“Atlas.” She put a palm on his forearm. It was hard as stone beneath her touch, ready for violence. “Raph needs you, no doubt. And Zander and Fiona. Do they know about Matilda yet? I think they’re at the lake. You should find them. I’ll show Lord Tefler the public rooms and then join you. You should be with your family.”
He grasped her hands. “You’remy family. And Alfie.”
She squeezed his hands. “I’ll return to you shortly.”
“Is this something you need to do?”
She nodded.
“I’ll be close.” His jaw twitched, but he stepped aside and let her leave with Tefler.
She took the baron to the gallery first. Not many paintings remained there, but Franny had lovingly hung them at equal distances from one another, and Clara had helped her repair and paint the walls so the bright square ghosts, the only remnants of paintings sold to pay their debts, no longer told sad stories. Franny had cried a bit at first, but she’d been pleased with her work when they’d finished.A new start,she’d said.It’s well done of us.
Tefler paused at the far end of the gallery, staring up at the larger-than-life portrait of the former Lord Waneborough, Atlas’s father. “A fine-looking gentleman, like his sons. To be blessed with so many male progeny… Not all are so lucky. Do you know, I did not know what to expect when I came here. What family would allow a journeyman’s daughter into their ranks?”
“You did.”
“I did not allow it. It merely happened.”
“A cursed event over which you had no control.”
“Precisely.”
“Alfie is half journeyman’s daughter. Yet you wish him for your heir?”
Lord Tefler shrugged. “Children can be molded.”
The unsaid insinuation—adult women couldnotbe molded, try as the baron might. And damn but he’d tried.
“Children should be who they are.” She let her polished voice drop, let the journeyman’s daughter show in every syllable and vowel though her natural voice seemed to be something between the two now—between what she’d been born into and what she’d been shaped as.
He whipped around to face her, and only a few long strides brought them face-to-face. “It is good you now find yourselfamong those who know better than you do. Had I found you anywhere else, I would not have hesitated to take what’s mine. Indeed, I was prepared to take Simon with me, no matter this family’s lineage. One hears… rumors. I feared to find the worst, a family brought low by constant common associations.”
“Like me.”
“Like you. But the dowager marchioness, she’s the right sort.”
Laughter boiled up inside her, but she locked it up tight, only cracking a small smile after he left the gallery. Franny. The right sort. Yes, indeed she was.
She started for the stairs.
“I’ll be on my way,” he said, bouncing down them, and stopping at the bottom. “Is Alfie in fine health?”
She took the stairs slowly. “Perfect health. Better than ever before.”
“And is he continuing his studies? Latin?”
“He is.”
“Then I see no reason to speak with him. I will write a letter to the marquess instructing him to include Simon in all matters of the estate, so he can learn what is expected of a landed gentleman. Hmm.” He grinned, tried to hide it, but it would slip out. “Indeed, I shall have to communicate quite often with the marquess, to ensure Simon?—”
“Alfie.”
“Simon’s education is progressing properly.” Tefler shivered. “A marquess. What a boon.” He practically bounced down the remaining stairs, and Clara followed him into the foyer. He shivered again when his gaze fell on her, this time with more disgust than joy. “I was worried, but… I am now convinced Waneborough and his mother will know the proper place to keep you in. Simon?—”
“Alfie.”
“—is in no danger from you.”
