Free Joan Wolf by The Scottish Lord Page B

“No,” he said after a minute. “She really doesn’t look like him at all. It’s the smile.”
    Her face never changed. “I know.”
    “Only someone who knew him very well would ever see it.” For some reason he couldn’t bring himself to say Ian’s name. “God, Frances! I had no idea.”
    “Thank you, sweetie,” she said to her daughter. “Yes, look at his mane and his tail. Just like a real horse. Sit down here and you can play with him. It’s bronze,” she said to Douglas as if answering a question of his. “It won’t break.”
    “Frances!”
    “Yes?” She spoke almost absently.
    “Does Robert know?” He was surprised to see a flame of anger in her eyes.
    “What do you take me for, Douglas? Of course he knows. He married me anyway.”
    Douglas stared at her for a minute and then his mouth took on a grim look. “Of course,” he said, “I asked the wrong question. I should have asked does Ian know?”
    Her eyes fell away from his to rest on the bright curls of her daughter. “No,” she said shortly. “And I don’t want him to know.”
    “Why did you let him go, Frances?” His eyes too were on the child, playing so happily with her new find.
    To Douglas she told the truth. “Because I wanted him to stay for me. Not for anything else. Just for me.”
    He nodded slowly, as if her answer made perfect sense, as, to him, it did. “He is still in South America,” he volunteered, giving her the information she longed for but would never ask for. “I wrote, of course, to tell him about your marriage. I hear from him periodically.”
    “I understand that the republicans were badly beaten,” she said in a stiff voice.
    He stared at her in surprise. He had never before known Frances to concern herself about foreign affairs, and the news from Venezuela was not easily come by. “Yes,” he said. “Bolivar is presently in New Granada, in Cartagena to be precise. Ian is with him. They are determined to convince New Granada to assist them in a new effort to liberate Venezuela.”
    Frances’s face was shadowed. “I see,” she said quietly.
    There was the sound of a step in the hall, and the door opened. “Papa!” Nell cried, her face vivid with joy. She ran toward Robert Sedburgh, her arms held out.
    “Nell!” the tall blond man laughed back and swung her up into his arms. “How is my girl?”
    She giggled delightedly as he held her over his head, then he sat her in the crook of his arm and crossed the room. Frances watched him come, her eyes warm with tenderness. “Rob, you remember Douglas MacDonald,” she said.
       “Of course.” He put Nell down and went to shake hands with Douglas. “We are looking forward to seeing your exhibit,” he said courteously. “In fact, it is the main reason for our visit to London.”
    “I am flattered,” returned Douglas. “And very pleased.”
    Robert sat down and Nell immediately climbed up his legs, clutching her horse. “Look, Papa!” she said urgently. He bent his head to the child and Frances said mournfully, “Deserted again.”
    Robert laughed at her. “You’re an old story,” he said. “I’m a treat.”
    But she shook her head. “Nell has been Papa’s girl virtually since she was born,” she explained to Douglas. “She only puts up with me until she can get her hands on him. She’s a true female, I’m afraid.”
     At this point a very serious look descended over Nell’s face. “Oh dear,” said Frances comically, jumping up. “I think it’s time to remove her upstairs. I know that look.”
    Robert handed her over with alacrity. “By all means,” he said definitely, and both he and Douglas watched as she carried the little girl out of the room. Then Robert turned to Douglas. He had not missed the shadow on Frances’s face when he came in.
    “Frances looks well,” Douglas said. He hesitated. “She looks happy,” he added finally.
    “I think she is.” Robert’s blue eyes stared at Douglas with a straight,