Just a Little Heartache by Merry Farmer

Author:Merry Farmer [Farmer, Merry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-12-04T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Blake was a broken man. It was far more difficult for Niall to witness the fact than he’d anticipated. The way Blake seemed reluctant to leave his children’s nursery—even after he’d sent his valet, Xavier, to fetch Niall’s things from the Mandrake Hotel—was only one shattering bit of proof of that. Blake sat at the child’s size table, inviting Niall to sit as well, and asked him more questions about London and the theater and Niall’s current play than anyone ever had. But whether he was aware of it or not, Blake continually glanced into the pink and frilly bedroom off to one side of the nursery and the smaller bedroom, decorated with medieval scenes of knights and dragons, on the other, as if he expected his children to bound into the room at any moment.

There was something tragically fitting about the way Blake looked as he sipped his tea at a table miles too small for him, like he didn’t fit in the life he was forced to live. And yet, he had clearly adapted. He knew exactly how to position his knees so that they didn’t bump the impossibly small table, and knew how to smile and look fascinated by everything Niall said. Though it was clear to Niall that Blake had slipped into some safe, protected part of his mind after spilling out his story, and what he showed to Niall was a shell of who he truly was.

Eventually, Blake’s butler announced that supper would be served in the dining room in an hour, and wouldn’t his grace like to bathe beforehand? Blake seemed to awake from his jovial stupor then, flushing with embarrassment and making excuses as he leapt up to leave. His last words as he dashed out of the nursery were, “Make yourself at home. My house is yours.”

Niall rose as soon as Blake was gone and exchanged a wary look with Mr. Dobson. He had a feeling the grand ducal house with all its riches and finery was no more of a home to Blake than the flat he’d taken in York during university. In fact, that flat was probably three times the home Selby Manor was.

Supper was a stilted affair in which Blake did most of the talking. Niall was too exhausted, body and soul, to do more than nod and smile when appropriate at the tales Blake related of taking his son, Alan, fishing for the first time several weeks ago, the fancy Greta had taken to Lord Milton’s son, who was twice her age but had been kind to her at a garden party that spring, and the way Jessie had climbed to the top of the sheepfold on one of their tenant’s farms. More alarming was the fact that Blake ate as though he’d been skipping meals for a fortnight and kept running his fingers through the thick curls of his hair, as if he didn’t understand why it was so long. That distracting gesture left Niall longing

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