She put her fingers to his lips. “Whatever conditions I choose, you said. That was our deal, right?”
“Right.”
“Well, I choose
Boston.
”
Aaron picked her up and whirled her around in his arms before putting her down and pulling her toward the stairs and the bed waiting at the top.
Weston’s eyes misted as he stared after them. As he reached for the decanter that stood on the tray nearby, his fatherly pride bubbled over in an rush.
“Isn’t she something?” Then he glanced at Thomas Durham, who looked like he could use a stout drink, and held up a goblet.
“Brandy?”
THE GREAT SAILS FLAPPED lazily in the breeze, their job done for now. The gentle lapping of the water about the piers and the sides of the good ship were mingled with the cries of seabirds soaring and calling, and with the scraping of wood on wood as the docking vessel nudged against the quay.
Lawrence Weston gazed up at the sky and mused on the appearance of the sun as they made landfall. His spirits began to lift. A movement on the wharf caught his eye. A handsome black coach, drawn by matched horses, turned onto the dock and halted near the ship’s mooring. There would be no need to send a message after all.
He paced impatiently until the gangway was in place, then he was down it in several strides and making for the coach. The door swung open and a tall figure bent through the opening and landed on the ground.
“There you are!” Weston cried, shaking his son-in-law’s hand while wrapping him in a burly half-hug. He spotted Dyso standing beside the coach and nodded, smiling. Dyso grinned back.
“By God, man, it’s good to see you again.” Weston’s voice was husky and he cleared his throat to vent the emotion welling up inside him.
“And you, sir, you look splendid. Brien will be so pleased to have you with us.” Seeing the earl peering into the coach, Aaron shrugged apologetically. “She was to have come with me, but at the last minute Garrett began to cry and rather than delay collecting you, she sent us on without her.”
“Ah.” Weston was not seriously disappointed. “It will be a sight indeed to see Brien mothering a baby. I never thought to see that, or to hear that my headstrong daughter was constrained to marriage and motherhood she swore were not for her.”
“There is quite enough left you will recognize.” Aaron laughed.
“She’s planned quite a time for you here; I hope you’ve come well rested.”
Weston smiled. “I am eager to get my hands on that grandson of mine. For that privilege, I’ll endure her worst.” He glanced over his shoulder, his face sobering as a thought occurred to him. “Uh
. . . Aaron, there is something . . . I’ve brought a friend with me and need to know whether you will provide lodging for us both, or if I must seek accommodations elsewhere.”
Aaron frowned at the tension in Weston’s face. “Any friend of yours is welcome in our home, sir, you must know that.”
Clasping his son-in-law’s arm, Weston sighed happily. “I thought as much.”
Before Aaron could inquire further, Weston was moving back up the gangway. A friend? A
lady
friend? Was the old boy bringing a new bride, to obtain his daughter’s blessing? Weston acted as though he fully expected his son-in-law to refuse to accept his friend as a guest. Lifting a brass-bound trunk with Dyso, Aaron failed to see Weston’s friend approach the carriage.
Hearing Weston’s polite cough, Aaron wheeled about, leather satchel in hand, to flash a welcoming smile at Weston’s lady. And he nearly dropped the bag as his eyes met the cold gray of ones he knew too well.
“Aaron,” Weston’s friend addressed him, proudly, but with a softer edge than the younger man could ever remember.
“Father.” The pronouncement took great effort and left Aaron otherwise speechless. For a long moment, father and son reached beyond old memories of each other for clues to the present state of their relations.
Weston expelled a long breath, only now realizing that he had held it for a while.
“This is my friend, Aaron,” Weston said. “You have offered us both the hospitality of your home, have you not?”
Aaron surfaced from that intense exchange. His father-in-law’s quiet smile undercut his indignation. It was a time for closing old wounds and setting things right.
“I have offered such.” He looked at his father. “You are welcome as our guest.”
In the coach, as they moved along the streets of Boston with the drapes drawn back to afford a view of the city, Weston relaxed back into the seat and chatted easily about the latest news and the events that had occupied him over the past year.
“I have induced Thomas to buy a house in London near Harcourt and have introduced him to several widows of my acquaintance.
He seems to have the Durham touch with women. I swear he is all they see when he is about. I find myself ignored, mostly.”
Aaron studied his father, who shifted uncomfortably under his son’s scrutiny. This was a new view of the man, one which unsettled Aaron even as he welcomed it. He knew the price of pride his father had paid to undertake so long and costly a journey, risking rejection at the destination.
“And he is the only man in London who can give me a real game of chess. But he fears I shall make a soft-living idler of him and insists upon returning to Coleraine frequently to oversee its doings. I’ve told him the servants manage better without his interference.” Weston chuckled as Thomas Durham snorted disagreement.
“Someone has to see to it that things are done,” Durham said shortly.
“He chafes because his younger son has just announced he yearns for the cleric’s collar,” Weston said, “and will stay in Cambridge to train further.”
“Edward? A vicar?” Aaron sat up straighter, eyeing his father.
“It seems my mantle has been twice rejected.” The nobleman looked uncomfortable with the topic, but seized the opportunity for one more observation. “It has been a bitter winter. I see now there are things in my life I would change, if I were given the chance.”
It was the closest to an apology Aaron had ever heard from his father. A catch in his throat prevented him from replying, but the expression he gave his father was warm.
Weston noted all that transpired and smiled with satisfaction.
