McTavish tucked the letter into a drawer. “Although, turning your back on a title and fortune seems ill-advised, particularly since your father has given me to understand the Scottish travellers would prefer you resume your prior life.”
If he’d struck her, Tasara wouldn’t have been more wounded or astounded. She whirled to face Father.
Chagrin darkened his swarthy features.
“Is that true? Is that why Jamie and the others made me leave?” Her voice caught, and she spoke past the painful lump in her throat. “Have I somehow brought shame to the travellers? I was an innocent child. How am I to blame?”
Dat opened his mouth, but before he answered, a series of short, sharp raps sounded upon the stout door. An instant later, it flew open, banging against the armor behind it and sending a jarring clang throughout the chamber.
Seonaid, Lady McTavish, a young woman, and a middling-aged couple surged into the room.
Hugo and Bridget Needham, Tasara would wager.
“Where is she? Where’s my niece?” The woman spun to search the room, her violet pelisse swirling in her haste. Upon spotting Tasara, she froze and blanched, her hand at her throat.
The young woman released a chirrupy shriek and slapped a gloved palm to her mouth. Her eyes wide with excitement, she hopped on her half-boot clad toes and pointed at Tasara, emitting happy little squeaks.
At any other time, the man’s flabbergasted expression, sagging jaw, and bulging eyes would have been comical. However, Tasara couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.
An older version of herself gaped at Tasara from across the stone floor as if glancing into a time-forwarded looking glass.
“Oh, my God.” Bridget Needham sent the austere man an exuberant glance. “Hugo, do you see? It’s her. It’s Alexandra.”
No.
Tightness seized Lucan’s chest, and his heart faltered for a beat. Mother couldn’t die, not so young. He hadn’t married nor fathered children yet. Mother was as much a doting grandmamma to Genny’s daughters as she’d been a loving mother to him, his sister, and their brother. Lucan’s children couldn’t miss knowing their grandmother.
Except—he hadn’t planned to marry in the near future. And had no plans to marry in the intermediate future either. Several years from now—perhaps a decade or more—seemed reasonable. Maybe he’d seek Genny’s and Mother’s counsel on suitable prospective brides when the day finally came.
Certainly, he desired love, but he didn’t require the emotion for a good match. In fact, he might be better off without the encumbrance. Father’s perfidy had left Lucan jaded and pessimistic toward the institution of marriage altogether. Apparently, even the most perfect unions held dark, painful secrets.
So, why hope?
A few weeks, months, maybe a year or two of contentment—if God blessed him with exceptional good fortune—before he descended into a hellish state for the remainder of his life.
Besides, any woman he wed must accept Jeremy. Too many denizens of High Society whispered and pointed at his unfortunate brother, one reason Mother stopped venturing from Chattsworth Park.
And, by all that’s holy, Father seized the opportunity like a stag in the rut.
What had Father imagined? Had he thought if Mother didn’t know of his unfaithfulness, that it exonerated him? Or perhaps, his father encouraged Mother’s over-protectiveness and took advantage of her reluctance to expose Jeremy to ridicule by sequestering him at Chattsworth Park House.
Lucan would never know.
Moments later, he stood outside Mother’s chamber. Funny, how he still felt the miniscule rush of anticipation he experienced as a child when summoned to her room.
Forcing a tranquil mien to his appearance, he rapped lightly upon the door. It wouldn’t do for her to detect his concern. She’d fret and work herself into a nervous state. Easily done when in good health and not to be considered with a fragile heart.
The
If he’d struck her, Tasara wouldn’t have been more wounded or astounded. She whirled to face Father.
Chagrin darkened his swarthy features.
“Is that true? Is that why Jamie and the others made me leave?” Her voice caught, and she spoke past the painful lump in her throat. “Have I somehow brought shame to the travellers? I was an innocent child. How am I to blame?”
Dat opened his mouth, but before he answered, a series of short, sharp raps sounded upon the stout door. An instant later, it flew open, banging against the armor behind it and sending a jarring clang throughout the chamber.
Seonaid, Lady McTavish, a young woman, and a middling-aged couple surged into the room.
Hugo and Bridget Needham, Tasara would wager.
“Where is she? Where’s my niece?” The woman spun to search the room, her violet pelisse swirling in her haste. Upon spotting Tasara, she froze and blanched, her hand at her throat.
The young woman released a chirrupy shriek and slapped a gloved palm to her mouth. Her eyes wide with excitement, she hopped on her half-boot clad toes and pointed at Tasara, emitting happy little squeaks.
At any other time, the man’s flabbergasted expression, sagging jaw, and bulging eyes would have been comical. However, Tasara couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.
An older version of herself gaped at Tasara from across the stone floor as if glancing into a time-forwarded looking glass.
“Oh, my God.” Bridget Needham sent the austere man an exuberant glance. “Hugo, do you see? It’s her. It’s Alexandra.”
No.
Tightness seized Lucan’s chest, and his heart faltered for a beat. Mother couldn’t die, not so young. He hadn’t married nor fathered children yet. Mother was as much a doting grandmamma to Genny’s daughters as she’d been a loving mother to him, his sister, and their brother. Lucan’s children couldn’t miss knowing their grandmother.
Except—he hadn’t planned to marry in the near future. And had no plans to marry in the intermediate future either. Several years from now—perhaps a decade or more—seemed reasonable. Maybe he’d seek Genny’s and Mother’s counsel on suitable prospective brides when the day finally came.
Certainly, he desired love, but he didn’t require the emotion for a good match. In fact, he might be better off without the encumbrance. Father’s perfidy had left Lucan jaded and pessimistic toward the institution of marriage altogether. Apparently, even the most perfect unions held dark, painful secrets.
So, why hope?
A few weeks, months, maybe a year or two of contentment—if God blessed him with exceptional good fortune—before he descended into a hellish state for the remainder of his life.
Besides, any woman he wed must accept Jeremy. Too many denizens of High Society whispered and pointed at his unfortunate brother, one reason Mother stopped venturing from Chattsworth Park.
And, by all that’s holy, Father seized the opportunity like a stag in the rut.
What had Father imagined? Had he thought if Mother didn’t know of his unfaithfulness, that it exonerated him? Or perhaps, his father encouraged Mother’s over-protectiveness and took advantage of her reluctance to expose Jeremy to ridicule by sequestering him at Chattsworth Park House.
Lucan would never know.
Moments later, he stood outside Mother’s chamber. Funny, how he still felt the miniscule rush of anticipation he experienced as a child when summoned to her room.
Forcing a tranquil mien to his appearance, he rapped lightly upon the door. It wouldn’t do for her to detect his concern. She’d fret and work herself into a nervous state. Easily done when in good health and not to be considered with a fragile heart.
The
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