by Margot Early
“Yes. Handsome bugger, isn’t he?” He took Bronwyn’s hand, and they walked down the center aisle of the stable, pausing to look at one horse or another, until they came to an empty stall. “Louisa had Wesley clean this today.”
“Why?” Bronwyn stepped inside, glancing around.
“He was angry. She thought it was a good way to channel his anger.”
“I can’t disagree,” Bronwyn remarked. “Better to work than—well, other things.” She added, “I like her so much Patrick. Your great-aunt.”
“She inspires love, doesn’t she? Even initially, when I came here full of prejudice against her, I found myself caring about her.”
There was a sound from the far end of the stable, a human sound.
Patrick pulled Bronwyn back against the side of the stall. He peered toward the darkened aisle, then slunk down near Bronwyn.
She looked at him questioningly, but he shook his head.
Together, they waited in the shadows, listening to the sound of slow footsteps.
Occasionally, Patrick risked another look at whoever had entered the stable.
Bronwyn wondered at his insistence on silence. Finally, the person seemed to have had enough of the stables, and she heard the light footsteps receding, heard the person leave the building.
“What?” she whispered.
Patrick glanced out again. In an undertone, he said, “Marie Lafayette. I wonder what she was up to.”
“Visiting the horses, I should imagine,” Bronwyn replied.
“I wonder.” Patrick led her out of the stalls.
“You wonder what?” Bronwyn demanded. “Marie’s all right.”
He simply glanced at her.
“Did you see her do something?” Bronwyn felt defensive for her friend.
“No, I didn’t. But I’m not sure I trust her.”
“Well, I do.”
“Yes, you’re known throughout the continent for your discernment.”
A reference to Ari. “That was low.”
“I suppose it was. But I’m fairly certain Marie Lafayette is hiding something.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. There was a small irregularity with her paperwork. I don’t suppose she’s told you much about her background.”
“I haven’t asked her. I like her. She’s a decent woman.”
“She’s savvy is what she is,” Patrick remarked.
“Since when is that a crime?”
“Bronwyn, just consider the possibility that you’re being naive.”
She did. Then dismissed it. “She’s a good person. I know because of her behavior, decisions she makes. I like her.”
“Liking someone isn’t enough, Bronwyn. Try to develop some healthy skepticism.”
“I trust my instincts,” she replied tartly.
Instead of the rebuttal she expected, he smiled down at her, perhaps remembering the recent intimacy of their kiss. “Then I hope your instincts are right,” he conceded. “Let’s get you back to our son.”
The following day, Bronwyn and Wesley moved into the big house. The assistant housekeeper gave them the same rooms they’d occupied during their initial stay in the house and added that Miss Fairchild would be expecting them to join her for meals.
Bronwyn replied that they would be pleased to do so.
Agnes turned to Wesley, “I understand that you are Miss Fairchild’s great-great-nephew, Master Wesley.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Wesley said with dignity. He didn’t meet his mother’s eyes, but he was certainly cooperating, and Bronwyn wondered if he was feeling more forgiving toward her than he had the day before.
As Bronwyn began to unpack in her room, Wesley came in. “Mum.”
“Yes?” She turned to him, then, seeing his expression, sat down on the edge of the bed. “What is it?”
“Could I change my name to Wesley Stafford? Could I be called that?”
A thousand objections went through Bronwyn’s mind. All were based on fear—fear that this would be the first step in losing Wesley to Patrick.
But she had no reason to fear that. Louisa would not let that happen. And, in any case, Bronwyn no longer believed that Patrick would be spiteful toward her. Rather, she’d begun to see him as a good friend—and as someone with whom she could share the responsibility of parenting Wesley.
She pointed out, “Patrick and I aren’t married.”
“But that doesn’t matter,” Wesley said. “He says I’m his son.”
“Yes, but—” Bronwyn hunted for an objection which would make sense to her son. “I mean, I’m sure Patrick is proud you’re his son, but you’ve always lived with me, so I think you should still have my last name. Has Patrick suggested this?”
Wesley shrugged, looking uncomfortable.
Bronwyn’s hackles went up. “Has he?” she repeated.
“It kind of came up,” Wesley said, which made her wonder whether her son was protecting Patrick or himself.
“How did it come up?”
“Mum, everybody knows you were married to Ari. Everyone at school. Now they want to know why I have your last name.”
Bronwyn began to see the problems this presented for Wesley. “Do you mean they think you’re illegitimate? You’re not.”
“People just want to know why I have my mum’s last name. They think it’s weird. And I feel stupid telling them I’m Patrick’s son if I don’t have his last name.”
“So you haven’t told them,” Bronwyn surmised.
Wesley shook his head, looking depressed.
Bronwyn swallowed her own fear. “Let Patrick and me talk about this, okay?”
“Why can’t I choose?”
“Maybe you can. But we’re not going to rush.”
“I know what I want,” Wesley said.
“I don’t doubt it. Nonetheless, your father and I will make this decision. Together.”
“You don’t care what life is like for me. You never care.” Bursting into tears, Wesley ran from the room. She heard his door shut. Not slam, but shut.
Damn it. Everything seemed to be conspiring to make her look like Medea—to her child, no less.
