Free A Love Laid Bare by Constance Hussey Page B

Frances moved forward, dropped a
brief curtsey, and said amicably, “You are looking well, Mother
Halcombe.”
    Appearing much like she had just swallowed a very
sour lemon, Leticia slowly raised her lorgnette and surveyed her
daughter-in-law from bonnet to boots. “Humph. You appear rather
peaked, which I suppose can be attributed to these uncommon
escapades of yours.”
    “I daresay,” Frances said with a slight arch of her
brows.
    Halcombe set Flora on her feet and held her hand. “I
would like you to meet your granddaughter, Flora…”
    “Anne” was a whispered breath behind him and his
hesitation almost unnoticeable.
    “Flora Anne. Flora, this is your grandmother.”
    Flora stared at the older woman, then uttered a brief
“’lo”, and turned and raised her arms to her father. “Up,
p’ease.”
    Pretending not to hear his wife’s cough of suppressed
laughter, Halcombe savored the rush of joy his daughter’s simple
request engendered and lifted her.
    “Spoiling her already, I see.” Leticia’s voice was
caustic with distain. “Undisciplined and saddled with so plebian a
name. You will never get her off your hands.”
    He glanced at Frances and saw her stiffen, her
expression unreadable. She seemed to wait for him to respond. He
hesitated and suddenly felt that he had failed in some manner. But
surely that was nonsense. He had learned long ago that ignoring his
mother’s snide remarks was the wisest course. And the easiest? It
was an uncomfortable thought he did not care to dwell upon any
further .
    “We have some years before we need to marry her off,”
Frances said with undisguised amusement. “Flora Anne was my
grandmother’s name. She was a Scot, you’ll remember, and they are given to these odd names. Lucky for me, my grandfather
was willing to overlook it, or we would not be here—Flora and
me.”
    The dowager looked like she strongly disagreed with
Frances’ idea of luck, and Halcombe’s own back stiffened. “Now that
you’ve met my daughter, and seen my wife for yourself, we
must be off. Follow the course we discussed earlier, Mother, and
this will soon be old news.” He glanced at Frances and handed Flora
to her. “Please take her out to the chaise, I will join you
momentarily.”
    “Certainly,” Frances said. She gave him a curious
look, nodded to the dowager and murmured “Mother Halcombe,” as she
left the room with Flora.
    Halcombe stepped closer to the stone-faced woman who
had never shown him anything but the coolest of affections and
those often laced with a faint dislike. He had never understood the
reason behind it, and had long since accepted that his mother’s
primary concern and interest was herself.
    “I expect you to support my wife in every way
possible. If I should hear even one disparaging story that I can
attribute to you, I promise you will regret it. I could house you
much more cheaply in a country cottage somewhere.”
    “You would not!” Leticia paled and uncertainty tinged
her voice.
    “I would.” His harshly stated words carried absolute
intent, and he watched as fear grew in her eyes.
    “You are an unnatural son,” she said bitterly. “I
wish you well of your new family.”
    Since it was obvious she wished him anything but,
Halcombe’s pang of guilt at badgering the older woman faded. Her
peevish disposition had caused too much unhappiness in the
past.
    He bowed, gave her a pitying look, and walked away.
Her life was one long complaint, and she would never be satisfied.
Almost, he felt sorry for her. Almost.
    Giving the butler a curt nod, the earl took his
gloves and hat, stepped outside, and halted on the landing. Frances
was not in the chaise. She stood beside his curricle, talking to
his groom while Flora enthusiastically patted the near horse. The
early morning sunlight burnished the flyaway curls on Flora’s head.
Halcombe’s chest tightened. His daughter.
    The second she had turned to him with her simple ‘up,
‘p’ease’, love for