’s estate. Colin had worked with him more than once in the past, mostly because he never had to work directly with Ashcombe.
The earl had an amazingly capable and personable estate manager who had as much to do with Ashcombe’s success as anything else. Colin even considered the man something of a friend. Despite the fact that they’d only met twice in person, their business correspondence often contained personal elements among the numbers and updates.
“I’ll be looking to expand my operation in Cheshire soon. I have reason to believe the sheep pastures of Crestwood are being underutilized.”
An Elegant Façade (Hawthorne House Book #2) Page 26
