Free Moonlight on My Mind by Jennifer McQuiston Page A

Eric’s death had been hard on all of them. He could not imagine what his mother and sisters must be going through in this moment, dealing with such an unexpected blow as his father’s death alone. He swallowed the anguish that lodged thick in the base of his throat. By the devil . . . his father. Gone. The title in question.
    The estate in the balance.
    As if summoned by his inner turmoil, Patrick’s friends James MacKenzie and David Cameron strode through the door, jostling and joking and sliding about. They threw themselves into the chairs opposite him.
    “Heard you carried off Reverend Ramsey’s dog to surgery this afternoon,” MacKenzie said with cheerful deviltry. He eyed Patrick’s glass and signaled for the serving girl to bring him one of the same. “I trust you charged the bastard double if you are celebrating with whisky.”
    Patrick schooled his features into what he hoped was some measure of calm. He was usually the quieter one of the group, the studious counterweight his friends relied on to balance their more volatile natures. But in the hours since Julianne Baxter had bounced into his life, he’d been turned on end and inside out, and now he felt close to exploding. “Why are you both here?” he growled. “Did your wives toss your tiresome arses out already?”
    “They are both attending this evening’s meeting of the Ladies’ Philanthropic Society.” James grinned. “Which leaves us free to have a wee drink.”
    David Cameron snorted. “ Wee drink? I’d suggest we start with a full bottle, and proceed posthaste from there.”
    His words rang with the same brogue as James’s, marking them both as Moraig locals. Though he’d been here eleven months, at times Patrick still felt like an outsider. He’d felt that way sometimes when they had all attended Cambridge, the youngest of the group by three years. Although James and David had been at each other’s throats for much of the past year, they appeared to have forged a happier peace in recent days. The sight of their new camaraderie would have warmed Patrick, if not for the grief that numbed his bones.
    David held up a finger to the serving girl. The servant predictably inclined her head as if to say she’d be happy to serve up a bit more than the requested drink, but he did no more than return his attention to the table and grin at the two of them. Patrick raised a brow that his friend should so flawlessly pass such a blatant test. He would have once laid money David would have been the last man standing in their small circle of friends, happily whoring his way through life.
    It was disconcerting for Patrick to realize he was now the odd man out.
    The Gander was not yet busy, given the early hour for drinking, and his friends’ whisky arrived before Patrick could make any real headway on his. David raised his glass and smiled across the table. “What shall we toast tonight, gentlemen? The future?”
    James held up his own glass. “Aye, I think the future could use a toast. Mrs. MacKenzie has given me permission to share the news, at long last. Looks like I’ll be a father, come February.”
    David clinked his glass against James’s. “Oh, I say, that is brilliant news! Given the way Channing cocked up the job sewing you up a few months ago, he’ll need those few months to practice for the wee one’s delivery.”
    The smile fell away from James’s face.
    “Georgette will not need help of that sort,” Patrick assured him, seeking to assuage the swift flare of panic in his friend’s eyes. He had suspected this for some time, given Georgette’s changing shape, but it was good to hear it from his friend’s lips. “Georgette is young and healthy and I have the utmost faith in Moraig’s midwife.”
    James nodded, but sipped his whisky a bit less exuberantly.
    “And I regret to say I won’t be here for the happy occasion.” Patrick dislodged his friend’s surprised looks with a grim smile. “I’ve received a bit of news