Chapter Ten
Unfortunately, the next time Bronwyn saw Patrick was in her yoga class that evening. She corrected a couple of his postures with rather more aloofness than she showed the other students. She didn’t know what else to do, because she couldn’t touch him without remembering kissing him in the barn—or thinking what it would be like to do more, to make love with him again.
Then she would remember that Wesley wanted to take Patrick’s last name, and she knew she and Patrick had to discuss that. She felt almost as though an invisible web was stringing itself around her, drawing her closer to Patrick, drawing her into a relationship. It would be so easy, and it wasn’t what she wanted. She needed her independence, needed to explore the person she was now, free of Ari. She was growing; life had never been so satisfying or exciting, and the thought of anything hemming her in frightened her.
The grooms had begun to trickle back into this evening yoga class, all of them keen to increase flexibility and correct any alignment problems. They were all strong athletes. Their jobs included riding the horses in the morning gallops, an experience Bronwyn did not envy them. She liked to watch the horses, but had no desire to ride animals as spirited as any of the racehorses.
The name change continued to nag at her as she worked. She must protect both her own interests and Wesley’s. She ought to talk to an attorney. She hadn’t yet engaged one and was highly reluctant to approach Louisa and ask her to make good on her promise. It flew in the face of her independent nature to rely on an elderly woman and her money.
But she’d promised Wesley that she would speak to Patrick about his name, and so she must.
Patrick lingered after class, as she’d suspected he would.
With a deep sigh, she turned to him. “Wesley has told me he wants to change his last name to Stafford. Did that idea come from you?”
“You didn’t think it might be wise to run the idea past me before suggesting it to him?”
“Actually, as soon as it was out of my mouth. I should have spoken to you first. And I’m sorry.”
She felt all the impotence of someone who was angry and discovered she had no reason to be angry. “He’ll never let me rest until he gets his own way on this. You know how painful the situation is for him with Ari. He’s entered school with my maiden name, and now he’s got all kinds of sensitivities about that, too.”
“You can’t lay that at my feet.”
“And you and I aren’t married. Now, if he changes his name to Stafford, people will see me as the unwed mother and also assume that Wesley’s bond to you is closer than his bond to me.”
“Does it really matter what people think?”
“It matters to me, and it obviously does to Wesley.”
“Then, I have a solution, one anyone would agree is in Wesley’s best interest.”
“Yes?”
He wiped a towel across his face and eyed her blandly. “We could marry.”
Bronwyn didn’t know what to say. “That would be entirely inappropriate.”
He laughed. “Why?”
“I mean—I don’t want to be married. I don’t want to depend on anyone but me.”
“We all depend on other people, Bronwyn. It’s how we get through life.”
“Yes, but I need to earn my way. That’s all.”
“And marrying me would interfere with that? You think I’m going to keep you barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen?”
The idea made her laugh, too—at herself. Then she remembered how she’d hurt him long ago and suddenly understood what courage it must have taken for him to propose marriage once again, whether for Wesley…or because he cared for her.
She laid a hand on his arm. “It’s not you. If I wanted to marry anyone, it would be you—”
“It would?” He looked ridiculously pleased by the possibility.
“But I need my independence right now. I need space to…well…bloom.”
“I hear you,” he said. “But it still might be best for Wesley.”
Bronwyn considered and saw just how susceptible she was to the picture of Patrick, Wesley and her as a family. Wasn’t some shadowy image of that the reason she had come to Fairchild Acres?
No, she protested stubbornly. She’d just wanted Wesley to know his father.
But that wasn’t all. Growing up on the streets with only her mother, never knowing her own father, she had been anxious for a steady male presence in Wesley’s life.
“Let’s not rush into anything,” she said. “Please.”
“Does that mean you don’t want Wesley changing his last name to Stafford?”
“Not now. Maybe…later. He didn’t even know you a month ago.”
“Don’t you think sooner might be better than later?”
“Why are you pushing me on this?” she asked. “Do you have some motive? Changing his last name is not going to magically make his life better.”
Someone cleared her throat, and both turned to see Louisa standing in the doorway of the fitness center, leaning on her cane.
She lifted her eyebrows, indicating that she had heard at least Bronwyn’s last words. But what she said was, “Bronwyn, you had a call, and it seemed important, but you were teaching. These people have been trying to find you. I think they finally found you because of that newspaper article.”
Bronwyn took the piece of paper the older woman held out. Attorney. Craig Scott. “Thank you, Louisa. He’s not at the office now, is he?”
“That’s a home number. He seemed very keen to speak with you.”
“He didn’t say what it was about?”
“I don’t think he could. And perhaps you and I should talk, Bronwyn,” Louisa added pointedly. “I have some names to give you of attorneys who specialize in divorce and paternity law.” Louisa shot a cool look at her great-nephew.
“You misunderstood Bronwyn,” Patrick said.
“How so?”
Bronwyn put her hands on her hips. “Don’t do this to Louisa, Patrick. It’s not remotely fair.”
