Page 89 of A Momentary Marriage

“He what?” If she had hoped to startle him, she had more than succeeded. “Books? History books?”

“Stories set in the past, certainly, but more . . . tales of derring-do.”

James stared at her blankly. “Good Gad.” He absorbed the news and let out a laugh. “Walter? Really? Sir Walter Scott sort of tales? Stevenson?”

“Dumas. Yes.”

“Who would have thought? He was ever the most timid of us.”

“I gather it’s more the thinking of it than the doing he enjoys.”

He gave her a considering look. “He has come to you, I take it, to intercede? He’d like to leave university and take up residence in a garret in London and write?”

“He didn’t ask me for intercession, and I doubt he wants to live in an attic anywhere, but yes, he would love to leave university. Writing books seems to be what he’s interested in, at least at the moment. He is still young.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence, but after they dismounted and were strolling toward the house, James said, “Have you read Walter’s stories? Are they any good? Can he do it?”

“As for ‘can,’ he already has written two, as well as some shorter pieces.”

“Two? Really?”

Laura nodded. “I enjoyed them. As to whether or not he will find someone to publish them or becomes a famous author, I don’t know that I can judge. I’m not sure that’s really the point. It’s what he wants to do.”

James took her hand. “Tell me, my wise Laura, what should I do?”

Laura glanced up at him and was surprised to see the uncertainty in his face. “That’s up to you and Walter, isn’t it?”

“You have no opinion?” He cocked a disbelieving eyebrow. “There’s a first.”

“My opinion is that you should talk to Walter. Find out for yourself what he thinks, how he feels. What would mean the most to him is for you to pay heed to him. He would appreciate knowing you are more interested in him than in his record at school.”

“I don’t give a damn about his school record. Or how he lives, really. I merely hate to see him fritter away his life, playing the fool.”

“Telling me that does little good, since I am not Walter.”

“Bloody hell, Laura, you know I have no facility with people.”

“You’re able to talk to me well enough.”

He grimaced. “That’s because of you, not me.”

“Flattering as that is, I don’t think it’s true. I think it’s that with me you are more yourself.”

“That makes absolutely no sense.” But he was smiling down at her as he said it.

“Doesn’t it?” She sparkled up at him.

They had slowed as they walked, and now he pulled her to a stop and bent to give her a hard, quick kiss on her mouth. When he lifted his head, he sighed and said, “And now, I suppose I must talk to Walter.”

His hand tightened around hers for an instant, then he turned and walked up the steps and into the house.

Laura watched him go.

“A tender scene.”

She lifted her head at the sound of the woman’s brittle voice and saw Patricia sitting on the shadowed terrace. Determined to be pleasant, Laura smiled and strolled over to her.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Salstone.”