Love Is a Rogue (Wallflowers vs. Rogues #1) - Lenora Bell Page 0,105
and you made me see that I wanted to live. Truly be alive. Taste life and love and all that it has to offer.”
Ford smiled at her, his eyes beginning that slow smolder that made her knees weak. “And you came along and expanded my vocabulary . . . and taught me how to love in the process.”
“Well, Beatrice . . . are you going to answer his question?” asked Drew.
“Oh. I forgot to answer.” She brought Ford’s hand to her lips and kissed each one of his hardworking knuckles. “Yes, you arrogant rogue. I’m yours. Now and forever.”
“Hoorah!” Viola cried.
“Oh, my dear ones, I’m so very glad to hear it,” said Mrs. Kettle, who stood with Mr. Coggins, watching from beyond the doorway.
“Just you wait,” said Coggins. “Something’ll go wrong, yet.”
“Don’t think this is over,” Foxton growled. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyers. Phyllis, let’s go.”
“No,” said Ford’s aunt. She tightened her grip on her sister’s hand. “No, Father. I’m not leaving. Not without Joyce. You can’t keep me from my sister any longer. I love her too much. We’ve lost too much time already.”
“Father,” said Ford’s mother. “I forgive you. Can we move forward from here?”
“I forgive you, as well,” said Ford. “I know now that you had a harsh and unforgiving upbringing.”
Foxton shook his walking stick at them. “Stop forgiving me. I don’t want your forgiveness. Phyllis, we’re leaving.”
“Or what, Father? You’ll disinherit me, as well? Cut me and your granddaughters out of your life? You can’t build enough walls to keep all of us out.”
“I believe that there’s a heart beating inside your chest somewhere, Mr. Foxton,” said Beatrice. Finally, she could give her speech. “I don’t believe we ever lose our capacity for love. We can bury it, or it can be stolen away, or it can atrophy, over time. But it’s always there inside us, waiting to be remembered. Waiting to blossom.”
Mrs. Kettle chose that moment to arrive with a tea tray. “Now everyone, if you’ll all have a seat, I’ll serve the refreshments now. Mr. Foxton, please be our honored guest.”
“Pah,” he said. But he took a seat.
Mrs. Kettle poured him some tea. “Here you go, love. A nice cup of tea.”
Foxton accepted the cup. “I see you’ve all united against me.”
“Not against you, Father,” said Phyllis. “For you. We are your family. We love you.”
“Love. The root of all evil,” said Foxton.
“I believe you mean money,” said Beatrice. “For the love of money is the root of all evil.”
“I meant love,” said Foxton. “It doesn’t make the world go round, it turns it inside out. Turns sensible people into fools.”
“That’s how I felt, Grandfather,” said Ford. “Until I met Beatrice.”
“That’s what I thought, as well,” said Drew. “Until I met my Mina. I’m going to be a father.” He grinned from ear to ear. “Can you believe that?”
“That’s wonderful, Drew!” Beatrice cried.
Viola clasped her hands together. “Congratulations, Your Grace.”
“Father,” said Ford’s aunt. “Have you considered that this could be the fulfillment of all your ambitions?”
Foxton’s eyes narrowed. “Can’t say that I have.”
“You’ve always wanted someone in your family to marry into the nobility. And now it’s coming to pass. Your status will be greatly elevated by association with a duke.”
Foxton’s brow wrinkled. “I suppose I hadn’t considered it in that light.”
“And not just any duke,” said Drew. “Me. You’re not a fortune hunter, are you Wright?” he asked suddenly, as if he’d just remembered to ask the question. “My mother seems to think you are.”
“I’m a carpenter,” said Ford, “and a damn good one.”
“I suppose I’ll have to employ you now,” muttered Foxton.
Had Beatrice heard him correctly? “I think your grandfather just offered you a job,” she whispered to Ford.
He grinned. “I think he did.”
“I still don’t see why you can’t have your clubhouse somewhere else, Lady Beatrice,” Foxton said with a loud harrumph. “I have other suitable properties, you know.”
“My aunt wanted me to keep this property in the family,” said Beatrice. “And my friends will be the beneficiaries of her bequest.”
“Lady knitters.” Foxton glared at Isobel and Viola.
Viola shook her knitting needles at him.
“Does this Mr. Leonard Castle have a valid claim, Mr. Foxton?” Isobel asked.
Foxton shrugged his bony shoulders. “I didn’t think we’d have to find out. I thought Lady Beatrice would fold more easily.”
“I’ll take that as a no, then. The prosecution rests,” said Isobel.
Beatrice gave her a loving smile.
Foxton set his cup on a side table. As he attempted to rise, he nearly lost his balance.