The Heir by Johanna Lindsey Read Free Book Online Page B

sentimentality involved.
    Now, seeing each other for the first time—Neville had paused in the doorway that connected to his bedroom and moved no further—they each simply stared, each surprised that the other was not what he’d been expecting.
    Neville had a full head of hair, albeit every bit of it a silvery white, and cut just below the ear in the current style. And he had aged—gracefully. There was no doubting that he was far up there in years, yet he sported very few wrinkles, and his eyes were sharply alert. With the silver goatee he wore, he had a very distinguished if Continental look, his slimness, or what could be considered frailty in his case, and his lack of height adding to it. His posture was very erect, though. In fact, this was not a man near his deathbed, as Henry had implied. Far from it. Neville looked in perfect health.
    “You’re bigger than I expected,” was the first thing Neville said.
    In the same vein, Duncan replied, “You’re no’ as old as I was expecting—nor as sickly.”
    The words broke the surprised silence. Neville entered the room, his stride brisk, though he did sigh as he took the chair behind his small desk.Duncan, finding no chair in the room that looked like it wouldn’t shatter if he even glanced at it, moved to stand in front of the fireplace. A bad choice, he quickly found, since the fire had been burning strongly before he even arrived, and still was, making the room uncomfortably warm, and near the fireplace, intolerably hot.
    He moved to one of the windows instead and started to open it—all three in the room were closed tight.
    “Please don’t,” Neville stopped him, and after a questioning glance from Duncan, added in a somewhat embarrassed tone, “I have been cautioned against drafts. My doctors seem to think my lungs won’t withstand another bout with congestion. Regrettably, that means the rooms I frequent are kept unduly warm.”
    “So you have been sick then?”
    “I spent the last entire winter in bed. I have fared better this year.”
    Duncan nodded. It had been said matter-of-factly. Neville wasn’t bemoaning the fact, merely relating it. Duncan stayed near the window, where it was at least a little cooler, but not cool enough after standing next to the fire. Sweating now, he shrugged out of his jacket.
    “I suppose you get that height from your father—and the hair,” Neville remarked, watching him.
    “I’ve your eyes, I’m told.”
    “Would you mind—coming closer so I might see them?”
    The question, almost in the form of a plea, disconcertedDuncan. “Is your sight no’ so good then?”
    “I have spectacles,” Neville replied in a grumbling tone, “I just keep misplacing them.”
    The new tone, reminding him of Archie, nearly had Duncan relaxing. He had to mentally remind himself that this old man wasn’t the grandfather who’d raised him and who’d earned his love. This one, never a part of his life, meant nothing to him at all.
    But he came forward and stood directly across from Neville’s desk. And grew quite uncomfortable under the close examination Neville was giving him. Squirming came to mind, it was certainly what he felt like doing, though he managed to stand still.
    “Elizabeth would be proud of you, if she could see you now.”
    It was a compliment of sorts, from Neville, not from his mother. It had the effect of annoying Duncan rather than flattering him.
    “And how would you be knowing what she’d feel, when you ne’er saw her again after she wed?”
    The bitterness was unmistakable. Neville would have had to be deaf not to hear it, and some of his other senses might be failing him at his advanced age, but not his hearing. He stiffened. If he’d been willing to talk of the past, he changed his mind.
    Abruptly he said, “Lady Ophelia and her parents will arrive today. It would be in our best interest if you would make an effort to impressher. Although she will benefit more from this marriage than you will, I