Free Jacquie D'Alessandro by Loveand the Single Heiress Page A

prayed his skin didn’t go pale just saying the words.
    “Ah.” Her expression cleared, but still bore remnants that hinted she hadn’t entirely abandoned the notion that he might be a bit of a dolt.
    Also not conducive to successful courting.
    After exiting the carriage, Andrew took a moment to look about while Lady Catherine directed the footman regarding their luggage. The drive was shaded by massive elms, sunlight spotting the gravel as it broke through the canopy of leaves. He pulled in a deep breath. The scentsof late summer filled his head with a pleasing mixture redolent of grass and sun-warmed earth, and a pungent hint of hay that indicated stables nearby. Closing his eyes, he allowed an image to flicker to life, a glimmer of long ago when he’d enjoyed life in a place similar to this. Yet, as always when he permitted himself a glimpse into the past, the darkness quickly shrouded those fleeting happy memories, blanketing them with the shadow of guilt and shame. Of loss, regret, and self-condemnation. He opened his eyes and blinked away his previous life. It was dead and gone. Literally.
    He turned and stilled when he noted Lady Catherine watching him with a questioning look. “Are you all right?” she asked.
    As he had countless times before, he settled his painful memories and guilt deep in his heart, where they could not be seen, and showed an outward smile. “I’m fine. Just enjoying being outdoors after that long journey. And looking forward to seeing your son.”
    “I’m certain you won’t have long to wait.” As if on cue, the double oak doors leading into the house swung open, revealing a young man casually dressed in fawn breeches and a plain white shirt. He smiled and waved, calling out, “Welcome home, Mum!”
    Spencer awkwardly made his way forward and Andrew’s gaze was drawn to the boy’s club foot. His heart pinched in sympathy for what the lad must suffer on a daily basis, not only from the physical discomfort, but the inner pain of being viewed as different. Flawed. His jaw tightened, knowing that a big part of the reason Lady Catherine and Spencer lived in Little Longstone was because of the cruelty and rejection the boy had experienced in London. Andrew well recalled the awkwardness of that age, nearly twelve years old, teetering on the brinkof manhood. It had been difficult enough without the added burden of an infirmity.
    Spencer was met midway down the path by his mother, who enveloped him in a hug which the boy returned with unabashed enthusiasm. A wave of something that felt like envy rippled through Andrew at the warm display of affection. He had no memory of what it was to be wrapped in a mother’s embrace, as his own mother had died bringing him into the world. Spencer was nearly as tall as his mother, Andrew noted, and the lad appeared surprisingly broad-shouldered, while his gangly arms indicated he still had a lot of growing to do. He bore a striking resemblance to Lady Catherine, having inherited her chestnut hair and golden brown eyes.
    Mother and son drew apart, and with a laugh Lady Catherine reached up—with her uninjured arm, Andrew noted—and ruffled Spencer’s thick hair. “You’re still damp,” she said. “How was your visit to the springs?”
    “Excellent.” He frowned and leaned closer. “What happened to your lip?”
    “I accidentally bit it. Nothing to worry about.”
    The frown cleared. “How was Grandfather’s birthday party?”
    “It was…eventful. And I’ve brought the most wonderful surprise.” She nodded toward the rear of the carriage, where Andrew stood.
    Spencer’s gaze shifted, and when he caught sight of Andrew, his eyes widened. “I say, is that you, Mr. Stanton?”
    “Yes.” Andrew joined the duo and held out his hand to the young man. “Very nice to see you again, Spencer.”
    “Likewise.”
    “Mr. Stanton kindly consented to escort me home, and has agreed to remain on for a visit. He’s promised to regale us with stories