Page 80 of Once an Angel
Chapter 18
It seems only yesterday you were toddling
after me, tugging at my coattails with your
chubby little hands. . . .
"Criminy, Penfeld, I asked to be shaved, not beheaded." Justin bit back a yelp as the razor nicked his throat.
Penfeld dabbed at the welling dollop of blood with a towel, his hands shaking visibly. The water in the ceramic washbasin at his elbow was stained a pleasant shade of pink. "I am frightfully sorry, sir. I must confess I'm a bit nervous myself."
"You're nervous?What about me? I've never been a father before." He ducked beneath the approaching blade and bounded out of the chair to the mirror. Stroking the foreign smoothness of his chin, he cocked his head sideways, studying his profile. "Do I look like a suitable papa?"
Beaming proudly, Penfeld wiped the soap from the gleaming blade with a flourish. "The very model of paternal decorum."
Justin flicked a stray hair from the shoulder of his coat, then cast the ebony strands scattered around his chair a rueful glance. "I hope this is worth it. I feel naked."
"But you look splendid."
Justin jerked his coat straight, then reached to his chest for a watch that wasn't there. He remembered
the last time he had seen it, gleaming against the satin of Emily's skin. A smile touched his lips. If things went well today, he would retrieve it soon enough.
"What time is it, Penfeld?"
The valet checked his own watch. "Eleven-oh-two, sir, approximately three minutes since you last asked."
"Eleven-oh-two? Oh, dear God." He paced to the door, then stopped with his hand on the knob. "Is my tie crooked?"
It wasn't, but Penfeld dutifully straightened it. Justin marched to the door again, but faltered halfway there.
His massive bed was swimming in a frivolous sea of lace and velvet. Sweeping away a dainty chintz frock, he sank down on the edge of the mattress and hooked his heels beneath the tester to keep from being sucked into a whirlpool of tiny silk gloves and mink muffs.
"In a few minutes David's daughter is going to walk through that front door. The first thing I must do is tell her the truth about her father." He lifted his bleak gaze to Penfeld. "How will I find the courage?"
"Shall I tell her, sir?"
A rush of affection flooded Justin. Penfeld had been known to blanch with terror at the mere sight of a child. "No. But you are a treasure to offer."
Emboldened by Penfeld's devotion, he jumped to his feet. "One more thing."
"Yes, sir?"
Justin gave him his warmest smile. "Merry Christmas, Penfeld."
The valet snapped to attention. "And a merry Christmas to you, too, sir."
* * *
As Justin strode down the corridor, a cheery whistle rose unbidden to his lips.
"Good morning, Mary," he called out, startling a shocked maid into dropping her load. Little polished boots and kid slippers scattered across the plush carpet. As he tripped down the stairs, one of his brothers-in-law passed him, his long nose tucked into a newspaper. "And a good day to you, Harvey," Justin said.
"Harold," the man mumbled, turning the page.
Justin stopped, frowned, then bounced back up three steps and peered into the man's face. "Why, I'll
be damned, it is Harold, isn't it!"
