Chapter 12

TWELVE

T en minutes later, Xavier declared that he needed a break.

“Come on, Sof,” he said as he turned off the computer. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet. Let’s find Elsie, and Mummy and I can go for a walk.”

After dropping Sofia off with Elsie in one of the sitting rooms, it took nearly fifteen minutes for Xavier and me to cross from one end of Corbray Hall to the other, and in that time, I got the tour I wanted, if a bit abrupt and truncated. It was clear from his bleak gestures that Xavier didn’t care much for the place. He obviously knew a lot about it, but his curt answers made me think he resented the knowledge more than he wanted to share it.

“What’s that painting?” I asked as he steered me down another long corridor filled with priceless (and enormous) portraits.

“What? Oh, that’s Sir Roderick Parker.”

“Another relative?”

“They’re all relatives, babe.”

“Yes, but which one is that?”

“Brother to my fifth great-grandfather, I believe.”

“He looks like a soldier.”

“Colonel, yeah. Fought in the Napoleonic Wars. Come on.”

And so it went—him giving the shortest answer possible, me trying to drag more information out of him until he cut me off in pursuit of another direction.

“I’m not doing a very good job of hosting you, am I?” he said as he tugged me down another corridor. “First the paparazzi, then getting buried in paper, now this lousy tour.”

“The paparazzi are no matter,” I said, getting temporarily sidetracked by what looked like a Monet painting. “They haven’t bothered us for weeks. Although—a woman on the train today made the strangest comment to me. And then Imogene too. Supposedly, there are articles circulating somewhere saying Sofia isn’t yours. Did you know that?”

To my surprise, he just shrugged as he turned up a staircase. “It’s just stupid gossip, Ces. The locals up here always found things to say about the Parkers. Don’t pay them any attention.”

That was it? No indignation? No shouting? Oddly, I was a bit annoyed. The Xavier I knew had a temper, yes, but he cared deeply about Sofia and me. Why wasn’t he more put out?

“Well, I don’t like the insinuation,” I said.

Xavier’s big shoulders moved up and down again as he strode. “Honestly, they’ve always been more interested in printing lies about me than is good for them. Nothing sells like scandal, even if it’s one they make up.”

“I realize our relationship didn’t exactly progress in the normal fashion,” I said, “but I don’t appreciate being called a liar, no matter who says it. Or her”—I glanced down at Sofia before leaning down to whisper in Xavier’s ear—“any less your daughter.”

He stopped at the top of the stairs, almost as if he were annoyed more with the conversation than the rumor. “I don’t care what anyone else thinks about this family other than the three of us who are in it, babe. And neither should you. All right?”

It wasn’t really a question, but an end to the discussion. A duke’s end to the discussion, no less.

I didn’t mind Xavier bossing me around in some places. The bedroom, for instance. Or back alleys, apparently. But I didn’t care for it right now.

Still, I nodded as we walked on, but only because I knew there was no point in continuing this as a debate in front of Sofia.

But are we a family? I wanted to ask. No one else seemed to think so. We weren’t married. I wasn’t even sure I’d call the last few whirlwind weeks cohabitation. Random reporters were basically calling me a con artist, faking my daughter’s parentage to, what, get to Xavier’s money?

We were…something else. I didn’t know what.

“Who’s that?” I asked when he finally slowed at the end of yet another mile-long hallway.

We were at the opposite side of Corbray Hall, so far as I could tell, though there had been so many twists and turns that I honestly wasn’t sure which direction the enormous windows were facing.

Xavier glanced irritably at yet another portrait—this one of a lovely young woman from the Regency era with blond hair and the blue eyes he shared with many of the other sitters. “Ah, that’d be the Countess of Letham. My seventh great aunt, before you ask. But listen, Ces, there’s someone I want you to meet. Someone real, this time, not a stuffy portrait.”

Immediately, my interest was piqued as he turned to the door next to the countess’s plump pose and led me into the room.

