Questioning
Dair
* * *
“All right, we’re done,” Blake said to Rix, who was sitting next to Dair in the first-class carriage of the train taking them to London.
She didn’t say “please” or “do you mind switching seats again?”
She just said “all right, we’re done” with a girl-who-gets-whatever-she-wants smile on her face, and Rix moved from where he was sitting beside Dair to resume his seat across the aisle beside his wife.
Blake plopped down next to him and grabbed her tote so she could tuck the letters inside that she’d brought with her and just spent forty-five minutes going over with Alex.
“What’re those?” he asked.
“Patron requests.”
“Sorry?”
She set her tote aside and looked at him. “Patron requests. Apparently, members of the aristocracy patronize various charities. They want money, of course, but they’re also looking for someone to help them raise more of it, as well as awareness. Unsurprisingly, Mum didn’t patronize any charities, but Christine goes through the mail sent to Treverton. She gave me those letters, and when she did, she told me Grandfather was a patron to several.” She looked beyond him and out the window when she finished, “I suspect I’ll be getting more requests. It’s early days. But Alex works in charity, and I wanted her to help me narrow them down so I can eventually make some decisions.”
“You’re going to be a patron to charities?”
Even if Dair was still troubled by what he’d learned about Blake the evening before, and he hadn’t had a chance to talk to her about it, he hadn’t meant to sound that disbelieving.
And his tone earned him a sharp, wounded look.
“Is it so unbelievable?” she asked.
He moved swiftly to cover.
“Ye need to be in the UK to do them any good, hen.”
Mercifully, that settled her.
So much so, she twisted, wrapped both her arms around his and leaned into him, tipping her head way back.
This was his Blake, with that impish light in her eyes.
Impish, mingled with love.
As much as he liked that look, Dair adjusted himself restlessly in his seat without losing her hold, because, fuck him, he was questioning it.
“Do I need to make it official?” she asked quietly.
Setting aside his contradictory thoughts, and settling in with this Blake, his Blake, he felt his lips curve up. “Dinnae reckon ye do.”
The impish light switched to a soft, loving one.
Aye.
He was with his Blake.
“I thought we’d head back up to Edinburgh soon,” she suggested. “Get Sorcha out of doggie prison.”
He laughed. “She isn’t in doggie prison. She’s with Auntie Davi now. She loves her Auntie Davi.”
“I bet she loves her daddy better.”
