Scriptures than I am. In fact, I can’t recall the last time I opened a Bible.” He thought of his mother’s black Bible tucked safely in his trunk, a tentative link that eased somewhat the ache of her absence.
“It’s not too late to start,” she said encouragingly.
His gaze fell on a small portrait on the side table, one he hadn’t noticed before. Standing, he stepped around her and picked it up, fingers tight on the gilt frame. His grandparents, Charles and Beatrice, in the prime of their lives. And his mother, who looked to be about eight years old, dressed in a simple dress and her dark hair in pigtails. She wasn’t smiling. No one really did for portraits. But her eyes were clear of the familiar shadows, and curiosity marked her rounded face. How might her life have been different—better, freer, happier—if Charles had handled the whole situation differently?
“Tell me something,” he said quietly, still staring at the images. “Did my grandfather believe as you do?”
“Charles loved the Lord,” she answered, matching her tone to his, perhaps sensing the turn of his mood. “He tried to model his life after His teachings, a life pleasing to Him.”
Replacing the frame with a bit more force than necessary, he pivoted to glower down at her, unable to mask the cold fury surging through his veins. “Then surely God wasn’t pleased with his coldhearted treatment of his own daughter. And what of his only grandchild? He didn’t even acknowledge my existence! Isn’t there something in there about loving your neighbor as yourself?”
Surging to her feet, Megan adopted a fighting stance—shoulders back, chin up, hands fisted. A not-so-friendly pirate. “And what of your mother’s behavior? She refused Charles’s numerous pleas to return. He desperately wanted to meet you, Lucian. How could she deny him that? How could you?”
He snorted. Sliced the air with his hand. “What are you talking about? What pleas? The night before she married my father, Charles warned her that if she went through with it, not to bother coming back. Ever.”
“Charles apologized more than once for his past behavior. He sent letters begging her to come and visit. To bring you so that he could spend time with you. Show you around town, introduce you to all the townspeople, take you fishing. She flat-out refused. Charles didn’t tell me why.”
Lucian turned away, shoved a frustrated hand through his hair. No. No, this couldn’t possibly be true. His mother wouldn’t have hidden such a thing from him.
“I don’t know anything about any letters,” he ground out.
He startled when her fingers curled around his biceps, a slight pressure. “Lucian—”
The chime of the doorbell derailed her train of thought. “Would you like me to get that for you?”
“No.” He straightened, and her hand fell away. “I’ll get it.”
He didn’t recognize the brown-haired, green-eyed man on the other side of the door. “Good evening. May I help you?”
He looked to be about the same age as himself, maybe a year or so younger, and was dressed like the local men in casual pants, band-collared shirt and suspenders. While his expression was pleasant, his eyes were assessing, his fingers crushing the brim of his hat he held at his waist.
“Evenin’. The name’s Tom Leighton. I own the barbershop on Main.” He stuck out his hand. “You must be Charles’s grandson.”
He shook his hand. “Lucian Beaumont.”
“Pleased to meet you.” His gaze searched the entryway. “Is Megan still here? I came to walk her home.”
“Yes, she is.” Lucian stepped back and motioned him inside. “She’s in the parlor.”
Following Leighton, Lucian ignored a twinge of dislike. He had absolutely no grounds for such a reaction. He didn’t even know the man. It bothers you that he appears to have a relationship with Megan. The banker let slip earlier that Tom Leighton saw Megan as a prospective wife. Question was, how did she feel about that? Did she want to marry the barbershop owner? Were they courting?
As the two exchanged greetings, Lucian watched her expression carefully. Was her smile a bit forced? Her eyes a little tight? Or was he being ridiculous? He puffed out an irritated breath. Definitely ridiculous.
He had absolutely no romantic interest in this woman. Or any other woman, for that matter. The misery of his parents’ mockery of a marriage had carved deep scars on his heart, creating within him an aversion to anything resembling an intimate relationship. He would not repeat their mistakes. He would marry because it was expected of him to produce heirs and further the Beaumont legacy. For duty and social connections, not fickle emotions or fleeting attraction.
He’d had a near miss with Dominique. Had begun to entertain the notion that perhaps pure love could exist for him, that he wouldn’t have to endure a marriage that was more business arrangement than anything else. Thank goodness she’d revealed her true nature before his heart had succumbed.
Watching Megan, he reminded himself of his charted course. She was a diversion, and, albeit delightful and intriguing, one he didn’t want or need.
* * *
“Tom!” Megan wasn’t sure why his arrival had disconcerted her. It wasn’t unusual for him to show up to walk her home. She’d been so immersed in the conversation with Lucian, deeply attuned to his turmoil, that the interruption had thrown her.
“I had a couple of late customers. I wasn’t sure if you’d still be here.” He seemed a touch nervous, which was unlike him. He lowered his voice. “How’d it go?”
“Wonderful.”
Surprise flitted across Tom’s face. “Really?”
Movement beyond his shoulder meant Lucian had entered the room, holding himself back, his dark gaze hooded.
Stepping to the side in order to include him, she touched Tom’s arm in a silent request for him to turn around. “You’ve met Lucian already?”
He nodded curtly. “Yes.”
The two men regarded each other in silence. She glanced askance at her friend. He was normally talkative and friendly, even with strangers. Why was he acting like this?
She cleared her throat. “Tom is a close friend of the family. We’ve known each other practically from birth. He and my cousin Josh used to take great pleasure in tormenting me.”
Laughter erupted from Tom, and, ignoring her arched brow, he slung an arm around her shoulders. “Like hiding frogs in your lunch pails.” Tucking her close to his side, he grinned at Lucian. “Made her so mad, she could hardly speak. But she’d eventually cool off and talk to us again. Megan and I know each other very well, almost as well as an old married couple. We have a lot in common.”
“Sounds like it,” Lucian responded drily.
Stunned and irritated by Tom’s familiarity, his insinuations, Megan shrugged off his arm as unobtrusively as she could. “Well, I believe we should be going.” Before he embarrassed her further.
She paused before Lucian, wishing they could’ve finished their conversation. Hating to leave him to deal