In the center of what had to be the nicest bedroom I’d ever seen lay an elderly man in a four-poster bed approximately the size of Heathrow Airport. With the gilt millwork, cream walls, and countless pieces of art and tapestries surrounding us, it looked like the set of a period drama—even an Austen adaptation—were it not for the fact that the man in the bed was hooked up to a few machines beside the bed, with an IV and several sensors connected to wires slipping under his sheets.

“Oh,” I whispered, as the man’s eyes were closed. “Xavi, is he?—”

But Xavier was already leaving my side, approaching the bed with light footsteps.

Even so, the man awoke with eyes a bright shade of blue to match Xavier’s.

“Hello, Uncle,” Xavier greeted him as he dragged a Queen Anne chair across the carpet like it was no more than a folding camp chair. He propped it next to the bed and sat beside the man. “How are we feeling today, eh?”

The man blinked but said nothing. His eyes, however, were bright and alert, lasered right on Xavier with an emotion I couldn’t quite place. Was he happy to see him? Sad too? Nervous?

It was intense, whatever it was.

“I know you’re not saying much these days,” Xavier said as he clasped his uncle’s hand between his two big ones. “But I’ve brought someone to meet you. Ces, come over here.”

Slowly, I made my way to stand next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Xavier patted it but returned his attention to the man in the bed.

“Well, that’s her,” he said. “Francesca. My girlfriend, before you ask, and more importantly, Sofia’s mum. I’ll bring Sof up later, when she’s had a bit to eat. Anyway, I know you wanted to meet her, but you didn’t have to throw yourself down the stairs to get me here, you know.”

There was a wheeze from the bed, which approximated laughter. Xavier chuckled with him, and I watched as the hand clasped between his squeezed his wrist tightly.

“Francesca, this is my uncle, Henry Parker. Now you know why I’ve been so busy the last six months, Uncle. You can’t fault my taste, at least. Look at her.”

From the bed, there was another noise, this one even more chuckle-like than the last.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” I said, bending down to offer my hand.

Xavier released his uncle’s, which rose with some difficulty to touch mine, fingers grazing the tops of my knuckles before falling back to the bed. It clearly took a great deal of effort, but instead of letting him struggle, Xavier captured Henry’s hand again and set it on his knee.

“Don’t even think about it, you old geezer,” he chided him. “She’s mine, got it?”

Another spurting chuckle. I couldn’t help but smile myself.

“I don’t know,” I said. “This one has a lot of charm, Xavi, and all you’ve got is a bad temper. I might be won away if you’re not careful.”

We were rewarded with another difficult laugh, though this one seemed to take a lot out of the old man. When I glanced at Xavier, he was still trying to look cheerful, but worry was furrowed into his brow.

“Ces,” Xavier said quietly. “Wait for me outside, will you?”

I nodded. “Of course. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Parker. I hope to see you again soon when you’re feeling up to it.”

I wandered up and down the hall for nearly thirty minutes, taking closer looks at the portraits and art that we’d flown by with nary a word. At last, Xavier emerged, eyes somewhat bloodshot, like he’d either been laughing or crying.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “I, ah, had some things to say to him.” He shook his head. “He looks so different since his last fall. Can’t even talk.”

“I didn’t realize you were so close,” I said as he retook my hand.

“We weren’t, really. But there are things between us, you know? History. He helped me catch up to life here after Mum died. Was really angry when I left for good, though. I didn’t realize how much I depended on him for that until, well…”

He trailed off. But he didn’t need to finish. It struck me then that Xavier wasn’t just struggling with the finances of the estate, but a fair amount of grief.

“Sometimes, we don’t realize what we’ve really lost until they’re gone,” I said, thinking of my grandfather.

I was only ten when he died, but that was ten years of having him around, raising me as my own father should have. He favored Matthew, the only boy in the family, much more than any of the girls. But we were still always his tesorinas , his sweethearts, his baby dolls. He was a rock, and at ten, I didn’t realize what I’d had. Now I knew I’d always have a Nonno -shaped hole in my heart.

