Love Is a Rogue (Wallflowers vs. Rogues #1) - Lenora Bell Page 0,102
thought that if I could bring Joyce and Father into the same room, that blood would bring them together, would overcome the prejudices that keep his heart closed. It’s my fondest dream for you, Joyce and Ford, to know my daughters. And Papa should acknowledge his only grandson.”
“What if there was a way to bring Foxton and Mrs. Wright together in this very room?” asked Beatrice.
Ford’s mother startled, nearly dropping her teacup. “Is he coming here?”
“You didn’t tell her?” Beatrice asked Ford.
He shook his head. “I was waiting for you.”
“He’ll be here in a matter of hours,” Beatrice said gently.
Mrs. Kettle, who had overheard that last comment, clutched at her heart. “Mr. Foxton is coming here? What does he want?”
“He wants to steal the property,” Beatrice said. “He believes he’s found another heir to challenge my inheritance. A Mr. Leonard Castle.”
“Never heard of him,” said Mrs. Kettle. “Foxton. That ogre of a man. He’ll stop at nothing.”
Mrs. Gilbert reached for her sister’s hand. “Are you willing to give my idea a try, Joyce?”
Ford’s mother turned anguished eyes on her son. “Do you want me to try? Perhaps . . . perhaps we could soften him. Convince him to build his factory elsewhere.”
“I don’t think that will happen,” said Ford. “He’s too cold-blooded and heartless.”
Beatrice ate another biscuit. “Ford, you told me that you couldn’t understand how the world would ever be at peace when families are so uncivil to one another. Well, here’s my belated answer to that. I believe that love is stronger than hate. I believe that there is hope for even the hardest of hearts.” She set her teacup down. “This is a battle against enmity and bitterness, and love and compassion are our best weapons.”
Ford gazed into her eyes. “You think you can soften his heart.”
“We can try.”
“If anyone can do it, you can,” he said.
“With help from his daughters.” Beatrice smiled at Ford’s mother and aunt. “Never underestimate the power of women gathered together for a common goal.”
“And never underestimate carpenters, Lady Beatrice,” said Ford’s mother. “They always find a way to repair what’s broken.”
The shop bell tinkled and Coggins’s voice was heard. “Your Grace, an unexpected pleasure.”
Which Your Grace? Beatrice’s and Ford’s gazes met.
“Wright,” said a loud male voice. “Where are you? We need to talk.”
“My brother,” Beatrice said. “Come and join us, Drew,” she called.
Her brother stalked into the room, glancing around at the gathering with growing confusion. “What’s going on here?”
“Drew, this is Mrs. Wright, Ford’s mother, and Mrs. Gilbert, his aunt. Now sit down and have a cup of tea.”
Mrs. Kettle offered the duke a chair. “It’s very good tea, Your Grace, if I do say so myself.”
“How do you do, ladies?” Drew said.
“Your Grace,” replied Mrs. Wright. “A pleasure.”
Drew’s eyes rested on Ford. “I want to talk to you, Wright. Tea can wait.”
“Happy to,” Ford replied easily. “Why don’t we go into the front room and leave the ladies to their tea?”
The shop bell rang again.
“Now who can that be?” Beatrice asked.
She recognized the female voices instantly. “Isobel, Viola,” she cried, running to greet her friends.
Ford stood awkwardly in the front room with Thorndon as Beatrice and her friends chattered their way down the hall toward the parlor.
The duke cleared his throat. “I gather from the presence of your mother that your intentions are honorable, Wright, and I don’t have to murder you today?”
“I hope not, Your Grace. And, yes, my intentions are entirely honorable.”
“That’s a relief.”
“May I hope for your blessing, Your Grace?” He held his breath. So much hinged on the words that followed.
“Beatrice loves you, that’s plain to see, and I want her to be happy. So there’s the end of it. Is there any brandy in this house? I’ve had one devil of a night.” His eyes were red-rimmed and dazed. “I just had the most extraordinary news from my wife. I’m going to be a father, Wright.”
“Congratulations, Your Grace. I’ve got a strong Irish whisky, will that do?”
“That’ll do. Pour me a stiff glass.”
Ford’s spirits lifted as he went upstairs in search of the whisky bottle he’d packed into his trunk. The duke might not approve of the match, but he wouldn’t stand in their way. And he wouldn’t ruin Ford’s father.
Ford glanced into the reading room. The ancient manuscript still sat on the shelf, covered in cloth. He hadn’t opened the parcel, as he knew Beatrice would want to be the one to unwrap her treasure first.