The Scottish Bride - Catherine Coulter [112]
Douglas stared at the small human being who had come from his loins, and had excellent hearing, and very likely had looked up “abomination” in the dictionary. “Yes,” he said slowly, “your uncle is perfectly right. We shall just have to see, won’t we? Listen to me, Jason—you will not ever say the word ‘abomination’ in your new aunt’s hearing, do you understand me?”
“Yes, Papa, but do you think she will be as, er, unpretty as Leo’s mama was? Although, of course, I don’t remember her.”
“I have no thoughts whatsoever on the subject. Forget it, Jason.”
“Yes, Papa, but it will be difficult.”
“You’re strong. You can do it.” However, Douglas found himself clearly remembering Melinda Beatrice, Tysen’s first wife. He remembered that Tysen had believed her a goddess, the perfect wife for a vicar, his soul mate, his helpmeet—and he had been quite wrong. He winced. Well, Tysen had been very young, much too young to have his brains working properly. And any joy, any full-heartedness, that he’d had, that twit Melinda Beatrice had crushed right out of him. But now Tysen wasn’t very young, and he seemed changed, and it was for the better. God be praised.
“You’re always telling Mama how beautiful she is,” Jason said.
“Your mother is very special, Jason. Her insides are just as beautiful as her outsides.”
“I’ll go tell James, Papa. Maybe our new aunt won’t be able to tell me and James apart and we can pretend to be each other and gather information.”
“I request that you don’t.”
But he knew that Jason was already coming up with scenarios that would make Douglas’s head ache. They would drive the poor woman distracted, pretending to be each other.
“Can we play chess a bit later? A new aunt—maybe she’ll have presents for us.”
“Greedy little beggar.” After his son left the estate room, likely to wander with his twin in the Northcliffe gardens and ogle all the naked statues, Douglas rose and went to look for his wife, to give her the news.
He found her in the music room, practicing her new harpsichord. She was endeavoring to get through a Scarlatti sonata that had a goodly number of high, tinkly notes. It was to be played very fast, and she was trying, but the result was regrettable. She played with verve, however, just as she did everything. He rubbed her shoulders lightly, then leaned down to kiss her ear, then her nose, and then her mouth. She turned on the bench, her hands closed around his back, and she rubbed her cheek against his shirt. “Ah, bless you, Douglas. I was ruining my ears.” Alex sighed. “It isn’t very easy.”
It wouldn’t have occurred to him not to lie cleanly and quickly, and so he did. “It was wonderful, Alex,” he said, kissed her again, and added, “I will just give you a little respite. Read this letter from Tysen.”
“Oh, dear,” Alex said, blinking several times, when she finished the letter. “Goodness, she has two names, just like Melinda Beatrice. Do you think she has no bosom either?”
Douglas laughed and laughed. He remembered how Ryder had said that no girl should have two names and no bosom. Well, Tysen had married another girl with two names. He wondered if Ryder had received a letter yet and if he was thinking about his new sister-in-law and the rather astounding change in Tysen.
Chadwyck House
Between Lower Slaughter and Mortimer Coombe
The Cotswolds
Ryder Sherbrooke had one little boy tugging on his left arm, another little boy clinging to his right leg, and a little girl with her legs locked around his middle, laughing in his ear, her skinny arms clasped around his neck. He was laughing himself, even as he tried to free just one hand. “Don’t strangle me, Linnie. I must read this letter. It was just delivered, and it’s from your uncle Tysen. I don’t like letters delivered like that, it usually means something is wrong. All of you need to let me go for just a minute. That’s right, I’ll be a prisoner again, just let me sit down first.”
Ryder