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She closed both her hands over his little fingers. “I do tend to be silly when I’m hungry.”
Joseph’s boyish adoration for Donella was both heartwarming and unnerving. Logan’s son had attached himself to the lass, just as he had to his uncle Nick. The difference was that Nick would always be there for Joseph, whereas Donella’s future was still uncertain.
Her impending departure, whether to a convent or even back to Blairgal, would hold negative consequences for the lad. She could be yet another terrible loss for him, because Donella had somehow reached the lonely place inside Joseph that no one else had been able to touch.
He needs her, which means you need her, too.
Donella gave Logan a quizzical smile. “Is something wrong, sir?”
“Just wondering where the bloody waiter is.”
She raised a hand to catch a waiter’s attention. “Language, Mr. Kendrick.”
When Logan blew out an exaggerated sigh at the mild reprimand, Joseph giggled again.
God, it wassogood to hear his son laugh and once more be the little boy who needn’t worry about anything but whether there would be snow for Christmas.
Logan watched the wee tyke who meant everything to him and the almost-nun who’d turned his life upside down, and finally admitted the stark truth. He would do whatever it took to keep Joseph happy. If that meant keeping the bonny lass in their lives, by hook or by crook he would do it.
“I cannot say I am much impressed with the service,” Donella said when the waiter ignored her. “I do hope the pastries make up for it.”
Logan twisted in his chair, glaring toward the front room. Fortunately, another waiter came through the doorway and hurried toward them, apologizing for the delay. After taking their order, he returned shortly with the tea things, then hurried off to fetch their sweets.
Logan and Donella chatted amiably about her progress on the holiday parties. He was so busy thinking about how pretty she was—and planning his campaign to persuade her to marry him—that it took some time to notice that Joseph had fallen silent.
“What’s the matter, lad?” he asked when he caught the boy peering uncertainly at one of the other tables.
“Papa, why is that woman scowling at us?” Joseph whispered.
Logan resisted the temptation to turn around and look.
“I’m guessing it’s because I’m such a big lummox, and she’s wondering if I’m going to break my chair. We Kendricks are rather famous for destroying the furniture, you know.”
It was a standard joke around town that hostesses quaked in fear whenever the twins arrived at a party.
“I don’t think that’s why,” Joseph said.
Donella leaned sideways so she could see around Logan. “Oh, I see who it is. Just ignore her, Joseph. That particular woman is always glaring at someone.”
Even though her tone was mild, Logan couldn’t miss Donella’s suddenly stiff posture. Nor could he miss the way his son was shrinking back in his chair, as if trying to disappear.
Slowly, he turned to meet the malevolent gaze of one of the biggest gossips in Glasgow. Seated with two other ladies, Mrs. Ferguson was the wife of a wealthy landowner from Dumfries. She’d tried to cause trouble for the Kendricks a few years ago by spreading ugly rumors about Royal and his adopted daughter, Tira. Nick had delivered a stern message to Mr. Ferguson, putting an immediate end to the worst of it, and the remaining gossip had eventually died down.
From her expression, it was obvious the woman loathed the Kendricks as much as ever.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Ferguson,” he drawled. “You appear to be suffering a touch of dyspepsia. Maybe you’d best go home and lie down.”
Her eyes narrowed to outraged slits, and her complexion turned blotchy.
“Well, I never,” huffed one of her companions, a middle-aged woman wearing an overtrimmed bonnet. “Such deplorable manners. So typical.”
Logan casually braced an arm on the back of his chair. “Forgive me, ma’am. Do we know each other?”
“We do not, sir,” she replied stiffly.
Logan flashed her a toothy smile. “How fortunate for both of us.”
“Mr. Kendrick, your tea,” Donella said in a firm voice.
