Free The Misbegotten by Katherine Webb Page A

questions. Rachel reflected for a moment, and thought of the long and lonely path that had led her to accept Richard’s proposal. Would that it were as simple and true a matter as his fair face, his self-improvement, and my admiration of both.
    ‘I have wanted to apologise to you for . . . for the abrupt way in which my husband dealt with you at our wedding feast. I should have liked for you to join us, since we are family,’ she said, a touch awkwardly. Duncan Weekes hesitated before replying, and his tired eyes blurred a little.
    ‘Ah, but you are a kind girl, as well as a fine one. My son harbours a staunch grudge against me, and has these many years. He is angry with me. Aye, still angry.’ He shook his head.
    ‘But whatever for?’
    ‘Matters long past. The list is a long one, and there are doubtless things upon it that I do not even remember . . .’ Duncan trailed into silence, and looked away as if not wishing to meet her eye. Rachel was sure that she was not being told the whole truth.
    ‘Forgive me – it’s no business of mine what has passed between you. But I can see that it saddens you, and I’m sorry for it. Perhaps if I speak to my husband, sir . . . I might be able to persuade him to let bygones be bygones?’ she suggested.
    ‘Do not risk his displeasure on my behalf, Mrs Weekes,’ he said. Rachel considered for a moment, then took his hand and held it in hers. His fingers were thick, the knuckles ridged with old scars and arthritis. He seemed so tired, so sadly disordered; but his hand in hers soon felt conspicuous, and she was made uncomfortable by her own gesture.
    ‘I can make no promise of success, sir,’ she said. ‘But I understand the importance of family; I hate to see such a valuable thing cast aside, so I will try.’
    Duncan Weekes suddenly looked uneasy. He cleared his throat, and his next words sounded wary.
    ‘Have a care, my dear; wiser not to speak of me to my son. Old wounds are not easily healed, and he has some of his mother’s temper, as well as her looks.’
    ‘I have never seen him show a temper,’ said Rachel, releasing his hand. She suppressed the urge to brush her fingers on her skirt.
    ‘Indeed?’ Duncan frowned, but then his expression softened. ‘And indeed, who could show a temper to someone as sweet and kind as you, my dear. Perhaps you might come and visit with me sometime? I should be honoured to have you . . . we might take a brandy together, to toast your marriage, since I was absent from the feast.’
    ‘I will have to ask my husband, of course, but I should like—’
    ‘If you ask him, he will refuse it,’ Duncan interrupted, anxious again. ‘He would be wroth with you and I both, my dear, if you ask him outright. He might even seek me out to offer a reprimand.’
    ‘I’m sure he would not, sir . . . and I must ask him – of course I must.’
    ‘Then that is a great pity, for I had hoped you might indeed come.’ Duncan Weekes tucked his fingers into his waistcoat pockets and looked away along the street, his face losing all animation. Rachel wasn’t sure what reply to make to him. The old man was shivering slightly.
    ‘You must carry on, sir, and not stand about to get chilled here in the street. But do give me your calling card, so that I will know where to go,’ she said.
    ‘My card? My card . . .’ he muttered, patting his pockets absently. ‘My card. Yes. I fear I have none, my dear. But I will tell you the place, if you can remember it?’ Rachel committed it to memory, and as she took her leave Duncan Weekes caught her hand again. ‘But do have a care, sweet girl,’ he said earnestly. ‘Do have a care.’
    That night she lay close to Richard, after they had made love. She’d tried, as she did each time, to find the physical pleasure that her mother had hinted at, on the few occasions when they’d spoken of marriage and what Rachel could expect. But while there was no longer any pain, there was no real pleasure either.