I could only imagine what that would feel like now, at Xavier’s age.

“Ah, well,” Xavier said. “He’ll get better. Whatever it takes.”

There was sadness in his voice, though. We both knew that even if the man in that room did improve, it wouldn’t be enough. He’d never be what he was.

“I’m honored I got to meet him, however he is,” I said honestly. “Thank you for having us join you. And thank you for introducing me.”

It was sad, but I felt better for it. Like finally, Xavier was giving me access to a part of his life that truly mattered. I didn’t want to be a tourist in England, I was coming to realize. I was done with sightseeing. I was ready for real life with Xavier Parker, whatever that might entail.

Xavier peeked down at me with one of his rare, shy smiles. But before he could reply, we were interrupted by the sharp clip of footsteps on marble. By the sound of it, a pair of them.

“Xavier? Is that you, dear boy?”

Xavier froze.

“Who is that?” I asked, tugging lightly on his arm.

His eyes shuttered with an expression of what could only be termed dread. “Fuck.”

“Xavi?” I squeezed his hand harder. “Xavi, what’s wrong? Who is that?”

“Xavier! We are trying to say hello. Wherever are your manners?”

Xavier exhaled heavily before turning to face our new company. A woman in a pastel suit, with expertly coiffed light brown hair and a set of pearls around her neck and at her ears, strode toward us on tasteful pumps. She looked to be perhaps in her late fifties or early sixties and was followed by a young man who looked a lot like her and was perhaps ten years younger than Xavier.

“Hello, Georgina. Freddy,” Xavier said when they reached us, leaning down with a very Eeyore-like expression while the woman delivered air kisses to his cheeks. “Ces, may I introduce Georgina Parker, my stepmother.”

“And duchess,” she added with a smirk at me.

“Dowager Duchess of Kendal,” Xavier corrected himself.

I wasn’t really sure what the difference was, but I did enjoy the way the comment appeared to knock her down a peg or two.

“Dear boy, we didn’t know you were returning to Kendal,” said the duchess. “Frederick and I were in town enjoying the Season, but when we heard from Imogene that you’d popped in, we immediately came back, didn’t we, darling?”

“Darling” appeared to be Frederick, the man standing next to her who was currently looking at Xavier like he was a bug he wanted to squash. Until, of course, Xavier caught him staring. Then the expression turned to mild terror.

“So I gathered,” Xavier snapped. “Left Henry to rot for the last four weeks. Or didn’t you know he’d been found?”

“Of course we knew,” Georgina said. “Who do you think rearranged his bedroom for him? But there wasn’t anything else to be done about his condition—the doctors said so. And he wouldn’t have wanted Frederick to miss out on the Season. The queen herself invited us to the garden party this year, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh, the queen’s garden party,” Xavier muttered. “Meanwhile, Henry has been here dealing with second and third strokes. And would it have really killed you to help with the estate while he was missing? I know it’s not your bloody son’s, but you do live here, don’t you?”

The duchess didn’t blink an eye at Xavier’s coarse language. It seemed to be something she was accustomed to. “Of course I do, darling. It’s my home.”

She was still speaking kindly, but the last word had an edge to it that I didn’t like. It reminded me of the way my own mother talked about her children. Like they were possessions she could come back to whenever she liked, not when they actually needed her.

And yeah, I knew exactly what that felt like, too.

“And who might we have here?” she asked, turning to me as if she sensed my instant disdain. Her steely gray eyes drifted over me like the knife edge of a blade, cutting through the simple leggings and T-shirt, snipping through the casual sneakers I’d worn for walking about the gardens.

“This is Francesca Zola.” Xavier snaked an arm around my shoulders, pulling me securely to his side. “My girlfriend. Up from London.”

“Oh, how lovely.” The duchess smarted. “We’d heard you’d brought that American and her daughter with you. Horrible rumors. So glad to see you’ve met someone new.”

