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“Go on.”
“Now, I know you’ve escorted her to quite a few events, events Mrs. Lawrence and I also attended. Really, I saw it more as a favor than anything else. I thought perhaps the two of you…I suppose a part of me hoped…” He looked up. “A finer man I would not choose for my daughter, but—”
“No, Manford,” Blake said quietly. “I’m not in love with Clarice.”
Manford looked down at his hands again. “I thought not, but I had to ask.”
“She’s a sweet girl, but—”
“No, she isn’t,” Manford interrupted, tenting his hands in his lap. “I love her. She’s my flesh and blood, but she’s spoiled and self-centered. She is her grandmother through and through, and honestly, I would not wish that hell upon anyone.”
The two men shared a laugh. Blake had met Manford’s mother-in-law on several occasions, so his friend had no need to elaborate.
“I’m sorry,” Blake said.
“You shouldn’t be.” Manford looked up. “I worry about you, though.”
“About me?” Blake arched a brow. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it? That beautiful mansion on that hill. Empty.”
“I have my visitors.” Blake cracked a smile.
Manford smiled with him. “But that’s not what I mean. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to have someone love you and know what it is to love without condition.”
“You sound like one of those romantic writers,” Blake scoffed.
“Be that as it may. It’s time you found a wife, started a family.”
Blake was quiet for a moment. “Marriage is not what everyone strives to obtain,” he said, trying not to think of Sapphire, or how empty his bed had seemed this morning without her.
“I just don’t want you to go your entire life, pushing your way blindly, missing what is the sweetest, what offers the most reward.”
Blake scowled teasingly. “I’m with Mrs. Lawrence on the matter of you taking ill. You should have her call that physician of hers.” He rose, offering his hand.
Manford got out of the chair, accepting it. “I’ll see you here at one, then?”
“I’ve already received a message from Mr. Falkin this morning. He will be here promptly at one.”
“Excellent.” Manford released Blake’s hand, stepping away from the desk. “I’ll see you this afternoon. Right now, I need to meet with a shipping agent and see if I can’t rip out his heart and have it transported with my next load of goods bound for London.”
Blake laughed and returned to his chair. He reached for one of the geology books on his desk, pushing aside his conversation with Manford and any thoughts of Sapphire still lingering in his mind. “Givens!” he called. “Where the hell is that coffee?”
“Mon chèr,” Tarasai sang as she entered Armand’s bedchamber. “Look what I have
brought for you.”
He had been reading one of his botany books but not with much interest. “What have you brought me, dear?” he asked sitting up farther in his bed and removing his reading spectacles.
She perched on the edge and reached behind his head to move a pillow. “Guess.” She grinned, her tiny, beautiful face seeming to glow with her pregnancy.
He smiled and took her small hand in his, thinking it was probably just as well that he was dying. He was too old for young women like Tarasai, too old for such vibrant energy. “I cannot guess.”
“Something you have wished for, mon amour.” She leaned forward bringing her face very close to his. “Une lettre.”
“A letter?”
She nodded, her smile ear-to-ear.
