What had indeed?
Busick didn’t want to admit to the thoughts he had in his head about Patience. He retreated and leaned more on his cane, balancing becoming more difficult, his back aching. “She’s under my protection. Markham is a threat to her.”
“Does that mean you are in possession of Hamlin Hall again?”
Oh no. No. He could see the cogs in her head turning, stopping on bad. He put a hand to his neck, the strain of standing and his mother’s scheming becoming impossible to bear.
“Lionel Jordan is in possession of Hamlin. I’ll see that his interests are best served. That does not include your parties.”
“Hamlin was a place for such lovely gatherings. It should be yours. It should never have gone to Colin.”
“But it did. I wonder why Grandfather would do such with you constantly trying to sway him?”
Her ageless face pinched up. “The man was spiteful. He taught you to be spiteful.”
At this, Busick chuckled. “I’ve been told that I’m very much like him.”
“So what are you going to do, Busick?”
“What?”
“This is the first person you dare bring to see me. You must have taken a fancy to her.”
“My ward was hungry. It’s a two-hour ride to Hamlin. The woman is not going to undress in front of me to feed him.”
“Son, you should think about regaining Hamlin. Colin’s widow is a little brown but not bad on the eyes. I’m sure she looks quite well, dressed in a gown, and that hair done up in a proper chignon.”
“What?”
“Marry her. Return Hamlin back to the Strathmore line.”
Marriage wasn’t a bad notion, one that popped into his head more and more when he thought of rearing Lionel with Patience, but he’d never admit that to his mother.
“Think about it, son.”
He gripped his cane tighter. “When have you ever cared for the Strathmore line? I thought you were angling to be on another family tree. You never change, always scheming.”
“And you’re just like me. You lust for adventure, going from bullets on the battlefield or bonbons in your bed. Why else would you take up with this exotic creature, your cousin’s Demeraran wife?”
Perspiring, he lost the grip on his cane and slipped. He grasped the console to keep from falling.
“Are you hurt, son?”
“I need to leave.”
He navigated through the litany of portmanteaus. “I’ve been in your presence for twenty minutes, and you’ve already tried to marry me off for a house, one you never cared about when you lived there, when my father lived.”
“Well, I’ve changed my mind on a great many things. Maybe I’ve been waiting for you to come show your old mother some care. I want to start anew.”
She came close and put her hand to Busick’s arm, but he jerked free and tripped over a trunk.
He hit the floor hard with his back going one direction, legs in another.
The amputee stump stayed on, but the strap dug into his flesh.
Patience ran out of the parlor, Lionel’s basket swinging in her hand. “What has happened? Repington!”
She knelt at his side in seconds. “Are you much hurt?”
