The Scottish Prisoner - Diana Gabaldon [173]
“He keeps much to himself.” Those casual words gave Grey a sudden insight into Fraser’s life at Helwater—and a slight pang. Had he not kept Fraser from transportation, he would have remained in the company of the other Scots, would have had companionship.
If he hadn’t died of seasickness, he thought, and the pang faded, to be replaced by another moment of insight. Was this the explanation for Fraser’s decision to marry Betty Mitchell?
Grey knew Betty fairly well; she’d been Geneva Dunsany’s lady’s maid since Geneva’s childhood and, with Geneva’s death, had become Isobel’s maid. She was quick-witted, good-looking in a common way, and seemed to be popular with the other servants. With her as wife, Jamie would be much less strange to the Helwater servants, much more a part of their community.
Little as Grey liked that idea, he had to admit that it was a sensible way of dealing with isolation and loneliness. But—
His thoughts were abruptly jerked back to Dunsany.
“You—I beg your pardon, sir. I didn’t quite hear …?” He’d heard, all right; he just didn’t believe it.
“I said,” Dunsany repeated patiently, leaning closer and raising his voice, “that I propose to amend my will and wish to ask your permission to add a provision appointing you as guardian to my grandson, William.”
“I—well … yes. Yes, of course, if you wish it.” Grey felt as though he’d been struck behind the ear with a stocking full of sand. “But surely there are other men much better qualified for the office. A male relative—someone on William’s father’s side of the family?”
“There really is no one,” Dunsany said, with a helpless, one-shouldered shrug. “There are no male relations at all; only a couple of distant female cousins, neither of them married. And there is no one in my own family who is near enough, either in terms of geography or degree of relation, to make a competent guardian. I would not have the boy shipped off to Halifax or Virginia.”
“No, of course not,” Grey murmured, wondering how to get out of this. He could see why Dunsany wanted to amend his will; the old man was feeling his years, and with good reason. He was ill and frail and might easily be carried off by the winter’s chills. It would be irresponsible to die without providing for William’s guardianship. But the possible imminence of Dunsany’s demise also meant that Grey’s putative guardianship had an uncomfortable immediacy, as well.
“Besides not wanting to uproot the child so drastically—and my wife and Isobel would be quite desolate without him—he is the heir to Ellesmere. He has considerable property here; he should be raised with a knowledge of it.”
“Yes, I see that.” Grey pulled his horse’s head away from the clump of grass it was nosing after.
“I know this is gross presumption on my part,” Dunsany said, perceiving his hesitation. “And doubtless you were not expecting such a request. Should you like time to consider it?”
“I—no.” Grey made up his mind on the moment. He hadn’t seen that much of William but did like the little boy. While he was small, he wouldn’t need that much in the way of help; Lady Dunsany and Isobel could care for him very well, and Grey could stay longer on his visits to Helwater. As William grew older … he’d need to go to school, of course. He could divide his holidays, perhaps, coming with John to London sometimes, the two of them coming to Helwater.
Just as he had once come with his friend Gordon Dunsany. When Gordon had been killed at Culloden, Grey had come then alone, to grieve and to comfort. Over time, he had become not Gordon’s replacement, of course, but almost an adopted son of the house. It was that intimacy that had allowed him to make his arrangements with Dunsany for Fraser’s parole. And if a son had privileges within his family, he had also responsibilities.
“I’m most honored by your request, sir. I promise you, I will execute the office to the very best of my ability.”
Dunsany’s withered face lighted with relief.
“Oh,