He’d wet himself and was in danger of falling when the master found them. Of course, the duke’s son only got a few whacks of the cane, and Braithwaite not much more. But Robert was left with the knowledge he was a coward, and he’d begun to fight to prove he wasn’t. He learned to handle himself well, his father would have been proud of him. But those years were tough. It wasn’t until he attended university that it all changed. He’d taken up boxing and excelled at it, and he did well at mathematics. But the stain remained in his soul.
Robert sighed. He was prepared to eat crow for Kate’s sake and attempt to repair the rift. But he’d be damned if he’d fall upon his stepfather’s breast and beg forgiveness. He grinned bitterly at the thought. There was only so much his fierce little wife could make him do.
He walked into the salon to find his mother drinking sherry with her husband. What a cozy pair they made. He tried to ignore the reaction he always experienced, like a knot pulling tight in his solar plexus. Should he not have got over all this by now? He bowed. “Mother, Charlesworth.”
His mother rose and hurried to him. “Robert.” She tenderly put up a hand to touch his face.
Robert bent and kissed her cheek, painfully aware of how much she’d changed. “Sit down, Mother. I believe I’ll have a drink as well.”
Lord Charlesworth beckoned to the footman. “Brandy?”
“Please.”
When they’d settled, Robert took a breath. “Kate accuses me of being a poor son. A poor husband as well, but that’s between her and me. I’m here to improve matters in our relationship, should you agree.”
“Agree?Oh, Robert.” His mother balled a handkerchief in her hand, her eyes misty.
Lord Charlesworth nodded stiffly.
“It is time to consign our differences to the past, not to be spoken of again.” Robert took a fortifying swig, tasting walnut, almonds, and vanilla, the hallmarks of the best French brandy. “I know I’ve not acted well.”
“No, you haven’t.” Lord Charlesworth frowned. “But I’m sure we can put that down to immaturity.”
Robert could still feel rage toward this man. It heated his gut, and he opened his mouth to retort. But then he remembered Kate. To win her love, this must be done. He took another swallow. “I will always remain fond of my mother, Charlesworth,” he said carefully. “I understand her needs and wish her and my siblings to be a part of my life. But the truth of it,” he couldn’t resist adding, “is that you did not want me as part of yours. After you married my mother, and particularly after your first child was born, you wished me to the very devil.”
“Robert,” his mother gasped.
“And I know for a fact that you swayed Millicent Burrowdale’s father against my suit,” Robert continued ruthlessly. Lord Charlesworth’s self-righteous expression didn’t alter. He still believed he’d been right, damn him. In Charlesworth’s opinion, Millicent, a merchant’s daughter, was not suitable.
Robert still suffered a prickle of anger, even though when he’d met Millicent recently, he found her surprisingly shallow and rather dull, and he hadn’t liked that she’d flirted with him in front of her husband.
“The girl was well beneath your touch,” Lord Charlesworth said, still with that smug look Robert disliked so much. “And I felt that you needed guidance in the matter. Past history now though.” He took his wife’s hand. “My concern is for my dear wife. Anything to make her happy.”
Perhaps the man, fatuous as he was, spoke the truth. Robert had puzzled over what his mother saw in Charlesworth after being married to his father who had been an active member of parliament and a most imposing personage. But who was he to judge? He glanced at his mother and clamped his lips on the accusation that she had not stood up for him, nor taken his side when he desperately needed it. He now understood how easy it was to make a mistake. No one was infallible, least of all he. He accepted how torn she must have been.
Robert put down his glass and rose. “Then we are in agreement.” He went to kiss his mother’s cheek, then he shook Charlesworth’s hand. “I plan to spend time with Kate in Cornwall. When I return, my wife and I shall call on you.”
“She is a wonderful young woman, Robert. I like her very much.”
“I do, too, Mother. I know you will be kind to her. She is deserving of your love.”
There was something in her gaze he hadn’t seen before. She treated him like a man and no longer her recalcitrant child of ten and four. The age he’d been when all this began. He suffered a swift and painful desire to make her proud of him.
Robert left the house, relieved, and lighter somehow. He took up the reins, tossed a coin to the young boy who had held them, and drove home. It was easy to like Kate. In fact, he loved her. Funny, when he admitted it to himself, he didn’t suffer even a twinge of anxiety, just a surge of urgency to be in Cornwall with her. She had undertaken that hazardous journey alone, without even her maid to accompany her. He drew in a deep breath. God keep her safe.
