“Perhaps, but it is misleading nonetheless.”
“I would rather gently mislead him than worry him.”
The door opened, revealing a formally garbed footman who extended his hand to help Lady Catherine alight, thus ending the conversation. It was just as well since Andrew suspected any further comment on his part might have led to another argument. “Arguments are not conducive to successful courting,” he muttered.
“What did you say, Mr. Stanton?” Poised in the carriage door, her hand resting upon the footman’s, Lady Catherine looked at Andrew over her shoulder with a questioning gaze.
“Er, that I’m, ah,
“Yes. In the therapeutic warm waters.” He prayed his skin didn’t go pale just saying the words.
“Ah.” Her expression cleared, but still bore remnants that hinted she hadn’t entirely abandoned the notion that he might be a bit of a dolt.
Also not conducive to successful courting.
After exiting the carriage, Andrew took a moment to look about while Lady Catherine directed the footman regarding their luggage. The drive was shaded by massive elms, sunlight spotting the gravel as it broke through the canopy of leaves. He pulled in a deep breath. The scents of late summer filled his head with a pleasing mixture redolent of grass and sun-warmed earth, and a pungent hint of hay that indicated stables nearby. Closing his eyes, he allowed an image to flicker to life, a glimmer of long ago when he’d enjoyed life in a place similar to this. Yet, as always when he permitted himself a glimpse into the past, the darkness quickly shrouded those fleeting happy memories, blanketing them with the shadow of guilt and shame. Of loss, regret, and self-condemnation. He opened his eyes and blinked away his previous life. It was dead and gone. Literally.
He turned and stilled when he noted Lady Catherine watching him with a questioning look. “Are you all right?” she asked.
As he had countless times before, he settled his painful memories and guilt deep in his heart, where they could not be seen, and showed an outward smile. “I’m fine. Just enjoying being outdoors after that long journey. And looking forward to seeing your son.”
“I’m certain you won’t have long to wait.” As if on cue, the double oak doors leading into the house swung open, revealing a young man casually dressed in fawn breeches and a plain white shirt. He smiled and waved, calling out, “Welcome home, Mum!”
Spencer awkwardly made his way forward and Andrew’s gaze was drawn to the boy’s club foot. His heart pinched in sympathy for what the lad must suffer on a daily basis, not only from the physical discomfort, but the inner pain of being viewed as different. Flawed. His jaw tightened, knowing that a big part of the reason Lady Catherine and Spencer lived in Little Longstone was because of the cruelty and rejection the boy had experienced in London. Andrew well recalled the awkwardness of that age, nearly twelve years old, teetering on the brink of manhood. It had been difficult enough without the added burden of an infirmity.
Spencer was met midway down the path by his mother, who enveloped him in a hug which the boy returned with unabashed enthusiasm. A wave of something that felt like envy rippled through Andrew at the warm display of affection. He had no memory of what it was to be wrapped in a mother’s embrace, as his own mother had died bringing him into the world. Spencer was nearly as tall as his mother, Andrew noted, and the lad appeared surprisingly broad-shouldered, while his gangly arms indicated he still had a lot of growing to do. He bore a striking resemblance to Lady Catherine, having inherited her chestnut hair and golden brown eyes.
Mother and son drew apart, and with a laugh Lady Catherine reached up-with her uninjured arm, Andrew noted-and ruffled Spencer’s thick hair. “You’re still damp,” she said. “How was your visit to the springs?”
“Excellent.” He frowned and leaned closer. “What happened to your lip?”
“I accidentally bit it. Nothing to worry about.”
The frown cleared. “How was Grandfather’s birthday party?”
“It was… eventful. And I’ve brought the most wonderful surprise.” She nodded toward the rear of the carriage, where Andrew stood.
Spencer’s gaze shifted, and when he caught sight of Andrew, his eyes widened. “I say, is that you, Mr. Stanton?”
“Yes.” Andrew joined the duo and held out his hand to the young man. “Very nice to see you again, Spencer.”
“Likewise.”
“Mr. Stanton kindly consented to escort me home, and has agreed to remain on for a visit. He’s promised to regale us with stories of his adventures with your uncle Philip.”
Spencer’s smile widened. “Excellent. I want to hear how you outsmarted the brigands who locked you in the dungeon. I couldn’t pry the story from Uncle Philip.”
Lady Catherine raised her brows. “Brigands? Dungeon? I’ve not heard of this. I thought you and Philip spent your time unearthing artifacts.”
“We did,” Andrew assured her. “However, as your brother possessed an uncanny penchant for landing in scrapes, I was forced to perform several rescues.”
Mischief gleamed in her eyes. “I see. And you, Mr. Stanton-did
Andrew did his best to look innocent and pointed to the center of his chest. “
“There was that time Uncle Philip helped you escape those machete-wielding cutthroats,” Spencer broke in, his voice ringing with animation. “Fought them off using nothing but his cane and quick wits. They were after you because you’d kissed the one blackguard’s daughter.”
“A great exaggeration,” Andrew said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Your uncle Philip is notorious for hyperbole.”
Lady Catherine’s lips twitched. “Indeed? Then what is the true story, Mr. Stanton? Did you not kiss the blackguard’s daughter?”
Damn. How did every conversation with her of late veer down these disastrous paths? “It was more like a friendly good-bye peck. Completely innocent.” No need to mention that the two hours prior to that friendly, goodbye peck were anything
“What on earth did he say to them?” Lady Catherine asked.
“I don’t know. He refused to tell me, claiming it was his little secret. To this day I do not know.”
“Which means he must have said something absolutely heinous about you,” Spencer said with a grin.
“No doubt,” Andrew agreed, laughing.
“Well, Spencer and I shall look forward to hearing more about your travels during your stay, Mr. Stanton. Shall we get you settled?” She held out her uninjured arm to Spencer. They started up the walkway, and Andrew fell in behind them. He noted how firm she kept her arm, enabling her to bear a great deal of Spencer’s weight as he limped down the path. Admiration for her-for both of them-hit him. He knew the emotional burdens she bore, yet she did so with humor and dignity, her love for her son shining like a warm glow of sunshine. And Spencer, in spite of the physical difficulties he faced, was obviously an amiable and intelligent young man who openly returned his mother’s affection. Most certainly a lad any man would be proud to call his son. Andrew’s hands clenched thinking of the boy’s father rejecting him so cruelly.
They passed over the threshold, stepping into a spacious, parquet-floored foyer. A round mahogany table stood in the middle of the floor, its shiny surface bearing an enormous arrangement of fresh-cut flowers set in a porcelain vase. The bloom’s fragrance filled the air, combined with the pleasant scent of beeswax. Peering beyond the foyer, he noted the wide, curved staircase leading upward, and corridors fanning out to the left and right. Several long tables decorated the corridors, all adorned with vases filled with cut flowers.
A formally attired, slightly built butler stood by the door like a sentinel, his spectacles riding low on his beaklike
