father. They disappointed each other in every way. His father wanted a son he could be proud of, but nothing Nat ever did earned praise or even a smile. Of course he now knew that his father didn’t like him, never had from boyhood. As a child he expected that all parents tolerated their children, but this wasn’t so. He’d learnt at school that some parents actually cared for their children. But not his, and it was reaffirmed every holiday when his parents were too busy to spend any time with him. It didn’t take long for him to learn that loving them was a waste of time. In fact, causing scandal was a fun way to annoy them even further.
“What are you thinking about?” Frances whispered, standing behind him.
He blinked, refocusing on the stars and felt the ache start in his neck from his position. “Our parents.”
“Why? Why now at this time?”
He stared down at her. Loving her had proven he was capable of the emotion, something which he’d often wondered about when growing up. For her, he tried to be a good person, though at times it was hard to live up to her expectations as much as it’d been his father’s.
Frances took his hands in her own. “Let go of the past, Nat.”
“Is it possible though? They say we are shaped by our parents’ deeds.”
“We are better than them. We care for others, not just ourselves like they do.”
“I never wanted a family or a wife. I never thought I’d be competent at honouring either. Then I met Nicola and found something missing in my life.” He walked over to the bench and stood so still he could hear the music from inside and the odd horn from the ships in the harbour. “I would be a good father.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“I would love my children, teach them, let them know they were important to me.”
“Naturally you would. You are not our father, Nat.”
“It hurts, loving her, Fran.”
“I know, dearest.”
“Do you remember one of my friends back in England, Donald Kilkenny?”
“Vaguely.”
“He killed himself when we were about twenty. I spoke to him only the day before he shot himself. I saw him at Waterloo train station. He looked simply awful, hadn’t washed or shaved for weeks. He’d lost weight, had grey skin, looked like a corpse.” Nat slipped his hands in his jacket pocket. “He’d been in love, you see. Adored this girl who had rejected him. When I’d heard that Donald had killed himself over that girl, I was disgusted. I was disgusted at Donald for being so stupid to allow his heart to rule his head. I didn’t understand, I couldn’t fathom how any man could feel as Donald did. But I do now.”
Frances jerked, eyes wide. “You’re not going to kill yourself, are you?”
“No. I couldn’t do that. I have to take care of you. Yet, I recognise the need to deal with the pain of loving someone who doesn’t love you.”
“Oh, Nat.”
“She is everything to me, Fran. I want to see her, be with her always. I hunger for her smile. I ache to hold her…” He shrugged and gave her a wry grin. “There now, you can never say again that I keep things to myself.”
“Thank you for confiding in me.” She kissed his cheek.
He drew in a long deep breath and gathered his courage. “Nicola promised me a dance.” He strode to the door, but quickly returned to Frances and kissed her cheek. “No sister could be better than you.”
She gave him a lofty stare. “I know.”
“Come, we Wests have a fight on our hands.”
Chapter Thirteen
Nicola stood hand on hips, tapping her foot and fighting the urge to scream like a fishwife at the new kitchen maid, Bessie. This was the last thing she needed to deal with this morning. Hannah, the other maid stood in the corner of the scullery with Mrs Nesbit the cook, their eyes wide with anticipation of a ‘set to’. Nicola drew in a deep breath. “Bessie, I understand that you only started here yesterday, but at your interview you assured me of your competence and experience. However, the jobs you have done today show no evidence of this. The breakfast pots weren’t cleaned well enough, you left ashes in the grate in the drawing room, you refused to listen to Mrs Nesbit’s instructions and now you’ve been accused of stealing.”
Bessie, one hand on her hip and the other hidden into the folds of her apron,