Chapter 6 #2
Da must’ve realized he’d upset her, because she heard him clear his throat and lumber out of the chair.
“Athena, ye ken I think he’s a fine lad, but…Callan’s been acting out lately.”
She whirled to glare. “He has no’. He has been with me.”
No’ all of the time, a traitorous voice whispered.
Her father had the good grace to look awkward, shifting his weight, his hands going to his pockets. “I’m the laird, lassie, and it’s my responsibility to keep an eye on these things. The housekeeper’s been coming to me with complaints of strange thefts.”
Thefts? Athena frowned, hating the way her stomach had clenched. “What do ye mean?” she rasped, her fingers digging into the edge of the dressing table. “Ye are certain my son has been stealing?”
Her father had the good grace to shift awkwardly and look away. “No’ all of them, nay. Mostly it’s been little things—books from the library, pillows and blankets—that sort of thing.”
Athena felt the blood draining from her face, remembering an instance not very long enough where, when she’d finished reading Callan a book, he’d yanked a pillow from the sofa where they’d been sitting and darted past Phineas, who’d come to speak with her.
So her voice was weak when she whispered, “I see.”
“Did yer brother say anything to ye about his new wife’s eyeglasses?”
Athena’s gaze jerked back to her father. “Eyeglasses? Olive’s spectacles?”
Da shrugged apologetically. “Apparently at the beginning of the summer, the lad stole a pair of them from her, right in front of Phin. I trust him to tell the truth.”
With a sigh, Athena admitted that she did as well. “Aye,” she agreed. “I will speak to Callan.”
“I would no’ bother the lad normally, but…” Her father winced. “A scroll on Oliphant history has gone missing.”
Her eyes widened. “He stole a piece of clan history?” She’d read them all to her son, wanting him to be proud of his family’s past. “I kenned he loved hearing them, but he cannae read!”
“Aye, and…well.” Her father shrugged. “A portrait of my grandfather is missing.”
“A portrait?” she bleated. “Why would a lad steal a portrait from the portrait hall?”
Da shrugged again. “I cannae imagine it’s anything too wicked. No’ as if he has gambling debts he needs to pay off, eh?”
She huffed, irritation replacing the dread in her stomach. Dread of so many things. “I will speak to him. Pillows are one thing, but historical scrolls and a portrait are another!”
“And my books,” Da reminded her helpfully, his good nature reasserting itself as he rocked back on his heels. “Well, I suppose Callan’s new bad habit is problem for another day, eh? Tonight we must get ye ready for Melanie’s party!”
Ah yes. In her irritation, Athena had almost lost sight of that. Huzzah, another reason to be irritated.
“Da, I think it best if I stayed home to deal with my son—”
“Nonsense!” He was already hurrying toward the door. “I’ll just pop on my formal togs—Melanie likes me in my kilt, ye ken—and I’ll have the carriage brought ‘round for ye.” At the door, he waggled a finger in warning. “I told her I’d have ye there, just in time to dance with her duke.”
Blasted dukes, thinking they can control everyone.
“Fine, Da,” she sighed. “But I will no’ stay for the rest of it, eh? Ye can, I will send the carriage back for ye.”
Beneath his bushy beard, her father frowned. “Ye willnae stay for the dinner?”
Not if she was going to be forced to eat beside a duke she had no interest in. But she merely lifted her chin and waited for her father to come to the same conclusion.
To her surprise, her father sighed and, in a sudden flurry of movement, stomped back across the room to gather her in his arms.
Da always gave the best hugs.
Athena allowed herself to slump against him, to revel in his strength and kindness, even if he didn’t always understand what was going on in her head and her heart.
“I love ye, lassie. I just want what’s best for ye.”
“I ken, Da,” she sighed against his shoulder. “But sometimes… I mean, this is the best.” The best that I could hope for, at least.
She felt him blow out a breath, likely in frustration, but he didn’t say anything else.
Instead, he planted a kiss on her crown—as if she were a child again—and gently disengaged.
He didn’t meet her eyes as he shuffled from her room once more, on his way to his own chambers to dress to impress Lady Dumpkins tonight.
And as for Athena…
With a sigh, she sank down atop the stool in front of her dressing table, eyeing her reflection.
There’d been so much she’d given up for Callan, and it had been worth it. But to learn that, despite her best efforts to teach him right from wrong, he still got up to mischief? Parenting was so bloody difficult, wasn’t it?
She propped her elbow up on the table and dropped her forehead into her hand. Only two hours ago, she’d been blissful in Cash’s arms. She wanted more of that, but for now, reality—and responsibility—reared its head.
The night’s festivities—and the dreaded dance with Dumpkins’ duke—loomed ever closer.
Her maid would be here momentarily to help dress Athena in her ugliest gown.
But strangely, the revelation that Callan was getting into trouble had been helpful; instead of dreading her foray into Society, she was busy thinking about the things which really mattered.
Her son.
Her son, whom she loved. Her son, whom she’d chosen when it came down to either being a mother or being in Society’s good graces.
Five years ago, she’d been a young lady, newly graduated from finishing school, with stars in her eyes, and she’d fallen in love with a gentleman whom she thought loved her in return.
It had taken strength to decline his suit, knowing what Society would think of her…
But when others had urged her to have the babe in secret and give him away to a good family, she’d rejected that plan.
Callan was worth more to her than all the balls and musicales and fancy dresses and dances with dukes at house parties.
The last few weeks, the time spent with him and Matthew and Cash, had been worth more than the disdain she was sure to experience tonight.
Tonight, when she danced with the stiff, snobbish duke her friends had all described, she’d wrap herself in the memory of being in Cash’s arms, and she’d be able to make it through.
After all, it was only one dance.
What could go wrong with only one dance?