The Glenister Papers by Tracy Grant

Author:Tracy Grant [Grant, Tracy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-64197-082-2
Publisher: NYLA

Chapter 22

Malcolm would have said he was prepared for surprises from Lord Glenister. But a plea for help still caught him off balance. "I don't know what I can do for you, sir, but I'm happy to talk."

"We'll go up," Mélanie said. "We should check on the children, in any case."

Malcolm met his wife's gaze for a moment, about to protest. But Glenister, despite or because of his reputation as a roué, was less likely to talk in front of ladies. And, as Alistair's friend, he would naturally have issues with Raoul.

Malcolm took a step towards the library. Glenister moved to follow him, but as the others moved to the stairs, he said, "O'Roarke?"

Raoul paused on the bottom step, brows raised.

"I don't believe I've offered you my felicitations. Or you, Mrs. O'Roarke. I trust you'll both be very happy."

"Thank you," Raoul said. Oddly, for all the history, for all they knew about Glenister, it was one of those moments when Raoul seemed quite open.

"We are," Laura said, one hand curled round Raoul's arm, Clara cradled in her other arm.

Glenister gave a smile that also seemed quite open, his gaze going to the baby. "Your daughter is beautiful. Enjoy her. I find my grandson changes every time I see him."

"Thank you," Raoul said again. "And we do."

Glenister met his gaze for a moment and nodded, then followed Malcolm into the library.

"Odd to see O'Roarke looking so domestic," Glenister said.

"I've heard that a lot in the past few days." Malcolm struck a flint to kindle the brace of candles on the library table. "I wouldn't exactly say he's domestic. But he has changed."

"Good to remember people can change. Even when they seem quite settled." Glenister set his hat on the library table. "He looks happy."

"I'm quite sure he is."

Glenister nodded, brows drawn together. "Funny, I don't tend to think about people being happy. People like O'Roarke, in particular. She's a lovely woman, of course, but—"

"It's more than that." Malcolm moved to light the lamps as well.

"Yes, I can see that," Glenister said. And to Malcolm's surprise, it really sounded as though he could.

The second lamp flared to life. Malcolm studied his godfather. Glenister's hair, gray-streaked now, gleamed in the lamplight. It was as smooth and glossy as Malcolm remembered from boyhood. It had always seemed to him to be part of Glenister's imperturbable presence. A sang-froid nothing could shake. Even Alistair hadn't had quite that air.

"What is it, sir?"

Glenister began to remove his gloves, finger by finger. "It's good of you to see me, Malcolm."

"When have I ever refused to see you, sir?"

"You know what I mean." Glenister pulled the second glove from his hand. The fine leather gleamed in the lamplight as well.

Malcolm raised a brow. "So now we're admitting the existence of the Elsinore League?"

Glenister met Malcolm's gaze in the flickering light. "Let's just say we haven't been allies."

"You and I haven't crossed swords directly. And you're still my godfather."

"Can't recall that I've ever done very much for you."

"You sent a very handsome writing case when I finished at Harrow.

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