Page 10 of The Baron's Return
John leaned back in his chair, a grin forming. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”
By way of reply, Cranston moved to the sideboard where an assortment of spirits was laid out. He reached for a bottle of whisky and poured a healthy measure into a cut crystal glass.
John came around the desk to stand next to him. He could feel the man’s eyes on him. “It’s a little early to begin drinking. Has something happened?”
Cranston downed the contents of the glass and poured himself another before turning to meet his friend’s worried gaze. “Congratulate me. Apparently I’m the father of an eight-year-old girl whom the world believes to be another man’s child.”
His friend’s shock was unmistakable. He let out a soft curse and plucked the glass from Cranston’s hand, then nodded toward the pair of comfortable chairs that were grouped together before one of the study’s windows.
Cranston dropped into a chair and watched as John placed his drink on the sideboard. That was fine. He would speak to his friend first, and then he would drown out all memory of what he’d learned today. It would have to suffice for now until he figured out what to do about the grenade Abigail had thrown into his life.
John settled into the seat opposite him. They were silent for almost a full minute while his friend tried to find words for the situation. There were none, of course, and Cranston’s eyes went back to the sideboard.
Finally John leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Tell me everything. I won’t breathe a word to anyone if you don’t wish me to.”
Normally they didn’t pry into one another’s personal affairs. They offered opinions, of course, but they didn’t share private details of their dealings with the fairer sex. But Cranston couldn’t ignore the bone-deep certainty that he needed to unload this burden. Share it so it was no longer his to bear alone. And when the time came, he’d allow John to tell Ashford. He didn’t think he’d be able to tell this story twice, but he wanted both of his friends to know everything.
“You know about my past with Lady Holbrook.” He gave himself credit for being able to say the name without wincing. It had taken a very long time—years, in fact—before he could even think of her as anything other than Miss Abigail Burton, the beautiful young woman he loved and with whom he’d planned to spend the rest of his life.
John nodded once. “Just what you told us that one time you drank a little too much.”
He had vague memories of that night. It had been just after Ashford announced Mary had accepted his proposal. His real proposal. They’d been pretending to be courting before that day. Apparently Cranston couldn’t think about the past without wanting to drink himself into oblivion.
“You said that you had a romantic interest in her before you enlisted,” John continued.
Cranston let out a soft snort. That was a tepid description for what he’d felt for the woman who still had the power to tie his insides up in knots.
“After his marriage ceremony, Ashford told me that your wives were planning on promoting a match between us.”
“That’s true. Amelia told me that Mary thought it would be a good idea to see if they could bring the two of you together again. I don’t know the details, but I do know that Ashford told her that wouldn’t be wise.” John leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “Apparently that only made her more determined.”
“Yes, and she invited the woman to their wedding breakfast.”
John raised one shoulder. “I don’t know what they’re thinking. Amelia has assured me that they’ll no longer be playing matchmaker. But she and Mary like her a great deal. It’s possible she would have invited Lady Holbrook anyway.”
Cranston tried to ignore the way his fingers itched with the need to hold on to that glass again. How much he needed to feel the burn of the amber liquid as it blazed a fire down his throat. He had to finish this conversation before he could get on with the business of getting well and truly drunk.
“We met during her first season. She was eighteen and I was twenty-one. Needless to say, I was young and stupid. It didn’t take long before I fell under her spell. And I was foolish enough to believe she felt the same way about me. She accepted my marriage proposal, and I told her I would speak to her father.”
“I assume her father turned you down.”
“I never made it that far. She sent me a note that she’d accepted Lord Holbrook’s suit and that she wished me well.” He shook his head. “A fucking note.”
He rose to his feet and walked to the sideboard with two long strides. John said nothing as he tossed back the drink that had been taunting him. He turned to face his friend again. The weight of the empty glass in his hand felt like a lifeline. “Two short lines that changed my life forever.”
John said nothing for a few seconds before continuing. “You know this is how things are. Women don’t usually have a choice about whom they wed.”
“Of course I know that, which is why I went to see her. I expected to be turned away. To find she’d been locked away in her room. I was already thinking about how I could come back that night and spirit her away to Gretna Green.”
John said nothing, merely waiting for him to continue.
Cranston turned to pour himself another measure of whisky. He didn’t intend to drink it just yet, but watching the amber liquid swirl into the glass gave him a measure of calm.
“She was sitting in the drawing room, calm as can be. Waiting for me since she knew I wouldn’t just accept her letter as the truth. And trust me when I say she gave me no indication she was being forced.”
“That doesn’t mean she wasn’t.”
“I might be able to believe that if she hadn’t laughed at me. Told me that she’d decided she’d much rather be a wealthy viscountess—one who was no doubt going to be a widow soon—than bind herself to someone who would one day be a baron with little in the way of wealth or possessions to recommend him.”
