Robin nodded furiously.
Philip shook his head. “He is not family and he never will be. Whatever bonds we have is entirely biological. Forget the man. I will not let him claim you, put a finger on you and spoil you. And turn you into one of his creatures.”
“But —”
“Enough, Katherine. Sit down and finish whatever you need to finish. We will not discuss this again. You are all grounded until further notice.” The three children looked at him, startled. Philip never raised his voice.
He left the house and slammed the door shut.
Philip needed air. He needed space to breathe.
Night had fallen, and he walked swiftly down the street. Somewhere. Anywhere.
After half an hour of vigorous walking, he’d cooled off and regretted his words. His children were right. He was being stubborn and unreasonable.
But to get Miss Weston back? To see the shy smile in her blue eyes, how they lit up every time they fell on him. How she bent her blonde head over Joy, showing her how to draw letters. How she laughed with Robin and understood Katy, who was growing into womanhood.
It was a fact: the world had turned grey and lustreless since she’d left. He’d lost his drive to invent. What was the point of it all anyway?
What did he want, confound it?
He wanted Arabella.
He sat down on a bank and stared into the darkness.
Then it hit him. It struck like lightning. The sun rose in the middle of the night as a golden glow of light engulfed him.
“I am such an oaf,” he muttered, startling the lamplighter, who’d just refuelled the lamp next to his bank with oil. “I am such a tremendous, idiotic, brainless oaf.”
How could he have fallen in love with her and never even noticed until now? He’d told Arabella he wouldn’t love again. That love and marriage wasn’t for him.
What tosh. When he’d been in love with her all along.
“I am an —”
“Aye, mister, said that a good three times already,” the lamplighter grumbled as he climbed down from his ladder.
“What would you do, if you realised you loved a lady?” Philip asked, dazed.
“You askin’ me?”
“If you please.”
The man puffed up his breast. “I’d marry her.”
Philip stared at the man.
“I am such an oaf,” he said again. But this time he grinned. He got up, slapped the man’s shoulder. “Thank you.”
“Welcome,” he grunted and shook his head.
Philip sprinted back to his house.
First, he’d have to apologise to his children.
Then, he’d have to travel to Ashmore Hall.
To ask Arabella to marry him.
