The Making of Baron Haversmere by Carol Arens

Author:Carol Arens
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2020-03-10T14:47:23+00:00

Chapter Ten

Olivia watched Joe standing at the fountain. He wore the clothing of a man born to society. His hands were shoved in the pockets of the trousers, his shoulders slumped.

He looked sad. But, of course, he was in mourning and it was to be expected. With the day so bright and beautiful, birds singing and blossoms sweetly scenting the air—oh, the contrast must make him feel all the more forlorn.

She ought to do something to cheer him, felt a strong urge to do so, but she could not imagine what.

Not kiss him—again. She knew full well that the only reason he had done it the other night was because he desperately needed an escape from the intensity of his grief.

All she had to offer him now were words—but which ones?

In time life will go on. I’m here if you need me. I understand... All these truisms went through her mind while she watched him. Each of them seemed inadequate.

All of a sudden Victor dashed across the garden, Miss Hopp in pursuit. He latched on to Joe’s trouser leg, hugging tight.

The last thing poor Joe would want was to have to entertain his admirer.

She hurried outside, ready to call Victor to her, but Joe reached down and scooped him up. She stopped where she was because the pair of them were smiling.

Victor squeezed Joe around the neck, then patted his cheek with his plump, half-babyish hand.

‘My father is dead, too.’

Needing to know what her child had to say, she listened from a distance far enough away so that her presence would not interfere.

‘We have that in common then.’ Joe patted Victor’s back. ‘Let’s get each other through it, shall we?’

‘I’m not sad, though. I don’t cry because I miss him, only because I’m sorry I do not have a papa of my own.’

It felt as though a stone hit her belly. She was not aware that he cried. She had been dreading the day when he would begin to wonder why other children had fathers and he did not. For years she had wondered what she would say. Now in the moment all she wanted to do was weep. Her baby was far too young for this sort of hurt and not a bit of it his fault.

Cursing Henry would do no good since he was dead. But a real man, knowing a child depended upon him, would not have happily slid down the path of dissolution which no doubt resulted in a shortened life.

‘I’m sorry for that, too, little cowpoke.’

So far they did not seem to notice her. Neither did they notice Miss Hopp, who stood a distance away with her hand pressed to her mouth.

Did the governess know that Victor cried?

‘I don’t cry so much any more,’ Victor said, looking very seriously into his hero’s eyes. ‘That is why Uncle Oliver sent you to me, so I wouldn’t. I need a Pa and I reckon you need a boy to cheer you up.’

‘I reckon I do, at that.

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