Things were moving better than he’d expected. It had been a difficult task, getting Thomas Durham to end his moping and self-indulgent pessimism and move to London. More work had been required to constrain his new friend in the matter of his second son’s choice of vocation. And this last, the voyage, was nothing short of miraculous. What the man needed was the chubby little fist of a grandchild to grab his rusty heartstrings and shake them free of the rust of loneliness and frustration. Brien’s child.
IN THE SPACIOUS parlor, the sun streamed through the leaded panes, warming and cheering the comfortable greens and golds of the furnishings. Garrett Durham sat on the floor beside his mother, who held up brightly colored beads on a string and named the colors to him in a low, melodious voice.
Voices in the hall alerted Brien to the arrival of her husband and father. She got to her feet and ran for the hall, where Ella was taking the men’s hats and greeting the earl as an old friend.
With a cry, Brien ran to her father’s outstretched arms, not seeing anyone else in the hall just then. They embraced for a long moment before Weston, his eyes moist, thrust her back to arm’s length to study her. “Let me look at you.” If anything, her new life lent her greater beauty, in the form of a warm and openly contented charm.
Seeing past her father now, Brien’s eyes widened as they came to rest on the third member of the party. She sought Aaron’s face with a questioning look. Puzzled at his acceptance of his father’s presence, Brien looked back to her own father.
“Brien, I must see this grandson of mine—I can wait no longer!”
he roared.
“Oh, yes!” She caught Weston’s hand and drew him into the parlor. Aaron followed, beckoning to his father.
By the time they reached the door, Weston already had Garrett up in his arms and was staring at the child’s alert eyes and interest in him. He touched the little hands that grabbed fearlessly at his nose, and suddenly his eyes were wet.
Aaron went to his wife and drew her against him. Resting his chin atop her head, he watched in silence as love between grandfather and grandson was born.
Past her husband’s arm, Brien glimpsed Thomas Durham standing just inside the doorway, his face a heartbreaking mixture of memory and longing. Whatever brought him so far, Brien could not imagine. But she read clearly and compassionately the state of his melting heart just then.
Wordlessly, she left Aaron’s side and took the babe from her father’s arms, to carry him to the proud old aristocrat who had come halfway around the world at her invitation to claim his grandchild. Softening visibly, he accepted and cradled the baby.
When he raised his eyes to Brien’s, they were wet and shining with pride and gratitude.
He carried Garrett to the settee and sat down beside his wise and generous friend, Lawrence Weston. Together they made all kinds of noises earls of the realm seldom make . . . but grandfathers often do.
Brien again sought the warmth of Aaron’s arms. Together, they watched as the flow of destiny bound their two families together in the love that surrounded one auburn-haired child.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
BETINA KRAHN—having successfully launched two sons into lives of their own and still working on launching her two pesky schnauzers
anywhere
—has traded the snowscapes of her beloved Minnesota for soaking up both sun and ideas in fertile Florida.
Her undergraduate degree in biology and graduate degree in counseling, along with a lifetime of learning and observation, provide a broad background for her character-centered novels.
She has worked in teaching, personnel management, and mental health . . . in spite of which she remains incurably optimistic about the human race. She believes the world needs a bit more truth, a lot more justice, and a whole lot more love and laughter.
And she does what she can to help provide them.
Bantam Books by Betina Krahn
THE UNLIKELY ANGEL
THE PERFECT MISTRESS
THE LAST BACHELOR
THE MERMAID
THE SOFT TOUCH
SWEET TALKING MAN
THE HUSBAND TEST
NOT QUITE MARRIED
Praise for the Enchanting Novels of
BETINA KRAHN
“Betina Krahn writes with flare. Her plots and characters are humorous, witty and original. Talented and gifted, Betina Krahn is a joy to read.” —
Literary Times
“One of our most creative writers . . . Krahn’s ingenious romances always entertain and leave readers with a warm glow.”
—
Romantic Times
“Krahn is the kind of writer that makes you smile at the end of her novels and wish her next book were already in your hands.”
—
Contra Costa Times
“Krahn uses a light touch to address serious social issues (i.e., the vulnerability of women in Victorian society), combining wit and whimsy with a high degree of sensuality in gracefully written, well-plotted, and unpredictable stories.” —
Library Journal
“Genuinely funny Elizabethan sexual puns, a strong, believable heroine, and an absorbing story of forbidden love make
The
Husband Test
an enjoyable read.” —
Booklist
“Following Krahn’s delightful
The Husband Test
, this laughter-laced historical perfectly packages witty dialogue and engaging characters into a captivating romance.” —
Booklist
on
The Wife Test
“
The Husband Test
quickly blossoms into a bright, exciting adventure.” —
Publishers Weekly
“With vivid insight into the dangers and drama associated with the railroads that opened the untamed West to settlement in the late 19th century, Betina Krahn’s
The Soft Touch
packs the romance punch that fans have come to expect from this bestselling novelist. Filled with Krahn’s trademark subtle humor, this is a smart romantic novel that is sure to delight readers.” —
Milwaukee Journal Sentinel
“Krahn wins readers over with her charming and amusing tales.”
—
Chicago Sun Times
“Krahn’s novels are rousing, rollicking, fun, unpredictable, and very sensual—in all, a delight!” —
Affaire de Coeur
“Krahn has a sharp ear for dialogue and never lets her characters become stereotypes. Her novels are funny, fresh and nicely paced.” —
Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
NOT QUITE MARRIED
A Bantam Book / July 2004
Published by
Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2004 by Betina Krahn
Originally published under the title
Rapture’s Ransom
in 1983
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law. For information address: Bantam Books, New York, New York.
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