Ah. The accomplished lothario. Not that he was flirting with Abby, but his words had the desired effect upon her. Her cheeks flushed, seemingly with pleasure, and she laughed.
“I wish I could remember,” she said, and Gil wondered if the incident had really happened. She could hardly dispute it, could she, when she had been a mere infant?
The man turned toward Gil, and they looked measuringly at each other for a few moments while Abby closed the door quietly. He was taller than his father, Gil noticed. And the man looked his age.
“I have little right to be happy for you,” Dirkson said. “I am happy nevertheless.”
“Perhaps that ought to benoright,” Gil said.
“Perhaps,” Dirkson agreed. “She did a fine job with you, your mother.”
“With no thanks to you,” Gil said. “And I would prefer that you not sully her memory by mentioning her.”
Dirkson inclined his head and Abby sat down on a chair beside the door and clutched a cushion to her bosom with both hands.
“This,”Gil said, “was not my idea.”
“I understand it was your wife’s,” Dirkson said. “I understood that when I found her note awaiting me when I returned home last night. I came out of deference to her, so that her feelings would not be hurt. I did not expect your forgiveness or come to ask for it.”
His father spoke with soft courtesy. And he had put Gil firmly in the wrong without uttering any words of accusation—I came out of deference to her, so that her feelings would not be hurt.He had made it clear that his son, on the contrary, was showing discourtesy to his wife and was hurting her feelings. Which was exactly right, damn his eyes.
“Why would my mother not accept support from you?” The question was asked before he could stop himself.
“I was staying with a friend at a house not far from her father’s smithy,” Dirkson told him. “She was a comelyyoung woman, the pride of her father and brothers, much admired by the young men of the neighborhood. I... seduced her with promises I do not remember making. She swore afterward that I had promised to marry her. Whatever I did promise, I am sure it was not that. But when I learned, a few months after I had left there, that she was with child, I offered to set her up in a decent house of her own and support her and the child she was expecting. She threw what she called my breach of promise in my teeth and refused all support. She never relented. When I tried sending you gifts, she returned them if she was confronted with a messenger, and threw them on a rubbish heap if there was no way for her to send them back. I was... unhappy for your sake, but I honored her pride and resilience. She proved that she could raise you alone.”
Gil stared stonily at him.
“I make no excuses,” Dirkson said. “I do not ask for forgiveness. I do not deserve it. I beg your pardon for saying during the hearing a couple of days ago that I was proud of you. I have no right to pride. I had no hand in the shaping of you. Only in the begetting of you.”
“Were you married,” Gil asked, “when you were with my mother?” He really did not want to know.
“No,” Dirkson said. “My marriage came later.”
“And you have a son,” Gil said. Good God, hereallydid not want to know.
“And two daughters,” Dirkson told him. “I am fond of all of them and proud of them as well.”
“Who told you,” Gil asked, “about the hearing?”
Dirkson seemed to consider a moment. “Young Watley—Bertrand Lamarr—was at Oxford with my son,” he said. “He is Mrs. Bennington’s stepbrother.”
“And he told you?” Gil asked.
“My son,” Dirkson said. “But I was there too.”
Gil looked steadily at the man who was his father. “Perhaps I have one thing for which to thank you,” he said. “The bleakness of my childhood caused me to grow up with an unshakable dream. Of home and wife and family. Of honesty and loyalty and steadiness of character. And of honor. And of love. That dream, sir, has come true.”
He was aware over the man’s shoulder of Abby lifting her hands to cover her face.
“And it will be cherished for a lifetime,” he added.
“Then I did well in that begetting,” Viscount Dirkson said, turning toward Abby, who lowered her hands and got to her feet. “I will not trouble you further, Mrs. Bennington. But I thank you for the invitation. I have long wished to meet my firstborn son face-to-face. I hope that in retrospect he will not be sorry that he has met me and had a chance to say some of the things he has wanted all his life to say.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“You had better stay,” Gil said at the same moment. “My wife wished for you to have breakfast with us, and her wishes are important to me. Sit down. Let us tell you about your granddaughter. If you are interested, that is.”
It was grudgingly said. But how could he say it any other way? Besides, he wanted to know exactly what those gifts had been so that he could imagine the enormous pleasure his childhood self, absent all pride, would have drawn from them. Or even just one of them.
