Devil's Daughter (The Ravenels #5) - Lisa Kleypas Page 0,98
dared to broach the subject that was preoccupying both of them. “West, if you were in Edward’s place, would you have—”
“Don’t,” he said testily. “That’s not fair to him or me.”
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need to hear the answer.”
“You already know the answer,” he growled. “The boy’s welfare is the only thing that matters. He’s the only one who didn’t have a choice in any of this. After what I endured in my childhood, I would never cast my own son and his defenseless mother on the world’s mercy. Yes, I would have married her.”
“That’s what I expected you to say,” Phoebe murmured, loving him even more than before, if that were possible. “You have no illegitimate children, then.”
“No. At least, I’m reasonably sure. But there’s no ironclad guarantee. For a woman who doesn’t like nasty surprises leaping up, you’ve a knack for choosing the wrong companions.”
“I would hardly put you in the same category as Edward,” Phoebe protested. “He borrowed money against my son’s inheritance. You would never do anything to hurt Justin or Stephen.”
“I already have. They just won’t feel it until they’re older.”
“What on earth do you mean?”
“Too often in the past, I made a public spectacle of myself on the worst possible occasions, in front of the worst possible people. I was an absolute swine. Brawling at parties. Pissing in fountains and vomiting in potted plants. I’ve slept with other men’s wives, I’ve ruined marriages. It takes years of dedicated effort to discredit one’s own name as thoroughly as I did, but by God, I set the bar. There will always be rumors and ugly gossip, and I can’t contradict most of it because I was always too drunk to know whether it happened or not. Someday your sons will hear some of it, and any affection they feel for me will turn to ashes. I won’t let my shame become their shame.”
Phoebe knew if she tried to argue with him point by point, it would only lead to frustration on her part and wallowing on his. She certainly couldn’t deny that upper-class society was monstrously judgmental. Some people would perch ostentatiously on their moral pedestals, loudly accusing West while ignoring their own sins. Some people might overlook his blemished reputation if there was any advantage to them in doing so. None of that could be changed. But she would teach Justin and Stephen not to be influenced by hypocritical braying. Kindness and humanity—the values her mother had imparted—would guide them.
“Trust us,” she said quietly. “Trust me and my sons to love you.”
West was silent for so long that she thought he didn’t intend to respond. But then he spoke without looking at her, in a flat and unemotional tone. “How could I ever count on anyone to do that?”
To Phoebe’s relief, West’s dark mood seemed to have been dispelled by that evening. He romped with the boys after dinner, tossing and wrestling and flipping them, eliciting squeals, grunts, shrieks, and endless giggling. At one point, he was crawling on his hands and knees through the parlor like a tiger with both of them riding on his back. When they were all happily exhausted, they piled onto the settee.
Justin crawled into Phoebe’s lap and leaned his head back against her shoulder as they sat in the light of a standing lamp with a yellow silk shade, while a small fire crackled in the hearth. Reading aloud from a copy of Stephen Armstrong: Treasure Hunter, she enjoyed Justin’s spellbound interest as they neared the end of the chapter.
“‘Stephen Armstrong watched as the sun’s burning rays slanted over the temple ruins. According to the ancient scroll, at precisely three hours after midday, a telltale animal shadow would reveal the entrance to the treasure cave. As the minutes passed but slowly, the shape of a crocodile gradually appeared on one of the embedded stone slabs. Directly beneath Stephen Armstrong’s feet, the treasure he had been seeking half his life lay in a deep, dark cavern.’” Phoebe closed the book, smiling at Justin’s groan of protest. “Next chapter tomorrow,” she said.
“More now?” Justin asked hopefully. “Please?
“I’m afraid it’s too late.” Phoebe glanced at West, who was half reclining in the corner of the settee with Stephen against his chest. The two of them appeared to be slumbering soundly, with one of the toddler’s chubby arms loosely clasped around West’s neck.
Justin followed her gaze. “I think you should marry Uncle West,” he commented, startling her.