“Er—” I started.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with Americans, of course, but Corbray isn’t really the sort of place for, er, that sort, don’t you think, Frederick?” she continued.

“There you are, Mama!”

If it weren’t for the sounds of Sofia’s feet pattering their way down the corridor, I was sure you could have heard a pin drop in the awkward silence. I grinned, then caught her as she jumped into my arms, followed by Elsie struggling to keep up behind her.

“All right?” Xavier asked the older woman.

“Goodness, yes. She’s fast, that one,” Elsie put in.

She said something to Xavier I couldn’t understand, then left with a quick farewell to Sofia and a daggered expression at Georgina. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who didn’t care for the duchess.

“As I was saying,” Xavier said, accepting Sofia from my arms. “This is Francesca Zola. My girlfriend, and also the mother of my daughter, Sofia. They’re spending the summer with us. From New York.”

Georgina did an excellent impression of a painted owl as she blinked between us. “I—see. Just the summer, then?”

“Not if I can help it,” Xavier murmured. His blue eyes sparkled down at me.

Excitement bubbling inside me, I opened my mouth to ask him exactly what he meant by that, but was interrupted by the appearance of Mrs. Niles, the housekeeper.

“Mr. Larsen is here from Brooks and Weston, sir,” she said to Xavier. “And I believe Gibson has already directed a Mr. Rhodes to your office as well.”

He grunted, squeezed my shoulder, then released me. “Lawyers and accountants,” he said. “Must go.”

“Can I come with you, Daddy?” Sofia asked, reaching across me to pull on his tie.

To my surprise, Xavier grinned. “Only if you promise not to make Elsie chase you anymore, babe,” he told her. He delivered a quick kiss to my cheek. “I’ll catch up with you later, yeah?”

But there was no more time for a response. He strode away, Sofia in his arms, and I found myself alone with the Dowager Duchess of Kendal and her son, both of them now eyeing me like I was bait on a hook.

“So, you’re the American.”

I blinked, resisting the urge to fidget with my shirt. “Uh, yes. I suppose that would be me. I’ll, um, promise not to take advantage of your stepson. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

I tried to sound haughty, but it was hard when this woman was an actual aristocrat, and I was dressed with less propriety than a member of the cleaning staff.

Georgina continued to peruse me up and down.

“It’s a very important time for us, you know,” she said. “A very important time. Frederick has finally caught the eye of the royal family. Even been invited to some of the events at the palace. Kensington, not Buckingham. The smaller ones, you know, not the ones everyone makes a fuss about in the papers. At least not at first.” She crooked a delicately plucked brow. “He’s got it in mind to run for his father’s old place in parliament, haven’t you, darling?”

Frederick peered at her, then back at me with hooded eyes. “It would appear that way.”

She turned back to me. “I’m sure you understand. We need all the spotlight on him. Not on a…distraction. Especially one the tabloids seem to adore.”

She pulled a rolled-up paper from under her arm and waved it in front of me. I recognized the same article I’d seen earlier with pictures of Xavier and me at the airport.

I looked up. “Xavier says to pay those no mind. And what does it matter to you if the tabloids like Xavi? He can’t help it, can he?”

“There’re only so many spaces one can occupy in the minds of those in power. We can’t have them taken up by things”—she looked disdainfully at the picture of Sofia—“that in the end, don’t matter. And if they think association with us includes a scandal…”

My mouth dropped. “She’s his daughter, not a scandal.”

One of Georgina’s brows arched again. “So you say.”

“Mother.” Frederick’s voice, for the first time, sounded less than bored. “Shouldn’t we…”

Georgina blinked. “Yes, of course. We are hosting Lord Ortham and his family for dinner tonight,” she informed me with another searing drag up and down my body. “If you must attend, see that you are dressed…appropriately. And be quiet, if you can manage that.”

And before I could say another word, she turned on her heel and left, Frederick in tow.