“Arabella smiles easily.”
“Your mother did once.”
“Arabella’s here,” Logan said, startling his father into looking directly at him. Shame slammed into him, and he cleared his throat. “But I suppose Mother was once.”
“No,” his father said suddenly, surprising Logan. “Your mother was never here, even when she was. She was always longing for London. I might have kept her, had I gone with her.”
Logan frowned.
“I never realized that was an option.”
“It wasn’t, really. There was no job in the city of London for a man of my abilities. Or even if there was, I didn’t belong in England, so far away from family and friends. I told her so over and over but she couldn’t comprehend it. She had been disowned by her family, you know, for running away with me, but she was convinced her uncle would pay our way, if we asked. Only I couldn’t bear to live on an allowance. I was too proud—and my pride lost her,” he said, glancing at Logan. “She wanted so much to raise you both in London, you know.”
Logan stared at his father, unsure how to continue.
“Did she… did she try to take us when she left?” he asked. It was a question he had always wondered.
His father exhaled slowly.
“No. When she informed me that she was leaving, I begged her to stay. I tried everything—even, as shameful as it is, to use you and your sister as collateral. I told her if she left, I’d never share either of you.” His brow creased as emotion flooded his expression. “I didn’t mean it. I was only trying to hurt her. But then she left and I never saw her again.”
Logan watched his father, unsure how to respond. How was he supposed to handle all this information? And why was his father telling all this now after all these years?
“Did you ever try to contact her?” he asked.
“Yes. Dozens of times, but she never responded.”
Logan nodded absently.
“Why are you telling me all this?”
His father’s eyes met his.
“I know you think I’m ready to die. That I’ve moped about this house for too long, wallowing in my own self-pity. And perhaps I have. But to learn that you were shot at, seemingly on purpose, after I thought I had been freed from the fear of you being killed on the battlefield, well…” He shook his head, seemingly uncertain. He took a deep breath and continued. “You’ve come through so many battles, scratched and bruised, yet you never seem willing to give up.”
Logan felt the back of his neck warm up. He hated praise, which nearly always felt insincere to him… but coming from one’s father, it seemed entirely different.
“I just wanted you to know that the day you came home from Burma was the greatest day of my life.”
Logan’s entire body stiffened, not used to the expressive words from this man who had ignored life for so long. His throat constricted as he tried to respond.
“Thank you,” he said pitifully, but his father only smiled.
“Arabella tells me that you’ve given up on me. It’s all right. I don’t blame you. I’ve not given either of you any reason to believe in me. But I think, I’d like to try and live a little bit longer, if only to see if I can.”
Logan nodded, rife with emotion. He was suddenly eternally grateful for being shot if it meant his father now wanted to live.
“All this, because I was shot at?” he asked, unbelieving.
“Well, that and your sister told me while we were in Glasgow that if I insisted on dying a pitiful death, she’d toss me into Loch Fyne.”
Logan let out a startled laugh.
“She did not.”
“She did. Evidently, our sweet Arabella has a temper.”
“If she does, I’ve never seen it,” Logan said. “And she must have the longest fuse known to man.”
