world.”
“Ah, you have lofty aspirations. That’s good.”
Justin nodded matter-of-factly. “Have you traveled around the world, Uncle James?”
James cracked another smile. “Not around it, entirely, lad, but some of it, to be sure.”
“I intend to travel around all of it. I want to go to India, Constantinople, the Americas. Everywhere!”
“What about the Continent? Do you intend to travel through Europe?”
“Oh yes, of course.” Justin nodded again. The child tilted his head and regarded James through dark, assessing eyes. “Why are you here, Uncle James? I’ve never known you to stay at our town house before.”
James cleared his throat. Justin was too astute by half. Always had been. “I had a bit of an … overzealous evening last night, I’m afraid.”
Justin righted his head. “Lily says you’re sad.”
James frowned. “She did, did she?”
“Yes. Why are you sad, Uncle James? Is it because your house burned down?”
James nearly had a coughing fit. “Who told you my house burned down?”
Justin shrugged. “Lily and Aunt Annie.”
“Of course.” James shook his head. “No. I’m not sad because my house burned down. It was only a house.”
Justin appeared to consider that for a moment before closing the book and setting it aside. Bandit moved out of the way to allow for it. “Then why
“I’m not—” James sighed. He scrubbed his hand across his face. No use pretending with Justin. Children had a knack for getting to the heart of things, particularly this very intelligent child. “I’m just … a bit … unhappy.”
“Why?”
There was that question again. James regarded the boy. Astute, this one. He shrugged. “It’s complicated.”
Justin folded his little hands in his lap. “When people tell me it’s complicated they usually mean they don’t want to explain it to me because they don’t think I’ll understand.”
James struggled to hide his smile. “Is that right?”
Justin nodded. “Lily told me that you and I have something in common. I think it’s what makes you sad.”
James looked twice. “Something in common? What’s that?”
“My mother died when I was born. Lily told me yours did too.”
James expelled his breath as if a punch had just landed in his gut. He’d never even thought about it before, but it was true. Justin’s mother was Colton’s former mistress. Colton hadn’t known she was with child. Alone and penniless, she’d given birth to the boy in a poorhouse and died the same day. The other women who lived there took pity on the baby and cared for him. If it hadn’t been for Colton’s father attempting to use the boy as a pawn for his own reasons and retrieving the lad, Justin might have grown up without a father too, without any family. Justin would have had a very different life. But the boy was right. The two of them did have that in common. Their births had caused their mothers’ deaths.
“I’m sorry your mother died,” James said solemnly.
“I’m sorry yours did,” Justin replied just as solemnly. He petted Bandit who hopped up to try to lick his face. “You know what Mrs. Appleby told me about my mother?”
James braced himself, something about angels and being watched over, no doubt. He was glad that sort of thing could comfort the boy, but it was hardly something that could help him. “What’s that?”
“Life is for the living.”
James snapped up his head. His brow furrowed. “What?”
“Life is for the living,” Justin repeated. “I used to be sad because my mother was dead and because I’d never know her or see her. But Mrs. Appleby said that my mother wouldn’t want that for me. She said my mother would hate to know I’m spending my time being sad for her.”
James narrowed his eyes on the boy. He’d always known Justin was uncommonly clever for his age, Lily had told him so on more than one occasion, but the lad had surprised him. No doubt about it.
“I’m sure she would,” James replied.
“You know what I think, Uncle James?” Justin asked.
“What’s that, lad?”
The boy stood, picked up his book, and made his way to the door. The two dogs hopped from the sofa and followed close on his heels. “I think your mother wouldn’t want you to be sad about her either. She would want you to live.” Justin slipped through the door and James watched him go with what he was sure was a look of complete amazement on his face.
He scratched his head. Had he just received a life lesson from a five-year-old? He considered the boy’s words. Life was indeed for the living. James had spent his whole life in pursuit of perfection, in an effort to make up for the loss of his mother. He couldn’t see it in his own life, but when he considered Justin’s situation, it seemed so clear. Of course Justin’s mother didn’t blame him. He’d been an infant, an innocent. There was nothing the boy could have done to prevent her death. And a normal father like Colton never would have blamed him, even if he’d been madly in love with the boy’s mother. A sane person doesn’t blame an infant for a mother’s death. James had known his father was mad, but it hadn’t hit him so squarely in the chest as it did after his discussion with Justin. By God, the child was right. Life was for the living and it had taken a little boy to teach him that.
James sprang up from his chair. Kate had hurt him, it was true. She’d hurt him by leaving and he’d been reluctant to make his heart vulnerable again. But the reason he’d been so scared of being hurt had always been about his mother. That truth he’d been able to admit to himself that night at the gin house. And Kate had tried to make things right. She’d followed him onto the balcony last night and begged him to give her another chance. He’d refused her. He’d hurt her. God. They were even.
He hurried out of the room and down the hall, calling for the butler, Nicholls, to bring him his coat and hat. He had to go, immediately. He had living to do, by God. Living without the constant guilt of losing his mother. Living without the censure of his father. Living the life he wanted, the life his mother would have wanted for him.
And he knew just what he must do first.
CHAPTER 44
When Lily brought Kate the pamphlet, she set it facedown on the side table next to her bed and refused to look at it. She’d spent the past few days writing in her journal … that, and trying to decide what exactly she would do next. The Continent was probably still the best choice, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to leave. Not after seeing James at the masquerade, so disheveled, drinking … imperfect. What had she done to him? And would he realize that they were meant for each other? He’d been speaking of his mother when he’d told her he wouldn’t allow the only other woman in his life to go. She knew that much. He might not have mentioned her by name, but Kate knew. He blamed himself for so many things. And that’s why the man had the constant need to be perfect. Everything in this life rested on his strong, square shoulders. He took all responsibility upon himself. Just knowing it made her heart ache.
Thankfully, Lady Catherine had been kind enough to assure Kate that she could stay at her house as long as she wished. And of course, both Lily and Annie had offered their homes to her as well. But Kate preferred to stay with Catherine. Much less of a chance of seeing James. Much safer … for her heart.
She glanced warily at the pamphlet. It sat there like a little papery recrimination. Mocking her. She was glad James had decided to finally publish it. It made sense that he should recoup his losses on his house with the profits from the thing. And she’d already read the words before, knew every one of them by heart. She’d spent such agonizing hours writing them. But she just couldn’t bring herself to pick it up, open it, and read it again. It was out there now, for all of London to see. They would judge her one way or the other. At least now her side of the story would be told. Would Lord and Lady Cranberry read it? Would it change their opinion one bit? Probably not. But she hadn’t written it for relentless gossips like the Cranberrys. She’d written it for … James.
She knew that now. She could admit it to herself. She’d been so concerned about whether he believed her.
