The Fairest of Them All by Cathy Maxwell Page A

what? Give you Canada?”
    â€œThere is a list of grievances I wish to share with you—­”
    â€œBah!” Gavin said, rising and moving out from behind his desk on the side away from Jack. “I don’t want to prattle about that nonsense now.”
    â€œThen when?”
    Before Gavin could answer, the door opened. A lovely dark-­headed woman came in holding the
seemingly frail arm of their mother. ­Marcella, the dowager duchess, wore a dressing robe,
and the pins had been removed from her hair so that it fell in silver locks around her shoulders.
    Gavin was by her side immediately. “Mother, I thought Mr. Higley suggested you rest?”
    She waved him away while she moved toward Jack. She stopped in front of him and placed her hands on his arms above the elbows. Tears formed in her eyes. “I had to see him again, to feel him. I needed to be certain I wasn’t dreaming.” She leaned close and Jack felt his arms go around her in the same manner that she had once hugged him when he was half his size.
    His mother seemed impossibly small in his arms.
    She drew in a deep breath. “Yes, you are my Jack. You have the scent I always remembered about you.”
    â€œWhat? Flowers and roses?” Gavin suggested.
    â€œDirty potatoes,” their mother said, straightening and smiling up at Jack. “Welcome home, my son. Welcome.”
    Jack hugged her tighter then, the sting of his own tears in his eyes. He blinked them back. Men did not cry. He’d cried over Hope and the son he’d lost. He’d mourned for them for years. However, now he had heavy responsibilities. He could not let sentimentality cloud his vision.
    His mother stepped back and urged the young woman to come forward. “Here, do you remember Elin?”
    â€œElin Morris?” Jack said. “Ah, you were betrothed to Gavin.” Their father had betrothed him to Elin when she was little more than a babe. “Certainly, you are his duchess now?”
    A becoming color swept her cheeks. It was Ben who answered. “Actually, she is my wife.”
    If someone had punched him in the face, Jack could not have been more surprised. The old duke had prided himself upon the Morris alliance and it stood to reason that Gavin, who had always jumped to their father’s bidding, would have married whom he’d chosen.
    Except he hadn’t.
    Jack now saw his twin with new eyes.
    â€œYou are a lucky man, Ben,” Jack said and he meant the words. Elin had an air of both grace and good intelligence.
    Again, she blushed as a modest young wife should. “I am also pleased to make your acquaintance. It is good to see that our worst fears for you had not happened.”
    â€œTactfully spoken, my lady,” Jack said, bowing again.
    His mother wrapped her arms around his as if he were a mooring anchor. “You will stay here,” she said.
    Jack wanted to please, but he couldn’t. “It would not be wise—­”
    â€œWhy not?” she demanded.
    Words failed him. He looked down into her eyes and did not want to tell her the truth.
    Gavin did it for him. “He is an American now, Mother. He is negotiating for his new country.”
    â€œBut that doesn’t mean he is not my son,” she ­informed the duke. “I want him under my roof. We have been apart for too long. What would people say if my lost son did not stay at ­Menheim?”
    Jack looked at Gavin. His face had become a mask. Jack remembered how their father would retreat in that manner. No one knew his feelings or how he would react.
    â€œI can’t stay,” Jack said gently to his mother. “There will be negotiations that could be ­compromised—­”
    â€œNonsense,” Gavin cut in. “In fact, if you wish my support in opening negotiations, then your wisest course is to please Mother.”
    â€œIt is a conflict of interest for me to stay here,” Jack