“I’m not trying to take Wesley away from you,” he told Bronwyn, then turned to his great-aunt. “Wesley is uncomfortable with the dual stigma of being the son of Ari Theodoros and bearing his mother’s last name. I suggested a solution which addressed both. He could take the last name Stafford. He likes the idea.”
“Get out,” Louisa said.
“What?”
“Get off this property. I told you I wouldn’t countenance this.”
“I’ve asked Bronwyn to marry me,” Patrick said. “I don’t deserve these accusations. I’ve spoken highly of Bronwyn to Wesley and tried to show him the advantage of forgiving her for not telling him earlier that I’m his biological father. And I’ve just apologized to Bronwyn for mentioning the name change to Wesley before discussing it with her.”
Louisa hesitated. “Yes. I’m sure Wesley is now going to make his mother’s life hell until she goes along with it. And naturally, it will be heartbreaking for him if you were to say that you don’t want him to bear your name.”
Patrick thought, This isn’t fair. He’d made a mistake, and he’d admitted it. Well, now he was going to have to try to rectify it, too. He said, “I’ll take care of it.”
“How?” Bronwyn asked, as though wondering how anyone could untangle the knot Patrick had made.
“I’ll say that you and I aren’t ready to commit to each other and that it’s perfectly appropriate for him to keep your last name in the meantime. I suggest you also allow him to use the name Theodoros if he prefers that.”
“That will make him popular,” Louisa interjected.
“But it’s a start,” Bronwyn said. “Thank you, Patrick. I think if you assure him that you and I both feel this way it will help to placate him.”
“Thank you,” he said and then looked at his aunt. “Shall I pack?”
She gave her head one small shake then swayed slightly on her feet.
Patrick and Bronwyn both stepped toward her as though to catch her. But Louisa straightened up on her own. “It’s my bedtime.”
“I’ll see you upstairs,” Bronwyn said firmly.
Louisa didn’t object. The two women left Patrick behind in the fitness room and climbed the stairs together.
Bronwyn’s heart felt bound to Louisa’s. It wasn’t just gratitude for all Louisa had done for her and offered to do. It was gratitude for knowing the older woman, for having the benefit of her wisdom, having the privilege of her friendship. As they made their way up the staircase, she said, “Louisa, thank you so much for having me here. Thank you for being such a friend to me.”
“I’m not sure how good a friend I’m being.”
“Why?”
They’d reached the top of the steps. Louisa leaned on her cane and looked at Bronwyn. “Because I see myself in you. A softer woman might be a better model. I’m hard on Patrick. I wouldn’t want you to let any man walk all over you, but my own life experiences have made me…sometimes hard on the opposite sex.”
“Everyone falls in love,” Bronwyn said. “It’s a universal human experience.” She was fishing. She wanted to know all about Louisa’s past, most of all why Louisa had thrown her sister out of Fairchild Acres all those years ago.
“That’s certainly true,” Louisa agreed. “Some people are more forgiving of betrayal than I am, however. And if there’s one thing I detest, it’s people who try to separate any child from his mother.”
Bronwyn had to be honest. “I don’t think Patrick was doing that. I believe that he just made a mistake and spoke without thinking. I do believe he wanted Wesley to be happier. And he’s proud of him, too. Of course he wants Wesley to have his name. Who wouldn’t?”
Louisa laughed. “Thus speaks a mother. But it happens I entirely agree with you on that score. W
esley’s a very fine boy.” Two steps later, she added, “You see? I’m suspicious where there’s probably no need. And I shouldn’t encourage you to be so skeptical. I think you and I together may have a sight too much street sense for feminine softness. That’s why I said I’m not sure I’m a good model for you. You may be better off trusting Patrick, trusting that he loves you and Wesley.And actually, I believe he does. He’s a complicated man. I’ve seen some rough edges, but they all have them, don’t they?”
“I think he’s head and shoulders above the crowd,” Bronwyn admitted. “I care for Patrick. But maybe you can understand how much I need to be independent for a while. Maybe always. I loved Ari, strange as that may sound to you, but I was also bound to him. It never felt like confinement till he was gone. Now, I’m free, and I like it.”
Louisa looked thoughtful. “I can’t give you advice. And I’m not a woman who will tell you to marry for security or even because you think you’re in love. I’d probably tell you to hold on to that freedom till your last breath. The heart is an uncertain instrument, and I never depend upon it. But I’m not sure my way of looking at such things is wise. It may just be cowardly.”
Bronwyn accompanied Louisa down the hall to the older woman’s room, slowing her steps to match the matriarch’s. “I can’t picture you as a coward—or think of you that way.”
“What else would you call the inability to trust?” Louisa retorted. “Go on and call that attorney. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“You’re feeling all right?”
“Extremely well. I’m going to have some toast before bed.”
“Good plan. I’ll call Agnes for you,” Bronwyn replied, impulsively embracing Louisa.
Patrick’s great-aunt looked both startled and pleased.
“It’s about the will of your late husband, Ari Theodoros.”
“I thought all Ari’s assets had been seized.”
“Actually, there was a very legitimate insurance policy, and you are the beneficiary.”
Bronwyn’s heart pounded, and her fingers clutched the telephone receiver more tightly. She had made the call from the extension in her bedroom. “How much is it?” she asked Craig Scott.