It was time to bring her life and her love into the light.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The door clickeddiscreetly closed, and Jamie exhaled a slow, relieved breath.
The lad was fast asleep. He was still here.
The same sequence of thoughts he’d had every night for the past month.
His feet turned to the well-worn path to his study with the intention of outlasting yet another night. After the first few touchy days of gaining an understanding of one another, Rafe had become the only source of brightness in his day, even if this week the lad was worn out by his studies. It had taken Jamie exactly one day to grasp that Rafe couldn’t read. Within a fortnight, he’d poached a highly esteemed tutor—one Mr. Carson—from Harrow for a pretty penny. Only the best would do for his son, and the best was all the boy would know from here on out.
At first, he’d been concerned Rafe wouldn’t take to the notion of book learning, but the boy met the challenge with grit and determination, learning his letters in two days, sounding out two-syllable words within the first week of instruction. Most of the time, it was Mr. Carson who had to put an end to the day’s studies. Rafe was ravenous for the newly opened world of knowledge. It was Jamie’s hope the lad would be ready to attend Westminster School with his cousin Geoffrey next year.
The boy’s guttersnipe accent? That was likely beyond Mr. Carson’s abilities. An elocution expert would need to be retained before Rafe attended Westminster, or he would be subject to no end of ridicule, even if his guardian was the Marquess of Clare, for without legitimate birth, Jamie could be no more than that to Rafe in the eyes of the law.
Fewer than twenty-four hours after Rafe had arrived at Asquith Court, Jamie had retained a solicitor to obtain Rafe’s birth records from the parish register and begin the process of binding the lad to him legally. Soon, he would be Mr. James Rafferty Asquith.
Jamie hoped the low-lying wariness that hung about the boy would dissolve over time. It was as if he was waiting to be told this was all a jape and be tossed out on the streets like yesterday’s rubbish.
Each day, however, a different bit of his true personality peeked out. He was a colorful lad who could insert a bit of humor into most observations. A trait that had certainly been passed down from his mother.
Tonight, he’d asked about Mollie. Jamie had been wondering when Rafe’s curiosity would get the better of him. “I only know I was named for ’er,” he said. “What did she look like?”
Jamie told the boy what he remembered, which was more an idea of Mollie than a clear image all these years later. “She had bright blue eyes and dark, curly hair. It had a bit of auburn to it.”
“What’s auburn?” Rafe asked, head cocked, eyes intent. Now that the boy had been given permission to ask questions, he voiced every one that popped into his head. Jamie liked this about his son.
“Dark red.” At the boy’s nod, he continued, “She possessed a quick wit she wasn’t afraid to use on anyone. She took a joy from life that’s rare. Her mouth was always ready with a smile, and her laugh was sudden and big. You have her laugh.”
Rafe didn’t crack. “If ye liked ’er so much, then why did ye up and leave ’er? Was it ’cause of me?”
He deserved these questions. In fact, he was relieved Rafe had finally asked them. “I didn’t know about you. The day I learned about you, I sought you out. I would have never stood for what happened to your mother or you.”
Solemn eyes continued to stare out at him, but he detected trust within them. “But,” Jamie continued. He had to say this. “I was careless. I believed where I shouldn’t have, and I shall regret that for the rest of my days.”
A few seconds passed before Rafe, at last, nodded his acceptance of these facts and remained silent for the rest of the meal.
Now, Jamie entered his study, its sights, sounds, and smells enfolding him in their familiarity. A familiarity that was no longer a comfort. The room felt more akin to a prison cell these days. For whatever reason, tonight, he found himself drawn toward the brandy decanter. Unable to resist, he extended a hand that tremored slightly less than it had a month ago and pulled out the stopper. He inhaled deeply. It hadn’t been refilled in all these months, but that didn’t mean the craving had gone away, or ever would. Still, it wasn’t essential he fall down that hole.
He plugged the stopper and turned toward the low fire that the servants knew to keep burning into the night. A small movement caught the periphery of his vision, and he whipped around.
He stopped in his tracks and blinked.
The form occupying his customary chair could be a delusion borne of wanting her here so badly.
He blinked again. But there she sat, meeting his gaze with her own unflinching one.
“How did you—” Hope sprang up, which he immediately suppressed. Yet he couldn’t entirely. She was here. And if she was here, then mayhap…perhaps…
“The servants still reckon me the lady of Asquith Court,” she said.
That would be true, for he’d told them no differently.
Her gaze fell to his right hand. “What are you reading these days?”
He lifted the book he’d forgotten he was holding. “Parliament’s Rules, Privileges, and Proceedings in Modern Times.”
“Parliament?” She looked surprised.
