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“Funnier than Grandda?” Logan teased.
Joseph looked straight ahead. “I like the way Grandda talks. Andhealways tells me the truth.”
Logan looked at his son, startled by the lad’s solemn tone. “Joseph, I always tell you the truth, too.”
“Whatever you say, Papa.”
The response was so quiet Logan could barely hear it, and it made his heart sink. He’d never lied to his son, at least not deliberately. Had someone suggested he had?
Frustrated, he repressed the urge to question the boy. This wasn’t the time or place, and he didn’t want to ruin the day. But when he glanced at Joseph again, and saw his lower lip quivering, his gut turned inside out. It seemed he’d lost the knack of being a parent—if he’d ever had it.
After throwing Logan a troubled glance, Donella put her arm around Joseph’s shoulders.
“Have you thought about what you’d like to order at Monroe’s?” she brightly asked. “I’m going to have trouble choosing, because everything there is so good.”
Joseph gave her a cautious smile. “What sort of treats do they have?”
“Let me think,” Donella said in a pondering tone. “There are the éclairs, which are splendid. And the macaroons are also delicious. I don’t know that I’ve ever had better.”
Joseph perked up. “I’ve never had an éclair. What’s it like?”
Donella rattled off descriptions of éclairs and other pastries, explaining each one in delectable detail. By the time they reached Glasgow, Joseph’s good humor was restored. The woman was a miracle worker, and as sweet as one of the pastries she described.
They pulled up on a busy street lined with shops. The groom jumped down to help Donella and Joseph to the pavement, and then climbed into the driver’s seat after Logan gave him instructions to take the carriage back to Kendrick House.
“I hope you don’t mind walking,” Logan said to Donella. “But I’d rather the horses not stand about, waiting for us.”
She winked at Joseph. “The walk will do us good after we’ve stuffed ourselves, don’t you think?”
The boy nodded enthusiastically before taking Donella’s hand and pulling her into Monroe’s without a backward glance at his father. Logan shook his head and followed them into the sweet shop.
Monroe’s bustling front room was filled with elegantly dressed ladies and mostly elderly gentlemen. An aisle ran between the tables and the glass display cases loaded with elaborate pastries and cakes. Waiters rushed back and forth, bearing silver trays with tea services and tiered cake plates.
Logan followed Donella and Joseph to the back room, which was more spacious than expected and filled with parquet tables and delicate, shield-backed chairs. The walls were painted in pale shades of pink and green and hung with framed prints of Parisian scenes. The establishment obviously catered to the Glasgow elite, unlike the coffee shops he tended to frequent. Those mostly served businessmen and merchants.
A harassed-looking waiter in a starched apron edged in front of him.
“Can I help you?” he haughtily asked, flicking a glance over Logan’s driving outfit. “Sir?”
Logan swallowed a snort. Clearly, the staff at Monroe’s took themselves a little too seriously.
“I see my party is already seated in the back. Your help is not required.”
The waiter barely nodded before rushing off.
Joseph waved to him. “Hurry up, Papa.”
Logan gingerly settled into one of the absurdly delicate chairs, praying it didn’t collapse under his weight. “Hungry, are we?”
“Famished,” said Joseph with all the drama of a six-year-old. “And Donella is, too.”
“I could eat half the contents of the display case,” she said, smiling at the boy.
“I could eat the other half,” Joseph replied.
“No doubt, but we’d best leave room for dinner, or your aunt Vicky will make us eat gruel for a week.”
Joseph giggled and reached across the table to take her hand. “Now you’re just being silly.”
