He was old enough to be her father.
It was an unspannable gap—always had been, always would be.
“Godric,” his stepmother said softly. She rose and crossed to him, and then surprised him by taking one of his hands in her own, small soft ones. “It’s so good to see you.”
There it was, the guilt and anxious resentfulness he felt every time he saw this woman. She made him into an awkward schoolboy, and he hated it.
“Madam,” he said, aware that his tone was too stiff, too formal. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
She looked up at him—the top of her head came only to his midchest—and her eyes seemed to search for something in his face.
“We wanted to see you,” she said at last.
“And we need new frocks,” Jane said from behind her mother. His half sister’s tone was defiant, but her expression was uncertain.
He’d probably looked like that much of the time when he’d been her age.
Godric nodded, leading his stepmother over to where she’d been seated before. “How long do you intend to stay?”
“A fortnight,” his stepmother said.
“Ah,” Godric murmured, and felt Megs’s look. For the first time he glanced at his wife.
His wife, whom he’d bedded just last night.
She wore a smart pink gown with black figures and trimmings, her hair dark and lustrous, and she sat very straight, watching him with a worried frown knit between her gracefully arched brows. He nearly stopped breathing. She was so lovely, Megs, his wife. Had his father’s family not been here, he might’ve crossed to her, pulled her from her seat, and led her to their rooms where—
But, no.
She’d made quite plain that was not the type of arrangement she wanted with him. Even had his stepmother and sisters not been looking on curiously, he would’ve had to wait until tonight.
He was a stud, nothing more.
Godric took a breath, focusing once more on the conversation. “Would you like me to escort you to the shops?”
He saw Megs’s look of surprise out of the corner of his eye.
Jane, predictably, opened her mouth first, but the glance her mother shot her made her close it again very quickly.
His stepmother smiled at him. “Yes, that would be lovely.”
He nodded. Megs gave him a small, grateful grin and handed him a dish of tea—a drink he’d never particularly cared for. But he sipped it and let the women’s chatter flow around him, observing.
It seemed his wife had formed an intimate bond with his father’s family while she’d lived at Laurelwood. That wasn’t so surprising, he supposed, since the dower house was nearby. She made a pretty picture with his sisters, her dark head in contrast with their lighter ones. All three had inherited their mother’s coloring. Charlotte was the fairest, while Jane’s tawny locks were the darkest. Sarah sat next to Megs, laughing at something, and Jane was nearly in Charlotte’s lap, her arm draped companionably over her sister’s neck, the skirts of their dresses frothing over each other. His stepmother looked on benignly and the circle was complete: a feminine sorority perfect and exclusive.
Godric glanced down at his tea.
It would be awkward with his father’s family in the house. He still had to continue his Ghostly duties, find the lassie snatchers, and now Roger Fraser-Burnsby’s murderer as well. Add to that Captain Trevillion watching him suspiciously, and his job had become much more difficult.
Not that obstacles would stop him.
“… if that’s agreeable with you, Godric?” his stepmother inquired.
He looked up to find five pairs of feminine eyes focused on him. Godric cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon?”
Megs sighed, making him aware that he’d missed more than one or two sentences. “We’ve decided to visit the modiste directly after luncheon and then tonight we’re to dine with Griffin and Hero. But”—she turned to his father’s family—“I’m sure Hero will invite you as well, once she hears you’re in town.”
Jane’s eyes rounded in awe. “She’s the daughter of a duke, isn’t she?”
Megs smiled. “And the sister of one. In fact, the duke may be there as well tonight.”
For a moment, the girl was frozen in apparent awe. Then she burst into a flurry of excited movement, chattering all the while about dresses and shoes and what would she wear?
Godric sighed. This was going to be a long day. He caught Megs watching him with a small, approving tilt to her lips.
But perhaps it would be worth it.
THAT NIGHT, MEGS watched as the Duke of Wakefield frowned down at his nephew in ducal disapproval and said, “I don’t understand why the boy cries every time he sees me.”
“He’s developing good taste,” Griffin replied kindly as he picked up sweet William, who immediately quieted, leaning against his father’s chest as he sucked on his forefinger.
Hero rolled her eyes discreetly—something she would never have done before marrying Griffin.
They were in the family sitting room where William had been brought down by his nurse before being put to bed. Great-Aunt Elvina leaned close to Hero, her hand behind her ear to hear whatever Hero was shouting at her. Jane sat ramrod straight, her eyes wide in awe as she watched every movement the Duke of Wakefield made. Beside her, her sisters and mother were more relaxed, obviously enjoying being in such exalted company. Knowing how the gossip mill worked in Upper Hornsfield, Megs knew they could dine upon this night for months. Godric stood near the mantel, watching. Megs frowned. Why was it that he always seemed so apart, even when in the midst of his own family?
William made a sound, drawing her eyes. A splotch of baby drool darkened Griffin’s waistcoat and Megs couldn’t help smirking. Her brother had been such a notorious rake before meeting Hero.
“May I?” she asked shyly, indicating William.
“Of course.”
Griffin placed sweet William in her arms and then she was being examined by large, green eyes the exact shade of his sire. He was heavier than she’d expected, a solid, warm bundle, smelling faintly of milk and biscuits. William had reddish-brown, curling hair, plump cheeks, and his lips, pursed around his finger, were so rosy and sweet Megs couldn’t help kissing him on his little forehead.
Soon, oh, please let it be soon.
William withdrew his finger from his mouth and patted her cheek wetly.
“Babies are terribly messy,” Great-Aunt Elvina announced, then ruined her stern words by making clucking noises at William.