Chapter Eighteen #3
Aaran expected such was so. “If you do, I will expect you to be on your best behavior. My servants are not accustomed to attending to those who have consumed too many strong drinks or who freely abuse women. I do not condone such behavior, and I expect them to follow my beliefs. While there, I will arrange for you to meet with the necessary men of business and banking and arrange for your move to be free of your mother’s guardianship and that of the men she hired to supervise your life.
” He paused before adding, “It might be best if you do not discuss your ideas with the Raylands. I do not like to speak against your mother and His Lordship, but I cannot imagine either would encourage you in this endeavor.”
“You are likely correct,” Boyde said with a nod of his head.
“For longer than I care to think, Mother has had the legal right to withdraw funds from my barony. When they were arguing recently and did not know I was on the other side of the door, His Lordship let it slip that his bargain in making her a baroness had something to do with her ability to sign off for funds in my name. That is not good, is it, Aaran?”
Aaran was not confident how to respond. “We should learn where your barony stands at this time. Then we might move forward. With your permission, I will make some inquiries.”
“Naturally, do what you think necessary. I will sign whatever you require to act in my behalf,” his brother said.
“Until you reach your majority and are legally able to make those decisions, I likely will be required to use more creative measures, but we will do what is necessary together, if such is truly your wish,” Aaran assured.
“Naturally, whatever you think best,” Boyde said with a nod of his head. They sat in companionable silence for perhaps a minute before his brother asked, “Do you miss Lady Freya’s company?”
“That is an odd question to ask,” Aaran said with a frown. “Why would you think so?”
“I thought you two fond of each other,” Boyde confessed. “Even Lady Rhonda thought so.”
“Lady Freya has developed a friendship with the wives of my brothers from my ‘Duncan family,’” Aaran explained. “However, her father despises me. Cunningham would never countenance our joining. His opinion of me mimics that of Lord Hightower.”
“Nonsense,” Boyde declared. “Our father’s blood runs through your veins. You favor him more than do I.”
“And you possess at least a few memories of him. He was alive for your first few years of life, while I lived the life of a tenant farmer’s child.
He never once acknowledged me. Nor held me in his arms. Never spoke to me of the pride he felt with my presence in his life.
Basil Lessier said those words to me often, despite my inability to carry the heavy thatch or to guide the oxen without falling over.
Lessier, a tenant farmer, held more dignity than did an earl.
Duncan told each of those he brought under his roof often of what he termed to be our exceptional skills.
Duncan nurtured our interests so we could thrive, as well as prevail.
” Aaran shrugged off his embarrassment. “I have prosed too long.”
“I do not mind,” Boyde said softly. “It would be nice to hold such memories. My mother grieved for my father’s presence in her life, but I hold only a few memories, none of them pleasant.
It is terrible to say I do not think he liked me very well.
Generally, he held me only when my mother placed me in his arms. I often squirmed, and he would complain and have my nurse return me abovestairs. ”
Aaran had only seen his father twice, and neither time had Lord Aaran Graham, the Elder, even turned his head to look upon Aaran. “We are quite a pair, are we not?” he suggested with a sad shake of his head.
“I am glad to claim you as my brother,” Boyde said softly.
Aaran chuckled. “So you will not pursue Lady Rhonda, despite your mother’s hopes for a match?”
“I am not prepared to be managed once I leave my mother’s home,” Boyde said with a lift of his brows in a gesture of apparent surprise at admitting his fears aloud.
“Few men are,” Aaran assured, “though many do not recognize their mistake until it is too late.”
“And Lady Freya will not please you?” Boyde asked again.
Aaran believed Lady Freya would please him well, yet, he said, “A Scottish termagant if I ever saw one. Can you imagine the scope of the fights we would have? It would be a contest as to who would kill the other first.”
His brother laughed easily, but the image of Lady Freya and him, arms and legs entangled, followed Aaran all the way back to Thom Manor and throughout the evening.
Even when he retired earlier than usual, he had slept badly.
Restless, he woke again and again from dreams of Lady Freya disappearing in a mist before he could reach her, robbing him of the warmth of her body along his front, as well as any memory of her—as if he had never known her—never held her in his arms and kissed her sweet lips.
Each time he woke, he reminded himself that it had been his choice to send her away, and how Lady Freya had offered to deny her family and remain with him, but he had been the coward and had refused to believe anyone as spectacular as the lady would place her trust and affections in his fumbling hands. He was not worthy of her bravery.