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He refused to be the wedge driven into her family that split it apart, sundered mother from daughter.
He couldn’t allow history to repeat itself.
He hated himself even as he spoke the words, but he had to do this. He must be harsh. “These two weeks were only a fantasy, Beatrice. A fairy tale with no basis in reality. I don’t belong in your world and you don’t belong in mine. I have to leave.”
“You don’t. You don’t have to leave.”
“My mother arrives in London in a matter of hours. My ship departs in a matter of days.”
This was the most difficult thing he’d ever done in his life. His whole body and mind screamed for him to stay. Sweep her into his arms.
He turned away from her stricken face and wounded eyes and shouldered his trunk. “Goodbye, Beatrice.”
He walked downstairs quickly. He had just opened the door when a tall shape shoved past him and entered the room.
Ford’s entire body stiffened. “A bit early for a call, isn’t it, Foxton?” He’d kick his grandfather out onto the street before he’d let him discover Beatrice in the house with him at this early hour.
He had to force him to leave before any hint of Beatrice’s presence in the house was revealed. He prayed that she stayed upstairs.
“I’ll own this property soon enough,” Foxton said.
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”
Coggins arrived finally, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Should I throw him out, Mr. Wright?”
“Go back to bed, Coggins. Mr. Foxton is leaving.”
Coggins glared at Foxton before shuffling back the way he’d come.
“Why so eager for me to leave?” Foxton asked. “Could it be because you have a certain highborn visitor who arrived on foot and climbed a ladder into your bedchamber?”
Damn.She’d been wearing a cloak. She could have been anyone. “I ordered a fancy lady from Covent Garden. I left that ladder there for her.”
“Distinctive color of hair, your ladybird.”
“You may have dug up another heir, but Lady Beatrice has powerful friends in high places to contest the claim.”
“I’m sure she does.”
“You’re leaving.” He grabbed his grandfather by the collar and bodily moved him toward the door. “I’ve been meaning to have a talk with you. We’ll do it at a place of my choosing.”
“Roughing up your own grandfather?”
That stopped Ford cold. “You knew?”
“You didn’t think I’d put it together? You have your father’s eyes... and his peasant hands.”
“Ford?” Beatrice’s soft voice. She stood in the doorway. There were tear streaks on her cheeks. He’d done that. He hated himself.
“My, what have we here?” Foxton chortled. “I’ve caught two birds with one stone.”
“Ford—what did he mean about roughing up your grandfather?” Beatrice asked.
“You haven’t told her?” Foxton exploded into nasty laughter.
Ford wanted to strangle him.
“That’s right, Lady Beatrice. He’s my grandson. Though I disinherited his mother long ago, and I don’t acknowledge her bastard.”
